Villains Inc. (Wearing the Cape)

by Marion G. Harmon

  I’d flown patrol hundreds of times, but not from down at rooftop level, and not at night. The whole reason for flying patrol was so people could see me; otherwise I’d just wait in the Dome for Dispatch to send me where I was needed. Even so, flying above Chicago day after day had made it my city, somehow, and looking down and seeing damage like the cleared skeleton of Navy Pier or the wreckage of this morning’s fight bothered me. By night, even with my enhanced vision, down here at rooftop level and in the shadows it was a different world.

  Of course, Artemis was right at home.

  I finished the grid and sighed, landing beside her on the roof. We’d been at it for two hours, and I almost regretted telling Fisher about my second dream.

  He was probably right to decide the burning hounds in my dream were the burned-up bodies dropping dead on Chicago streets, and that they had been trying to hunt down Kitsune for the Wicked Witch (why I was having “visions” of Kitsune, instead of our resident psychic Chackra, was a whole other question). He’d also talked Blackstone around to the view that Villain-X had been demonically hopped up and sent after him instead of me (stopping that kind of thing was the whole point of Dr. Cornelius’ wards, after all). Fisher smiled when he told us that—like it was a good thing Hecate was hunting detectives now. First Kitsune, now Fisher; I was getting tired of standing next to targets.

  But now he, Blackstone, and Lei Zi had something big planned, something that would go a lot better if we could nail down Hecate’s base before it kicked off. So they’d sent Artemis and me to do a grid-search of the area the three bodies had been found in, hoping that my lingering sensitivity to magic would lead us back to her hideout; according to Dr. Cornelius, her kind of magic required an extensively prepared ritual space that I’d “see” if I got close enough, at least if it was active. Probably a really spooky house or something.

  Artemis lit her e-pad to find our next grid, pale skin glowing in the backlight beneath her hooded mask.

  “Five blocks south,” she said. “Residential. See you on top of the corner house.” She swirled into mist and floated up and away. She’d been quiet all evening, making me wonder what else was going on. I dropped off the building and flew after her, wondering if this was even a good idea. Maybe the Wicked Witch couldn’t see us, but her minions might. Then she’d send her flying monkeys… I’d had issues with America’s Favorite Musical as a kid. Follow the yellow-brick road, my assstra.

  Ten minutes and another completed grid later, I joined Artemis on top of the narrow three-story home she’d settled on.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head. “We don’t even know what my sensitive range really is for this; I could feel Villain-X at maybe thirty feet, but I didn’t feel anything back at The Fortress when Nemesis started shooting.”

  “It beats waiting around for Blackstone and Lei Zi to roll out their Big Plan,” Artemis said. She had come loaded for war—elasers in her shoulder holsters and .45 automatics on her hips.

  “Maybe. So are you going to tell me what’s got you quietly wigged?”

  Her lips twitched. “Wigged?”

  “Since you got back from New Orleans you’ve…” I waived a hand. “You’ve been softer, less angry. A little less fiend-of-the-nightish. But you’re not exactly here, either…and right now you’re looking totally guilted. What’s going on?”

  She sighed.

  “I did more down south than stake fellow bloodsuckers. I met family.” And she told me about her grams, Mama Maria Bouchard, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. I was trying to wrap my mind around the stunning news of my determinedly Not-A-Goth girlfriend being voodoo royalty when she dropped her bombshell.

  “So I’m going back,” she said, “as soon as we bury this witch.”

  “You—” Sometimes my brain does work faster than my mouth, and it reached down and strangled can’t before the word escaped.

  She heard it anyway, and smiled. “Family. And a job I don’t suck at half the time.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Please.” She grinned, showing teeth. “I may not be instant flambé with the twinkle of a sunbeam anymore, but most of the time I’m as useful to the team as a D Class Ajax-type—most of our fights go down during the day. But the Big Easy… they need a sane vamp down there to keep the nut-jobs in line, and being a daywalker who’s not religion-intolerant makes me a supervampire instead of a wimpy superhero.”

  I tried to think of something to say that wasn’t a cliché. I even understood her timing; Shelly was back, so now she could leave; I didn’t need my big sister anymore. She couldn’t be more wrong, but…family. “Think Mama Maria will like me?” I asked, trying on a smile.

  Her grin turned feral. “She’s going to love you… what?”

  I tapped my earbug, eyes on the building down the street. “Dispatch? Detective Fisher, please.”

  “Astra?” Fisher asked. “Have the two of you found her?”

  “I— don’t think so.” I said. “How close to our location were the bodies found?”

  “You’re one block west of one location. Why?”

  “Because I think we’re on the wrong end of the trail. If Hecate is driving her hounds till they die, won’t they be dropping dead out hunting?”

  I got a moment of thoughtful silence.

  “Shit. Sorry, kid. And sorry for wasting your time.”

  “It wasn’t a waste. How bad do you want Kitsune?”

  “Truth? Not that bad right now; he’s not the one scattering bodies around. Garfield wants him, but he’s not my priority. Do you know where he is?”

  “…”

  “Astra?”

  I stared at the white-walled, peak-roofed building down the street; Chicago’s Midwest Buddhist Temple. Red wooden gates—tori—were for Shinto shrines, not Buddhist temples. That much I knew, but my dream hadn’t been literal and to a Japanese shapeshifter holy ground was holy ground, a safe place for hiding from demonic powers.

  I opened my mouth, closed it. The way he stressed know flashed warnings in my head. “… it’s a stupid idea,” I said finally. “But what I meant was, where did the victims go missing from? Where did Hecate get them?”

  “Hold on, I’ll check.”

  Artemis followed my line of sight while we waited, and she took a breath. I shook my head.

  “Astra?” Fisher returned. “You might be on to something. No knowing with our John Doe, but for the other two, one was a homeless guy, the other a gang member. Public nuisance and drug dealing charges put both inside a one mile radius in South Side during the past two months. Think she just had them grabbed off the street?”

  “Yeah, I do. Give us a new search grid?”

  Half an hour later we’d found the Wicked Witch’s new castle.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Mr. Shankman has declined to comment on the Paladins’ recent attack on The Fortress, the popular superhero-themed café and nightclub. Donald Welsh, a spokesman for Mr. Shankman’s campaign, has publicly denied any links between the “public-spirited Mr. Shankman and any terrorist or militia groups, whatever their goals.” At the same time, the Shankman Campaign continues to decry the city’s employment of “contracted peacekeepers,” whom it denounces as nothing more than licensed thugs.

  Chicago Evening News.

  * * *

  To my surprise, instead of ordering us to remain at our position while the rest of the team mustered, Blackstone called us back to the Dome. Arriving, we found everybody there, crowding the Assembly Room. Back from Washington, Watchman sat beside Variform and “Agent Robbins,” a DSA agent in suit and shades and one of Legion. I wondered why Bob or New Tom or Willis didn’t just put on a DSA badge as needed. Dad was there, Iron Jack, so solid and calm in the electric atmosphere (not Lei Zi’s fault) I just wanted to go over and hug him.

  Once we were all present, Blackstone stood up. He looked exhausted. Quin didn’t look much better, and her latex-like skin didn’t shadow under her eyes like his did. But he smiled as he looked around th
e table, giving Artemis and me a nod.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I’m sure all of you have been hearing the latest news reports, and the threats of political action. It hasn’t helped that news of Villains Inc.’s reconstitution and its war with the Mob has gotten out. Chicagoans can live with a lot, but the thought of a three-way superhero-supervillain-supervillain war doesn’t make anyone happy.

  “The good news is that, finally, we are in a position to take the war to our enemies. Detective Fisher?”

  Fisher pulled himself to his feet. Somewhere he’d found time to change, but he looked even more rumpled than usual. He gave me a wink, and lit up. As he looked around the table, it was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

  “Alright people, let’s do a refresher. This all started with a bank heist and a related murder. With the fingerprints of organized crime all over it, the only reason it stayed in my department was superpowers were involved both times.”

  There were nods around the table.

  “Things started getting interesting when you guys tried to execute the warrant for Hecate’s arrest. Sure, she might have realized she’d been outed when Dr. Cornelius banished her pet demon, but maybe not. If not, someone told her we were coming—and outside of this team, only my department and the warrant judge knew about the raid. So when Mr. Ross quietly reached out and touched me asking for police protection, I had a problem.”

  “Mr. Ross?” I blurted, then flushed. Fisher smiled.

  “Astra asked me what I thought had happened to our elusive Mr. Ross, and I told her that if he really was an Outfit banker we’d be lucky to find the body. Since I couldn’t be sure of my own department, I made an arrangement with Agent Robbins and the local DSA office; Mr. Ross has spent the last two weeks in a safe safe house. As the banker, he doesn’t know many real names, but he has been able to provide several descriptions—the Department of Superhuman Affairs brought in a telepathic sketch-artist, and now I believe I know who our leak is.”

  He stopped and took a deep draw.

  “So the Outfit wants Mr. Ross, but they’ve got other problems. Hecate is their biggest. Friends over in Organized Crimes tipped me that Mickey Kean died of a heart attack the day after Mr. Moffat was put in a box. The name means nothing to any of you, but it’s their guess that he was Ross’s boss. Three days later, his personal physician, Dr. Dresher, died a bit less naturally. The OC guys’d had their eyes on him for awhile, on the theory that he was one of the Outfit’s more subtle hitters, and apparently he was Dr. Millibrand’s doctor as well. Perfect cover for their meetings.”

  “How did he die?” Seven asked.

  “Fast—at least ninety miles an hour fast. It took us awhile to work out that it was murder. It’s a guessing game, but I think that what happened was Mickey overreacted to the bonds theft and ordered Hecate to ‘send a message’. Mr. Ross had made himself unavailable, but Mr. Moffat might have been involved, so, the box. But that tipped us that the Outfit was employing supervillain hitters again, that Villains Inc. could be back in business.”

  “Bad move,” Rush said.

  “Absolutely,” Fisher agreed. “So they gave Mickey a funeral—even if he hadn’t gone off and had Mr. Moffat killed, he could be fingered by Ross. And they tried to kill Hecate; Dr. Dresher’s practice records show a late evening visit with Millibrand just before he drove his Jaguar into a wall. He wasn’t drunk.”

  “So now it’s on,” Riptide said. “Got that—they want you dead, you bury them first. So why do they want the dude who stole the bonds bad enough to try and go right through us?”

  Fisher smiled, took another drag, then started a second smoke on the end of the first.

  “The ten million dollar question. The attack on the Dome? Desperation. From what we now think we know about Kitsune’s motives, our bonds thief has probably spent the last three years stalking the Outfit, and Villains Inc. was part of it. My guess is that he knows something about Hecate or her people, something that could blow up their plans of taking over. He may have been attempting to bring it to you when he was attacked at The Fortress.”

  Riptide laughed. “I’m beginning to like this guacho. So he’s got them chasing him all over town? Why doesn’t he just take what he’s got to the police? End it?”

  “His family may have died because of a leak in the Organized Crime Department.”

  “So there’s two leaks?” Seven asked.

  “One, but it’s moved and it’s my problem now. No proof, but now we can play a little game of our own. Agent Robbins?”

  All heads swiveled to look at our DSA guest. Agent Robbins took off his glasses, and he was Willis on steroids—really freaky since Willis was dispensing coffee around the table.

  “Hey guys,” he said, flashing a smile. “I’m sure you understand the operational limitations of the Department of Superhuman Affairs. Mostly we’re an intelligence resource for local government entities, and we use special units in the Secret Service, FBI, and US Marshals Department for active operations. We like to work with local Crisis Aid and supercop units when they need us to help them to stand up. Which you Sentinels never have.

  “When Detective Fisher approached the DSA with the Villains Inc. problem and his own departmental issues, we decided the possibility of a shooting war between organized supercriminal factions in the middle of Chicago called for active involvement. We’ve had Mr. Ross on ice in a detection-proof environment since Detective Fisher brought him to us, and we’ve moved a few assets into the city. Since Detective Fisher considers his own department compromised, we took custody of Villain-X in service of the warrant issued by the State of Michigan—the one for the murder of Mr. Early at Grand Beach last week. But we can’t hold him here; we have to transfer him to the appropriate authorities in Michigan as soon as possible, or turn him over to the Chicago PD.”

  “Has he told you anything?” Seven asked.

  “Nope. He doesn’t believe that Chakra probably saved his life, or doesn’t care, and we can only hold him so long without granting access to his lawyer—which means disclosing his location. But that’s good.”

  Anyone hearing that and looking at Agent Robbin would ask Why is this man smiling? Artemis looked at me and shrugged; she’d been out of the loop on this one, too.

  “It’s good,” Blackstone said, “because it gives us a plausible reason for speed. Until now we’ve only been able to react to what Villains Inc. has been doing. Now they’ll have to react to us. Lei Zi, could you explain the op?

  Lei Zi stood, and she had all our attention; if our ex-marine and army guys were talking about operations, we really were finally going to war.

  * * *

  I feel like a piece of cheese,” I said.

  Fisher smiled. “Actually, you’re one of the steel jaws of the trap. He’s the cheese.”

  Beside us, Villain-X snoozed in his restraints and cage as the paddywagon bounced us over the speed-bump and out into the street. He jiggled against the bars, the Morpheus headset he wore keeping him in dreamland, a sleeping, unexploded bomb and the center of Operation Stalking Goat.

  I winced at each bump; any plan that had me riding along next to him was not a good plan.

  It was simple; the DSA was turning Villain-X, ex-sergeant Jason Leavitt, over to the Michigan authorities. They were driving him out in the predawn light, taking him to a local airport and flying him to Detroit Supermax, Michigan’s high-security superhuman prison. Murder carried the Death Penalty in Detroit, and they were going to make Leavitt an Offer He Couldn’t Refuse; they’d see his sentence commuted to life in prison, he’d spill everything he knew about Villains Inc. And in Blackstone’s opinion, since he’d been set up yesterday morning as a sacrificial pawn expected to kill kill kill and then burn out, he probably knew a lot and wasn’t Hecate’s most devoted minion.

  So if we got him to Detroit, great—he’d be a huge break in our case. But Fisher, liaising with the DSA, had made sure the leak in his department knew about our “qui
et” departure from Chicago. It made sense; force your enemy to act when you’re ready for him; if he doesn’t, he’s hosed anyway.

  Fisher and I shared the prisoner compartment with sleepyhead. I was back in my armor, packing Ajax’ maul, not happy about being bait in a box even if Seven sat up front, Lei Zi, Iron Jack, and The Harlequin rode in the lead and tail cars, and Galatea and Variforce stood ready in the DSA helicopter overflying our convoy. “You’re cheese, too.” I flinched at another pothole-bump. “And I’m sitting next to both of you.”