I had a thought as to another reason why Shadow might want to help me find the Meta. I probably should have kept quiet, but sometimes I simply could not help myself.
“Could it also be that since I’ve gone up against this Meta twice and let her get away and also since I’m not one hundred percent right now, you don’t want me going out by myself and getting myself killed?” I asked.
“That has nothing to do with it,” Shadow said. Despite her words, the tone in her voice told me I had stumbled on the truth.
“Yes, it does,” I said triumphantly. Though it hurt, I grinned. “You care too much about me to see me killed. Could it be that, despite your pretended indifference, you really like me?”
“No.” Shadow’s jaw was clenched. My grin widened. I felt the stitches in my lip come apart a bit. I tasted blood. It was worth it. I gently hit myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand.
“Oh my God, Shadow, how could I not have seen it before?” I said in mock surprise. “It’s been as plain as the nose on my face. You don’t just like me. You love me. I guess my charms are just too powerful for you to resist. I would be lying if I said I’m not flattered. But alas, my heart belongs to another.” I sighed dramatically. “But, in another time and place, our love would be the stuff of legend. Poets would run out of ink writing odes to our love; bards would sing themselves hoarse about our yearning.”
“One more word, funny man, and I will finish what those inmates started,” Shadow said ominously. I laughed, and was sorry I did so. Laughing hurt. Discretion being the better part of valor, I wisely did not speak of it again. I was pretty sure she was kidding about her threat. But better safe than sorry.
The car fell silent for a bit.
“So, do you have a plan to track this Meta down?” Shadow asked after a while. “I hope it’s better than your plan to ask around in jail. That one did not work out so well.”
“No,” I answered honestly. “But, we’ll think of something. As soon as I take a shower and put on some clean clothes, we’ll get started.”
“No,” Shadow said firmly. “You are going to shower and then get into bed and sleep the rest of the day. We will get started tomorrow after you get a decent night’s sleep.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but doing so made me wince in pain. She was right.
“Yes, Mother,” I said instead. I almost said lover instead of mother. I stopped myself in time. Shadow had already warned me once. Unlike in baseball, Shadow believed in only one strike.
Eventually, Shadow pulled in front of the red brick facade of my four story condominium complex.
“Truman,” Shadow said before I got out. She twisted in her seat to face me. Her sunglasses were off. Her deep, dark eyes bore into mine. “While we’re looking for this Meta, I think it would be a good idea if you did not drink.” There was no judgment in her tone. It was just a flat statement of fact.
“I agree,” I said without hesitation. “I won’t.” And, I meant it. I had learned my lesson.
I prayed I was strong enough to keep my word.
***
Much later, I stood in my bedroom with a towel around my waist. I had just gotten out of the shower. Before she had left, I had asked Shadow if she wanted to watch me shower. She had told me no. Sometimes, a person’s mouth said no, but her eyes said yes. In Shadow’s case, both her eyes and mouth had said no. It was puzzling. Maybe she was not in love with me after all.
I took the towel off and surveyed my bruised body in my bedroom’s full-length mirror. I looked like a tenderized slab of meat, as if I had been put into a bag and beaten with a stick.
Despite my joking around with Shadow, I felt as badly as I looked. Because of me, Eugene was dead. My jokes were my way of dealing with a world that was oftentimes more grim than it was funny. As part of the Hero Trials, potential Heroes were required to undergo extensive psychological evaluations. One of the psychologists who had conducted mine said humor was my coping mechanism. She was right. Then again, psychologists used to think they could assess your personality by examining the bumps on your head. Phrenology, it was called. So, what the hell did those head-groping witch doctors really know?
Despite looking and feeling badly, I was still alive and kicking. Though I had been beaten by both the female Meta and the non-Meta inmates, one thing being a professional fighter had taught me was that it did not matter how many times you got knocked down. What mattered was how many times you got back up again.
First I had to find the Metahuman who had killed Eugene. Then it would be time to knock her down for a change.
I looked forward to it.
CHAPTER 15
The next day, I pulled into the parking lot for Precinct Five of the Astor City Police Department. The squat, characterless, cinder block, two-story building looked more like a jail than the jail I had just been in. Working in an ugly, sterile-looking building like that would depress me. Maybe the architecture was intentional. Perhaps the designer had wanted to encourage the police officers it housed to go out and solve crimes rather than lounge around in a comfortable building swapping lies and eating doughnuts. If so, the strategy had worked. At least in part. I knew a lot of cops who spent almost no time at the precinct, and instead spent most of their time lounging around coffee shops eating doughnuts. Things rarely worked out the way you intended them to.
All the parking spaces near the building were clearly labelled “For police only.” Ever a good citizen with a well-known habit of doing as I was told, I drove past those spots. I instead parked in a space next to the main entrance labelled “Park.” I happened to know Deputy Chief Hye Park was out of the country on vacation. It seemed a shame to let her space go to waste. Besides, it said “Park” right there on the sign. I was a stickler for following directions.
I struggled to get out of my car. Every movement of my battered body set the pain centers of my brain on fire despite the fact I had taken more of the pain medication the jail doctors had given me. I had two days left of the medication. Once it was out, I did not plan on refilling it. I would just have to suffer through the pain. The medication was a powerful opioid. It would be all too easy to get addicted to the stuff. I did not want to trade an alcohol addiction in for a pill addiction. I had enough problems as it was.
I went slowly into the precinct building. Though indoor smoking had been banned in city buildings years ago, the building still smelled faintly of smoke. It was as if the smell of cigarettes had leeched into the building’s dull yellow walls. Maybe it was the years of cigarette smoke that had made the walls yellow. I suppressed a grimace of pain with each step. I felt like death warmed over. But, I did not want to show weakness around all these cops. I had brought a box of doughnuts with me. If I showed a hint of weakness, they might try to take them away from me. I had considered bringing a cutlass into the police station with me for doughnut defense purposes. I already looked like a pirate thanks to my eyepatch. Why not go whole hog? I had thought better of it. Police tended to frown on sword-wielders, especially when the swords were being wielded on police property. Killjoys. I had also thought about carrying a parrot, but the last thing I needed was something on my shoulder that would squawk about my recent failures. My conscience was already doing a great job of it. It did not need help. Plus, risking bird poop on my shoulder was a threat to my Heroic dignity. As if an eyepatch was not enough.
I threaded my way through a maze of desks in a large open area. Some of the desks were empty, while others had blue-uniformed cops behind them filling out paperwork, or talking on the phone, or both. Small offices for detectives and senior police personnel lined the perimeter of the area. I went to one of them and stood in the doorway. Homicide Detective Glenn Pearson was seated behind his desk. He was the man I had come here to see. My people-finding skills were clearly on point. The Metahuman who had killed Eugene did not stand a chance.
I rapped on the open door. Glenn looked up from what he was writing.
“Writing a letter to the
police chief recommending I get a crime-fighting commendation?” I asked him. “I appreciate the thought, but I do not do what I do for thanks or glory. Like virtue, crime-busting is its own reward.”
“It is a good thing you do not do what you do for glory,” Glenn said, “as you did not exactly cover yourself in glory letting Mr. Poindexter get killed.” Good to see you too, I thought. “Thanks to you, the Felonious Five are going to wind up beating a murder rap. And to think I recommended to Mr. Poindexter that he hire you.” Glenn’s protruding eyes glared at me balefully. He shook his head in disgust. “You really shit the bed on this one Truman.”
I sighed.
“Not exactly elegantly put. But as much as I hate to admit it, you are one hundred percent right,” I said. I held up the box I was carrying. “On the upside, I brought doughnuts.”
“Not jelly-filled, I hope.”
“Of course not. I know you have terrible taste and do not like jelly-filled.”
“Well, at least you’ve gotten something right,” Glenn said. “Come in and close the door. I don’t want the other cops seeing me consorting with a known screw-up and jailbird.”
I closed the door. I put the doughnuts down on Glenn’s desk and then sat in the chair across from him. Glenn opened the box. He examined the contents carefully. He pulled out a doughnut with pink frosting and red sprinkles. He took a bite. He did not like jelly-filled doughnuts, yet he would happily eat one with pink frosting and red sprinkles. It was un-American.
A sprinkle fell onto Glenn’s rumpled shirt and was soon lost in the wrinkles. Glenn’s clothes were always rumpled. I had known Glenn for years. I could not remember a time when he did not looked like the bottom of a laundry basket. I wondered, not for the first time, if he or his wife were aware of the existence of irons and dry-cleaners. Maybe, because Mother Nature had decided against making him terribly attractive, he had long stopped caring about his appearance. Glenn was squat, with short thick arms and legs and bulging eyes, like he had been a bullfrog in a former life. Perhaps that was why, despite his odd appearance, he could shoot the wings off a fly from a hundred feet away. Flies and frogs were ancient enemies. Glenn’s odd appearance often led people to underestimate him. He was one of the smartest people I knew. If he had ever forgotten something he had seen or heard, I did not know of it.
Glenn’s bulging eyes surveyed me as he chewed.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“That’s what people keep telling me. It’s a real boost to the old self-confidence. I’m thinking of licensing my image to some Halloween companies so they can make costumes based on me.”
“Next time, don’t start a jailhouse fight,” Glenn said. Clearly my run-in at the jail was the talk of the law enforcement set.
“Hey, I didn’t start that fight,” I protested.
“Judging from the way you look, you didn’t finish it either. So what do you want? I’m guessing you want something in exchange for these doughnuts. How about advice? You need to duck more.”
I shook my head.
“Your cynicism saddens me,” I said. “But, this time, you are right. I do want something. I’m told this precinct is in charge of investigating Eugene Poindexter’s death. I want to take a look at the security footage from the casino. I would get it from the casino directly, but since I caused a lot of damage when I was there, I suspect they would not be inclined to help me.”
“And you thought I would?”
I shrugged. “I did bring you doughnuts.”
Glenn just looked at me. Though we had known each other for years, we were hardly friends. I got the impression my recent behavior was not going to change that.
“You are right that we are investigating Eugene’s death,” Glenn finally said. “And we do have the footage from the casino. I have seen it. That’s how I know you were off flirting with a waitress and getting a drink when you should have been protecting Mr. Poindexter. Haven’t you already done enough as it is? Maybe you should just let us handle it.”
I felt like a student in the principal’s office. The worse part was I knew Glenn was right.
“I admit it: I screwed up. Big time. If I had not left him, maybe Eugene would still be here. He would be able to testify against the Felonious Five and help to put them away for good. But I did leave him, and Eugene is gone. There’s nothing I can do to change that. I would if I could. Believe me—as terrible as I look, I feel worse. But I can’t dwell on feeling badly. It does no good, and might serve to make things worse.” Glenn just stared at me as I spoke. I thought of Clara Barton and how me crawling into a bottle had ultimately led to Eugene being murdered. Being a Hero and a private detective were not things you should be doing if you were not at your best. What I let happen to Eugene was ample proof of that. How many other people might I endanger if I did not turn things around and get my act together? Catching Eugene’s murderer would not bring him back—Clara, either—but it was a step in the right direction.
“The only thing I can do now is try to make sure Eugene’s killer is brought to justice,” I said. Glenn continued to look at me with his bulging eyes. “I’m normally too proud to beg, but if that’s what you want me to do, I’ll do it. Since my legs ache and kneeling down will be difficult, I’m hoping the doughnuts are enough to sway you.” I found my lips twisting into a slight smile. It hurt. I willed my lips to stop. Who would have guessed how many muscles smiling used, and how much those muscles would ache after one’s face was pounded on for a while?
Glenn regarding me silently. After a while, he shifted in his seat and sighed.
“You and I have known each other a long time,” he said. “Though you’re a royal pain the in the ass and you think you’re smarter than you are, you’re still pretty smart. Stubborn too. Which is why I know that despite anything I say, if you have your mind set on finding Eugene’s killer, that is exactly what you’re going to try to do. Maybe you will find her. As a Hero, you have abilities and resources we do not. Or, maybe you’ll simply continue to get yourself beat up and shot up. Maybe even killed. That would be quite the early Christmas present for the residents of Astor City.” Glenn’s mouth twitched. “I might even go to the funeral. To make sure you’re really dead. If I can get the day off.”
“If all this is your idea of a compliment, I’d hate to see you insult me.”
Glenn ignored me. He tapped on his desktop computer’s keyboard. After a minute or two, he turned his attention back to me.
“Because I am a police officer who has sworn to uphold the law and you were involved in Mr. Poindexter’s death, not to mention being a potential future convict, I am officially warning you to leave the investigation of Mr. Poindexter’s death to the proper authorities. I would not be doing my duty if I did not say that to you,” Glenn said. He stood, and moved to the closed door. “I am going to go get some coffee from the machine to wash these doughnuts down. I’ll go outside to enjoy it in the sunshine. I’ll probably be gone for thirty minutes or so. I just pulled the casino’s surveillance footage up on my computer so I can look at it again when I get back.” Glenn’s mouth twitched again. “Under no circumstances while I’m gone are you to look at it. Evidence of an ongoing criminal investigation is held in the strictest confidence.”
Glenn opened the door and stepped out. Before he closed it, he hesitated. He came back in. He scooped the box of doughnuts off the top of his desk while glowering at me. He left, closing the door after himself. Untrusting bastard.
I got up, moved gingerly to the other side of Glenn’s desk, and eased back down behind it. I poked at his computer keyboard. Fortunately, operating his computer was so easy, a monkey could do it. Unfortunately, I did not have any monkeys handy. It took me longer than it probably should have to figure out how to view the casino footage already queued up on the screen. Computer literacy was not something they trained you on in preparation for standing for the Hero Trials.
Once I finally got the footage rolling, I watched it closely. It was surrea
l watching myself and Eugene in the high stakes area of the poker room. Though I looked badly now thanks to my wounds and bruises, I looked pretty bad in the footage as well. I looked nervous and jittery, like I was a drug addict jonesing for a hit. Maybe I was. I found myself flushing in shame as I watched myself walk out of the view of the high stakes area’s cameras on my way to the bathroom. Shortly after I left, the cameras captured the white-haired female Metahuman shift positions. She moved from where she had been standing outside the rail to actually stepping into the high stakes area. The woman’s face was hidden, as if her features had been pixelated. I blinked, and looked closer. No, I was not mistaken: the woman’s face, unlike everyone else’s the cameras captured, was obscured. I wondered if the effect was a side-effect of her powers. So much for the idea I had earlier to run the woman’s face through the Heroes’ Guild’s registry of registered Metahumans. Nothing was ever easy.
As I watched, wishing I could time travel to go back and change the ending, the woman got into a position where there was no one between her and Eugene. She looked to be about twenty feet from him. A beam of light shot out from her face, hitting Eugene in the chest. Pandemonium ensued in the high stakes area. Not that there was really any doubt in my mind, but it was still good to see with my own eyes the fact the woman I had fought in the casino had been responsible for shooting Eugene. Well, it was not exactly good to see it. Poor choice of words.
After shooting Eugene, the woman calmly turned around and left the high stakes area, and, eventually, the entire poker room. She moved as calmly as a tourist on holiday. The calm way she acted, not drawing attention to herself, reinforced the impression I already had that this was not the woman’s first rodeo.
The version of the footage I watched continued to follow the woman through the casino until I confronted her. Since I already knew how that part had gone down, I was tempted to fast forward through it. I resisted the notion and forced myself to watch the entire incident. Since I was no longer in the heat of the moment, perhaps I would stumble upon a clue as to how to find the woman. I did not. As I watched though, I had the feeling again I had seen the woman before. I had that feeling when I had been in the casino, but I had chalked that up to previously seeing the woman in Perk Up. As I watched the footage in Glenn’s office, I got the feeling again. It seemed like I had seen this woman before, and not just in the coffee shop. As I watched the rest of my fight with the woman play out, I tried to place her. I could not. Maybe it was just my imagination, anyway. Or, maybe I was confusing her with someone I had dealt with or seen before. I had dealt with a lot of people over the years.
Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot Page 12