“Sorry ladies,” I said to the two as we got closer to them. “We were discussing a very large and very impressive work of art. My friend here got overly excited.”
“Oh really?” the one on the right said. “What’s it called?”
“South Of The Border,” Ginny said. “And it’s not nearly as impressive as he says it is.” As we strolled past them, the older women looked at each other, puzzled.
“Hey!” I protested once we were out of earshot of the two. “That’s not what you said the other night.”
Ginny grinned at me.
“You didn’t say I was not young the other night,” she said.
We made our way out of the modern art portion of the museum and into the part that housed the paintings of several of the Old Masters.
“This is more like it,” I said, stopping in front of a Rembrandt. It was The Night Watch, on loan from the Amsterdam Museum. The painting was huge—about twelve feet by fourteen feet—and it dominated the wall it was on and the room it occupied. “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like. And, I like this. I have a theory about art. I have zero artistic ability. If I can make it, then it’s not art. The painting Young Girl In Repose? Give me a bunch of paint and a bottle of scotch, and I’ll bet you I can paint it. Or, something so close to it most people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. But this?” I said, pointing at the Rembrandt. “This I could not reproduce if you put a gun to my head and gave me twenty years to do it.”
We sat on the cushioned bench in front of the Rembrandt. We looked at the masterpiece silently for a little bit. A uniformed guard stood at the other end of the square room. She was unarmed. She looked straight ahead with an unseeing thousand yard stare.
“You know, if I ever get sick of the Hero business, I could just rob museums for a living,” I said in a low voice to Ginny. “More specifically, this one. The guards are unarmed, and, though there are security cameras, a ski mask would take care of getting identified. Plus, some of the cameras are at the wrong angle, creating some blind spots. With my pistol and a free arm, I would walk out of this place with enough pieces to set myself up for several lifetimes.”
“I guess being with a guy who cases every place he goes into is the downside of dating a professional crime-fighter,” Ginny said. “I know you wouldn’t actually rob this or any other place. Even if you weren’t a Hero, you’d still be the most honest person I know.”
I sighed.
“Unfortunately, you’re right,” I said. “Alas, an excess of virtue is keeping me from a lucrative life of crime. Well, that and the fear of going to prison. I’m too pretty for prison.”
“Your nose has been broken too many times for the adjective ‘pretty’ to apply,” Ginny said. She touched my cheek with affection. “Ruggedly handsome is more like it. And, not to throw a wet blanket on your museum heist, but we had to go through a metal detector at the door to get in here. You wouldn’t be able to bring a gun in.”
I snorted.
“Getting a gun past the Barney Fife character they have at the door would be simplicity itself,” I said. “Did you see what he did with your purse after it triggered the metal detector? All he did was make you open it, and he barely glanced inside of it while poking inside it with a wooden stick. If I were inclined to smuggle my gun inside, all I would have to do would be to bury it at the bottom of your purse under your other things.”
“Wait—is that why you asked for my purse before we came in here?” Ginny asked. She sounded outraged. “You told me you wanted some kleenex.” She reached for her purse, a large tote bag that she had put next to her. My hand stopped hers.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I already took it out while you were in the bathroom.” My zipped up jacket obscured the now-holstered gun from view. ”I made sure I was standing in one of the blind spots I mentioned before when I made the transfer from your bag to my holster.” I grinned at her. “Besides, if it were still in your bag, what were you going to do just now? Pull it out and start waving it around? I’d have to arrest you for unlicensed possession of a firearm. How would it look for an upstanding Hero such as myself to be dating a hardened criminal?”
Ginny gave me a long-suffering sigh.
“Remember when I said you were the most honest person I knew? Well, I take it back.” She smiled at me with affection. “In addition to you being a gun smuggler and a potential art thief, you are all of about six-years-old. I think you brought your gun in here just because you thought you could do it and get away with it. Also, you have a juvenile problem with authority and being told what to do.”
“Nuh-uh!” I said. Ginny rolled her eyes at me. I grinned. After a few moments, I sobered. I shook my head, thinking of my earlier discussion with Shadow.
“The run-in I had with that Meta earlier today got me thinking about all these rules I’m supposed to follow,” I said. “As a Hero, I mean. If I encounter her or someone like her again—and in my line of work, I’m bound to—there’s not a bunch of rules she is going to follow. She’s just going to do whatever seems most effective.” I sighed. “I guess me bringing a gun in here was my silly little way of not conforming to the rules for a change. Sorry. I shouldn’t have used your purse.” I smiled ruefully. “But, it was either that or shove it up one of my orifices.”
“Yikes! I think you made the right choice by using my purse.”
Ginny leaned her head against my shoulder. We were quiet for a while. Though people flitted in and out of our field of vision, it was as if we were alone in the museum.
“I’m glad you decided to take this job working for Eugene,” Ginny suddenly said. “You not working was starting to worry me. Your drinking, too. I’m glad you stopped.”
Her words startled me. I had not told her I had stopped drinking. In fact, we had not discussed my drinking at all, though I had not hidden it from her.
I pulled away a bit and looked down at her. “What makes you think I stopped?” I said.
“Well, for one thing you don’t smell like a brewery anymore,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “When I first met you, you did not drink at all. You said having superpowers and drinking did not mix well.” She hesitated. “Then, when Clara died, you started drinking. You were half drunk every time I saw you after Clara died, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. I didn’t say anything because I figured you were grieving for Clara, and that drinking was your way of dealing with it. You wouldn’t be the first to self-medicate using a bottle.” Ginny smiled humorlessly. “I’ve been known to do that a time or two myself. Sometimes a couple of shots of tequila are better medicine than aspirin. They taste better too.”
She shook her head.
“But, it was starting to look like you had climbed down into the bottom of a bottle, and that you weren’t particularly interested in climbing back out. Though you still had potential clients come to you, you turned them all away and just drank and sulked, even with me. I was worried about you. Still am. I’m glad to see you took another case and that you stopped drinking to do it.”
“To be honest, I don’t know if I’ve have stopped drinking so much as paused. Eugene made me promise to not drink while I work for him.” I smiled ruefully. “He was probably afraid I would shoot him by accident if I didn’t.”
“So you’re going to start drinking again once you finish working for him?” She looked concerned.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I hit the bottle pretty hard for a while. My body started to rely on it. Even now, I have a bit of a headache and feel shaky. If it weren’t for the promise I made to Eugene, I probably would be half in the bag right now.”
“What about what you said when we first went out? About how alcohol and being a superhero did not mix?”
“I still think that.” I sighed. “It’s just that drinking helps me forget about Clara for a little while. No, that’s not quite right. I never forget about her. Drinking makes me not feel so badly about her. It takes the edge of
f the grief. Dulls it. That, and it helps dull the anger I feel at myself for having failed her.”
Ginny put her hand on my thigh.
“You didn’t fail her,” she said.
“If that’s true, why is the Pied Piper still alive and she is still dead?”
Ginny didn’t answer. I didn’t blame her. I had been mulling that question over for months. I still didn’t have an answer either. I stared up at the Rembrandt painting. The men depicted in it looked back at me mutely. They did not have an answer either. There was a lot of that going around.
“Is that why you were talking about not following the rules earlier?” Ginny eventually said. “You think if you had not followed the rules and killed the Pied Piper before he abducted Clara again that she would still be alive? That you failed her by not killing him?”
“Yes.”
Ginny twisted around to face me.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “If you had broken the rules and killed him, that is when you would have failed her. You are a Hero. You’re supposed to set an example for Clara and the rest of us. If you start killing people because it’s convenient and become a one man judge, jury, and executioner, you’re no better than the Pied Piper or the woman you faced earlier today or anybody else who thinks they can do exactly what they want to do just because they are powerful enough to do it.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. Shadow also said something similar earlier today. But, another insistent voice in my head keeps whispering that sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. That, sometimes, you have to be like a supervillain in order to effectively deal with them. I think that’s why I’ve been drinking so much. I’ve been trying to drown out that voice.”
Ginny put her hands into mine.
“And how has that been working out?” she asked.
“Not so well so far. That voice is a persistent little bugger. Maybe the problem is I’ve been drinking mostly scotch. Maybe I should try some of that tequila you mentioned earlier.”
We held hands quietly for a while.
“Do you think you have a drinking problem?” Ginny suddenly asked. She said it like she was afraid of the answer. I did not have to mull the question over. I already knew the answer.
“Yes. I most definitely do. It is not terribly surprising. There is a history of alcoholism in my family,” I said. “Me drinking so much so fast probably has a genetic component. Not that that’s an excuse. When I was younger I drank sometimes. I stopped then because it was turning into a problem. No one forced me to pick up a bottle again.”
I sighed.
“Did I ever tell you how my parents and sister died?” I asked. Ginny shook her head no. I did not know why I asked. I knew I had never told anyone before. “When I was fourteen, they died in a car crash. My father was driving. They were on the way home after eating out. They ran off the road and hit a tree. They were speeding. Apparently Dad had not even tried to brake before hitting the tree. Maybe he had too much to drink to see it. Both my parents were drunk according to their blood alcohol levels. Neither of them had on a seatbelt. They were thrown through the windshield at impact.” I took a long breath. My throat felt tight. “They died at the scene. My sister Helen was in the back seat and was wearing a seatbelt. It did not do her much good. She died two days after the crash in the hospital.”
“My God, Truman. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” Ginny squeezed my hand.
“I like drinking. I like the sound of the splash of the liquid dropping into the glass, the way the smell burns the back of my nose, the way it tastes, and the way it makes me feel. No, I don’t just like it, I love it. And, like I said, it helps me feel not quite so bad about Clara.” I turned a bit to look directly at Ginny. “But I need to stop. I have to. Before I wind up like my parents and get myself killed. Or worse—get someone else killed.”
“Can you stop?” Ginny asked. Her eyes were big blue swimming pools.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I honestly don’t know.”
CHAPTER 10
“Have I mentioned lately what a terrible idea this is?” I asked Eugene as I drove.
“Not in the last five minutes, no,” Eugene said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eugene grin at me from the passenger seat. “If I wind up getting killed tonight, feel free to tell me ‘I told you so.’”
I shook my head at him and did not respond. This really was a terrible idea. But, he was the boss as he had firmly reminded me at his house less than an hour before.
I was driving Eugene’s BMW sports utility vehicle down the highway, doing my best to look to the side and behind us for potential danger all without crashing into the cars ahead of us. If I ever took a bodyguarding job again, I would be sure to have my head detached and remounted on a swivel first. It was Saturday night. The female Meta’s attack on him had happened four days before. I was hyper-conscious of the notion another attack could occur. I did not think we were being followed. It was nighttime and the highway we were on was busy, though, so it was impossible to be sure. I kept looking out of the rear view and the side mirrors, but in the darkness, all the headlights and cars looked about the same. Normally Shadow was in charge of Eugene at night, but she and I had swapped shifts to change things up and break up the monotony.
I took a right exit off of the highway, as did several cars ahead of us and even more behind us. The base of my skull itched. I was jumpier than a Mexican jumping bean as I kept an eye on the cars behind us through the mirrors. I still had not had a drink. I very badly wanted one. Though I did not like the fact that cars were behind us, the fact they were behind us did not mean they were following us. Eugene and I were heading to the Golden Horseshoe Casino, which was a very popular destination after all. The cars behind us were probably just heading to the casino to blow off some steam and some excess money, and not to blow Eugene’s head off. Even so, I fantasized about shooting at the cars behind us, just to be on the safe side. After all, one of them might have contained a superpowered assassin. I did not give in to the fantasy. The police frowned on people shooting at random cars on the off chance one of them might contain an assassin. Spoilsports.
I looped around the exit to wind up on Casino Way. There were not nearly as many cars on this road as there had been on the highway. I felt even more exposed. With fewer cars to blend in with, it occurred to me a Meta flying overhead would be able to track us as readily as a lion tracked a gazelle on an open plain right before pouncing and ripping its throat out. I wished the thought had not occurred to me. I also wished I had not watched so many nature documentaries.
The female Metahuman making an attempt on Eugene’s life days before had been enough to convince Eugene my earlier advice had been correct and that he should stay at home so Shadow and I could guard him more effectively. But, after a couple of days of home confinement, Eugene had gotten antsier than a whore at a nunnery. I did not particularly enjoy being stuck at Eugene’s house either having little more to do than stare at all the pictures of Eugene and his wife Gloria and his stepdaughter Sabrina. Everyone looked so happy in those pictures. It reminded me I had no family. In addition to my immediate family being dead, I did not have kids or a wife. Though being constantly surrounded by mementos of Eugene’s happy family made me a bit sad, being a bit sad was better than being run over by a car driven by a homicidal Metahuman. Most things were better than being run over by a homicidal Metahuman.
The Felonious Five trial was about two weeks away. Eugene had said after a couple of days of being stuck at home he did not know how he was going to stand staying home until the trial started. By the time Saturday had rolled around, he said he could not take being stuck at home anymore. He had said he wanted to go to the Golden Horseshoe to play poker. I had refused. Eugene had argued that with all the security and cameras at the casino, he would be safer there than at home. I refused again. He had said I had proven myself to be more than capable of protecting him. I had refused again. Then, he had played his tru
mp card: he was the client, I was his employee, and if I wanted to continue to get paid, I would do as he said. I had reluctantly given in. If Eugene played poker like he played that trump card, he would bankrupt the other players.
After a few minutes of driving on Casino Way, the Golden Horseshoe Casino loomed into view like the Rock of Gibraltar in a sea of greed, desperation, and squandered mortgage payments. The casino was located just a few miles outside of Astor City. The tall, sprawling, onyx and silver building was lit up like the set of a movie. If I said you could see the building from space, I would be exaggerating. But I wouldn’t be exaggerating much. The Golden Horseshoe was the largest casino on the east coast of the United States. You could not build a building like that by making sure all your gambling customers were winners. That fundamental mathematical fact did not deter people from flocking to the casino like bees to honey. As someone who enjoyed playing poker from time to time in the past myself, the fact that the house ultimately always won did not deter me either. The records I kept about my playing showed I won more than I lost. The strange thing was, everyone always thought they won more than they lost. Casino owners had been getting rich on that fallacy for years.
I pulled off of Casino Way and into the parking garage of the casino. The fact people flocked to the casino was clear from how packed the parking garage was. Most casinos did the bulk of their business on the weekend, and the Golden Horseshoe was no exception. It being Saturday night, cars were packed like sardines in the six-story structure of the garage.
I wound my way slowly up the parking garage, looking for both assassins and an open parking spot. I hoped to find neither. I hoped there would not be a place to park and we would have to turn around and go back to Eugene’s house. It was not to be. On the fourth floor of the garage the density of the parked cars thinned and we found a parking place. I pulled into it. Why was it parking spots were nowhere to be found when you desperately wanted one, yet readily available when you fervently wished they were not? Speaking as a man, that was also true of erections. Who would have guessed erections and parking spots were equally perverse?
Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot Page 7