Hero Status

by Kristen Brand

  I was no closer to the answer when I reached my car—and realized dinner with Starla was in ten minutes. I was going to be late, but try as I might, I just couldn’t feel bad about it. I started up the car and made sure not to exceed the speed limit by even one mile per hour. There was a practical excuse: Starla’s house was in Golden Beach, which was always crawling with speed traps. But honestly? I just wanted to put it off for as long as I could.

  In the end, I was twenty minutes late. Golden Beach is a small town about half an hour north of Miami; small because it’s extremely upscale—more Val’s kind of place than mine. Starla’s house sat between two properties that must have been worth upward of five million dollars each, and her own house…well, it was something.

  My first thought was that it would be horrible to defend from any kind of attack. The whole thing was glass. The outside walls gave a clear view of the living room, dining room, and several lounges, and everything was lit up like a storefront window display. It was all very stylish and modern, but too impractical for my taste. At least the trees in the yard hid it from the road a little.

  I rang the doorbell and tried to force my face into something resembling a smile. The clicking of Starla’s heels on the floor announced her arrival before she came into view, and it made me think of Val. Since my wife couldn’t wear heels on the job, she made up for it by donning them whenever else she could. In fact, sometimes they were all she wore.

  My smile became genuine by the time Starla opened the glass door. Big mistake, since it made her assume she was the cause.

  “White Knight. How good to see you. Come in.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” I lied. “I got held up with DSA business.”

  “Not a problem. Our main course just finished cooking.”

  She led me inside, and I glanced around uncomfortably. I felt naked; any amateur spy could crouch in the bushes outside and know every detail of what we were doing.

  “Treasure!” Starla called. “Come say hello to White Knight.”

  The teen came obediently forward and greeted me without making eye contact. She wore a white dress that matched her mother’s, and somehow, I doubted she’d had any say in the matter.

  “Will you be joining us for dinner?” I asked Treasure hopefully.

  “Oh, no,” Starla answered before her daughter could even open her mouth. “She’s on a diet. She can’t have that many carbs until she loses a few pounds. Anyway, she has homework to do, don’t you, Treasure?”

  Treasure nodded mutely and left.

  I forgot my own problems for a moment and resolved to find a way to have a few private words with Treasure at some point. She was a girl who needed help, even if it wasn’t the kind of help I was best at.

  Starla took my arm and led me not into the dining room but the living room, where an intimate dinner had been laid out on a small coffee table in front of an even smaller love seat. Red candles flickered next to an expensive-looking bottle of wine, and there were honest-to-goodness rose petals sprinkled around the plates. I sighed, my worst fears confirmed.

  Well, if she was going to make a clumsy attempt at seducing me, there was no reason to make it easy for her. I pushed one of her armchairs up to the coffee table and sat in that instead. “I don’t have much time, so let’s get straight to business.” I hoped to remind her that I was in fact here for business, not pleasure.

  “Of course,” she said, the corners of her smile slipping as she sat alone on the love seat. Her perfume was overwhelming in close quarters, making the back of my throat itch as I breathed it in.

  “Was Harris acting strangely before he died?” I asked. “Anything to indicate he knew someone wanted to kill him?”

  Starla took a sip of wine. “No, he seemed perfectly normal. I told the DSA as much.”

  “Do you know of anyone who was angry at him? Anyone with a motive to murder him—other than the usual supervillain suspects.”

  “No… no. Who could be angry at Harris? He was so friendly. You know, wherever we went, he always seemed to know everyone by name. People were always happy to see him. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill the man.”

  I was starting to get the sinking feeling that I’d wasted my time by coming here.

  “Well, except for his ex-wife,” Starla added. “She was always mad at him—though I guess she must have still loved him after all, killing herself the way she did. Poor thing.”

  “You know about that?”

  “It was all over the news.” She leaned closer to me and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Benita hated me, you know.”

  I couldn’t imagine why.

  Starla took my silence for disbelief and continued. “She thought I was some hussy only interested in him because he was famous. Have you ever heard anything so insulting?”

  She looked at me expectantly for a response. Part of me wondered if it was all an act on her part. Surely no person could be so… so…

  “That’s terrible,” I said dully.

  She nodded, her long diamond earrings swinging with the motion. “Of course, I’m still sorry she’s dead. I mean, who wouldn’t be?”

  I thought back to Benita Herrera’s voice on the phone, to her body on the sidewalk…

  “Oh, but you haven’t eaten a bite,” Starla said. “We can talk about this later. Dig in.”

  My appetite was gone. I didn’t want to be here. But I’d made the decision to take up the investigation, and like it or not, Starla Strauss might be able to help. I took a bite of steak to seem sociable, and Starla beamed at me.

  “Can you go over the last week with Harris for me?” I asked. “With as much detail as you can.” Maybe I could see something she couldn’t.

  “There really isn’t much to talk about.” She took another sip of wine and looked thoughtful. “We had dinner on Monday at Palme d’Or. Nothing noteworthy happened that I remember. I didn’t see him on Tuesday. Wednesday, we stayed in. And yesterday, we went to the opera. We talked to a few people after the show—I don’t remember their names. I kissed him goodnight afterward, and that was the last time I saw him.”

  I sighed. That wasn’t much detail at all. I’d really hoped I might stumble upon something important here. And yeah, I know, you could have told me not to waste my time, but I had to try, right?

  “Can you think of anyone who spent more time with Harris who’d be willing to talk to me?” I asked.

  Her eyes lit up. “Ruby Baxter. His publicist. They’ve—they had been seeing a lot of each other lately. Harris was planning on getting back into the business.”

  “The superhero business? Back into the DSA?”

  “No, no, he wouldn’t have been fighting crime or anything like that—just coming back into the public sphere. He was going to publish a memoir, do the talk-show circuit, maybe even start appearing on the news when they needed an expert on superhero issues. The festival was going to have him as a special guest tomorrow and everything.”

  “Like the Idols,” I said bitterly.

  “Exactly! He could’ve been just as famous as them. It’s not fair. He was taken too soon.”

  I mulled over this new information. “Do you have Ms. Baxter’s contact information?”

  “Of course!” She sprang to her feet and went over to a desk on the other side of the room. “You’ll love Ruby. She’s the absolute best. I can’t tell you all the wonderful things she’s done for my career.”

  I was tempted to respond that I didn’t realize she had a career, but I held my tongue. So Harris and Starla had shared a publicist. If Harris had been trying to recapture some of his old fame, it might explain why he’d been dating Starla Strauss. Or maybe I was being cynical. He could have really cared about her.

  “Here’s her number.” Starla handed me a business card and then sat back down. “You should really think about consulting her, White Knight. You were hardly ever in the news before today.”

  “And I was fine with that.”

  “But it’s so
unfair. You were the best.”

  “I did my job, same as anyone else.”

  I tucked Ruby Baxter’s card into my pocket. Her contact information was probably all I was going to get out of this dinner. It was time to retreat.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I said, standing up. “It was delicious. But it’s late, and I should be getting home.”

  Starla’s hand shot out and grabbed mine. “But you barely ate anything. And we haven’t had dessert.”

  “I’m sorry. The investigation has me busy.”

  I tried to pry my hand from her grasp without using too much strength and hurting her, but she was clamped down like a drowning person on a life preserver.

  “I was hoping you could stay the night.”

  I looked her straight in the eye and said, “I’m married.”

  Her face took on a pouting expression I assumed was supposed to be attractive. “And your wife killed Harris. You must feel so betrayed.”

  I couldn’t believe the nerve of this woman. For a moment, I couldn’t even speak.

  “My wife didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I’m sure you want to believe that, but—”

  “The director of the DSA agrees with me.”

  Her mouth hung open, and I swear she turned several shades paler under her make-up.

  “I think we’re done here,” I said. “Thank you for—”

  She kissed me. I froze and cursed myself for dropping my guard. I should have seen this coming and dodged it like a punch. Her breath tasted like wine, and her greasy lipstick was getting slathered all over my mouth. She’d released her grip on me, at least, so I put my hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her away.

  “Starla, I don’t know how to make this any clearer—”

  The glass wall shattered.

  Chapter 5

  I spun around, my first instinct to put myself in front of Starla and shield her from whatever was coming. My assumption was bullets, and it was a good thing I was wrong, because I would’ve been too late to save her. But bullets hadn’t broken the glass.

  Giordano had.

  The glass shards crunched under his expensive leather shoes as he entered the room, his face twisted in rage. I reached for my cane only to realize Starla had knocked it to the floor as she screamed and tried to cling to me.

  “Run,” I told her.

  She ran… to the edge of the room, where she stopped to watch the fight, excitement plain in her eyes. Honestly, what had I expected? I turned back to Giordano—just in time to catch his punch full in the face.

  It knocked me across the room, where I crashed into one of the few walls in the house that wasn’t glass. The blow sounded like an explosion inside my skull, and then everything went fuzzily silent. Did I mention Giordano had super-strength too? Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. He was perfectly normal most of the time; his powers were a defense mechanism based on the amount of pain he was in. To make a long story short: you hurt him, and he gets stronger. Punch him in the gut, and he can arm-wrestle a guy twice his size. Kick him in the crotch, and he can tear down walls.

  I tried to stand, but my knee gave out. Luckily, Giordano helped me up by grabbing my collar with one hand and socking me in the jaw with the other. My vision flashed white, and it felt like he’d knocked off my jawbone. Val had once told me he used knives, needles, and a hot iron on himself to increase his power. Right now, I believed her. I hadn’t been hit like that in a long time.

  And I couldn’t hit back. It would just make him stronger.

  He kneed me in the stomach, and I bent over double, the breath gone from my lungs. He drove his elbow into the back of my neck. I crashed to the floor. My whole spine was aflame. I could barely think through the pain.

  “You can do it, White Knight!” Starla shouted. “I believe in you!”

  I grimaced—not in pain, but annoyance. Maybe if Giordano hit me in the head a few more times, my ears would start ringing again and block out her voice.

  “Shut up,” Giordano spat at her.

  It was a rare moment of solidarity with my enemy. I grabbed his ankle and pulled his foot out from under him, sending him toppling to the floor with me. With both of us down, I had a chance. Grappling, I could pin him rather than hit him. But Giordano must have known it, too, because he kicked me in the face and quickly scrambled back to his feet.

  But the attack had distracted him enough to give me a chance to push myself back up. My jaw, spine, skull, and stomach all screamed in protest, but they’d just have to deal with it. Giordano threw a punch, and I blocked it. My hand slid along his forearm until I grabbed his wrist and twisted it into a pain hold, pulling it behind his back. Giordano bent over and wrenched his body at an awkward angle.

  Then the bastard drove his foot into my bad knee.

  I fell like a cut tree, and Giordano had no qualms about kicking a man when he was down. He pummeled my back and head, and I wondered fuzzily why Lucio couldn’t have chosen a more efficient way of killing me than having me beaten to death. And why would he have me killed? Didn’t he want me to get his daughter out of jail?

  Unless he didn’t… Because if I failed, he could take back Elisa.

  I couldn’t let him do that. I rolled with the next kick, coming up into a kneeling position. Giordano charged, and I dove into him. I grabbed the backs of his knees and pulled while pushing forward with my shoulders. It wasn’t my best take-down, but it got the job done: it knocked Giordano onto his back.

  We grappled on the floor. I tried to pin him, but his fist shot up and hit me in the jaw again. Fresh waves of pain exploded through my head until I couldn’t feel anything else. Every fiber of my being was white hot with pain, and I’d had enough of it.

  I smacked him on the nose. Yes, it just made him stronger, but it stunned him long enough for me to get my arm around his neck in a choke-hold. He struggled, and he was strong, but I had the upper hand, and he had no oxygen.

  I let up on the pressure slightly to keep him from passing out.

  “Why did Lucio send you?”

  I was honestly surprised I could form words with the way my jaw was hurting. He didn't answer, so I squeezed. His eyes bulged, and he tried to throw me off, but I held tight. After a moment, I let up and repeated the question.

  “To watch you,” Giordano coughed out.

  “Watch me? Then why the hell are you trying to kill me?”

  “You bastard. Valentina is—” He choked and wheezed. “Valentina is rotting in jail, and you’re fooling around with some tramp?” His voice was raspy, and I could feel his vocal cords straining in his throat. “I should rip off your—”

  “Wait,” I said. “Wait. You think I’m cheating on Val? That’s why you attacked me?”

  I released my choke-hold in disgust and slid off of him, sitting on the floor. Giordano breathed deeply and rubbed his neck. He was still glaring at me.

  “You were kissing her. I saw it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Giordano, this is Starla Strauss. She dated Supersonic. I was getting information from her that could help me prove Val’s innocence. Nothing more.” I turned to where Starla was watching. “And I’m sorry, Starla, but I’ve done everything I can to make it clear that I’m just here on business.”

  Giordano surveyed me suspiciously. I looked him straight in the eyes in return.

  “I love Val,” I said. “I’m doing everything I can to help her.”

  He broke eye contact and spat on the floor. He heaved himself to his feet—lucky him, not having to deal with the pain of getting beaten to a pulp by some idiot—and smoothed out his suit jacket.

  “You’re full of shit,” he said. “And I’m going to dump your body in the bay when Valentina’s done with you.”

  He stalked off through the shattered glass wall, not the type of man to apologize for hundreds of dollars of property damage or to ask if I needed a doctor. I wished I could have insulted him as he left, but my head was pounding too hard for me to come up with an
ything clever. Instead, I looked around for my cane. It was lying on the floor by the couch. I wanted to crawl toward it, but Starla was watching, and I still had some dignity left. I stood up, limped over, and bent down to pick it up. My knee seized painfully, and I hissed and nearly fell again. This evening was going to play havoc on my body for weeks to come.

  Starla was still standing against the wall, watching silently. She must have been in shock. You’d think a person who actively threw herself into life-threatening situations would handle this sort of thing better. Or maybe it was my outright denial of any interest in her that had done it, but she must be used to that, too.

  “I’m sorry for the damage,” I said. “Send me the bill, and I’ll pay for everything.”

  “It’s all right,” she said faintly. “Are you sure you won’t stay? You don’t look like you should be driving.”

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you again for dinner.”

  I felt bad about leaving her to clean up the mess, but in my condition, I wouldn’t be much help. Once in the car, I tried to assess if I was truly fit to drive. Everything hurt, and a glance in the rearview mirror showed bruises, but I didn’t feel dizzy. I started up the car and headed home.

  Ten minutes later, I realized I’d forgotten to talk to Treasure.

  Twenty minutes after, that I got home, aching and exhausted. There were so many things I was frustrated and worried about; I just didn’t have enough energy for them all. My plan was simple: pain meds, ice packs, and bed. In that order. Or maybe I would skip the first two steps and just collapse into bed.

  I was limping badly as I came inside from the garage. The first thing I heard was Elisa’s voice in the next room. She sounded almost like her usual self, and that alone made me feel better. At least one problem was improving rather than getting worse.

  “It’s just way too much to take in,” she said, “All the time.”

  “You’ll learn to block it out. You’re doing it right now, or else you would’ve sensed your father coming home.”