CHAPTER 7
I was in the middle of composing my superhero dream team—with yours truly as the leader, of course—when George finally made his appearance. I glanced down at the dashboard. It was almost 3 p.m. I had been waiting for George for hours.
George was no longer in his gym clothes. He was dressed in dark jeans, a white dress shirt, and had on a tan suede jacket. He looked like a million bucks. So did the stylishly dressed woman who was clinging to his arm like she would float away if she let go of him. I had seen her in the gym before. She would have been hard to miss. She was probably in her early fifties, though a very well-preserved and maintained early fifties. She had the face of a woman in her thirties.
The woman had the kind of figure Aphrodite herself would have been envious of. I knew this because her curves were impossible to ignore, and she had not been afraid to show them off in her tight workout clothes when I had seen her a couple of days before. It was likely her natural endowments had gotten some assistance from a surgeon’s knife. If not, she was just naturally gifted. Very, very gifted.
My close examination of her days before—again, one never knew where a clue might be lurking—had revealed a wedding ring that was studded with diamonds and an engagement ring sporting a stone big enough to choke an elephant. The only reason I had pegged her to be much older than her face and body indicated her to be was her hands. Look to the hands to get a true indication of a woman’s age.
Why did I have the feeling George, who was a couple of decades her junior, had not been the man who had given her the wedding and engagement rings she sported?
When I had initially set out to locate George, I had thought I would confront the man once I found him and get him to stop his attempt to blackmail Eileen. Once I saw George and the older woman together, my plan immediately changed. I decided to follow him around for a bit and see how things unfolded. Perhaps I would uncover something that would give me leverage over George. Know your enemy, Sun Tzu said. I heartily agreed.
Besides, detective work was all about things like this: blundering about, scoping out the landscape, and finding out about things you didn’t know. You never knew what fact might be important, what bit of information would prove to be useful.
I watched George and the woman draped over him as they walked to the parking lot. They got to the first row of cars and stopped in front of a late model luxury car. They started to kiss. The kiss lasted so long I admired the lung capacity of the two. Not that I needed it, but it was further confirmation the two, despite their age difference, were not mother and son. Unless, of course, they were European royalty or one of those Appalachian families who believed incest was best.
Just when I was starting to think the two of them were going to suffer from brain damage due to oxygen deprivation, they finally broke their kiss and came up for air. George said something. The woman laughed. She put her hand on his chest and let it linger there. She slowly moved it down his body until it pressed against his crotch. I was pretty sure she was not frisking him for a weapon.
They spoke briefly before kissing again. Then, the woman got into the luxury car. Her headlights blinked on, though the car did not move. George walked away through the rows of cars. Within seconds, I had lost sight of him. I stayed where I was. I was not worried about losing him.
Over half of the human body is made up of water. It was child’s play to lock onto George’s water content with my powers and follow him with my mind through the parking lot. There were few people in the lot then, and even if there had been more people, I had already made note of the water profile of George’s body. I would not lose track of George in the lot. Besides, I had a hunch George and the women were not quite finished with one another.
I continued to monitor George’s movements with my powers. In a minute or two, a car containing George pulled up and idled in the lane in front of the woman’s car. George honked. The woman’s car pulled out, and George followed behind in his car. I started my own car and pulled out behind the two after giving them a bit of time to pull some distance away from me.
I was still locked onto George’s body with my powers. But, even if I had not been, following George and the woman would have been a piece of cake. Tailing someone without being spotted is Private Detecting 101. As we all drove, I weaved in and out of traffic, always keep a reasonable distance from George’s car, sometimes letting other cars get between us, sometimes following directly behind him. If he became aware of my presence, I would turn in my license.
As we drove, I thought about how simple it would be to end Eileen’s problem with George right then and there if I were less scrupulous. My powers of water manipulation extended to not just pure water, but anything water based. The greater the water content, the more effective my powers. Blood, for example, was about ninety-two percent water. Though I could not manipulate blood in such detail as I had been able to change Eileen’s drinking water into a water dragon earlier, I could still manipulate blood’s water content enough to do a bunch of things with it. I could have made George’s blood boil. Or, I could have made it freeze. It little mattered which: George would be equally dead either way. Or, I could have made the molecules of water in his blood be violently repellant to one another. They would have to clean up George’s body with tweezers. Or, I could have removed some water from George’s blood to thicken it sufficiently. Or, I could have prevented George’s blood from absorbing oxygen. Or, I could have simply cut off the flow of blood to his brain.
There were any number of things I could have done to George using my powers, all without leaving a trace. It would have been simplicity itself to end George’s blackmailing of my client permanently.
I knew I was capable of doing all those things because I had done them before. My powers manifested themselves when I went through puberty, as was the case with most Metahumans. I was no scientist, but it was my understanding the hormonal change people went through during puberty triggered their latent Metahuman potential. When I was exploring the limits of my powers and struggling to master them as a teenager, I tested them out on animals, usually rodents and such. I am pretty sure I made a sizable dent in Astor City’s rat population between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. It got to the point where I loved using my powers on other creatures. I enjoyed the rush of having another life in the palm of my hand.
One day at school when I was sixteen, a classmate I did not particularly like bumped into me on purpose, knocking my books out of my hand. Without even thinking about it, I found myself gathering my will, preparing to expand the volume of blood in his brain.
Fortunately, though, I stopped myself before I actually did it. Once I relaxed my will, I found myself shuddering. I had almost killed someone. But, not only that. I had almost killed someone without thinking twice about, as casually as swatting a mosquito. I took a long, hard look at myself that day and at whom I was becoming. They said power corrupted, and absolute power corrupted absolutely. I realized that day I was letting my powers corrupt me, letting what I could do make me think I was not only different than regular people, but better than them. I was starting to think that just because I was a Metahuman, I could do what I wanted when I wanted. I imagined a lot of supervillains got their start that way.
I stopped my animal experiments that day. While in retrospect I regretted all the animal lives I took testing my powers, I was still glad I went through that experimental phase. It was like owning a gun: if you were going to have one, you needed to know how to use it. But, that did not mean you needed to go around shooting everything you saw.
Though I had killed people in the course of my life both with and without my powers, I had never done it frivolously or just because I could. There were certain personal rules I followed. The primary one was to never use my powers to hurt someone just because doing so would make my life easier. There were rules I was required to follow as a licensed Hero as well. The Heroes’ Guild’s rules and my own personal code often overlapped. But, not always. When the
Guild’s rules and my own rules conflicted, I followed my rules. To thine own self be true.
Killing George just because it was expedient to do so did not fall within the rules, either mine or the Guild’s. So, I simply followed him to see what I could find out about him rather than using my powers on him. Besides, maybe he and the woman he was following would continue to put on a show for me. I was as voyeuristic as the next guy. Probably more than the next guy, actually. I was a professional observer, after all.
I did not have much longer to wait to put my observational skills to use. After a less than thirty minute drive, George and the woman he followed pulled into the driveway of a house. I parked on the street as far as I could from the house while still being able to see the two. To merely say it was a house, though, was like calling the White House a house: the word was accurate as far as it went, but it did not quite capture the reality of the situation. The place the two pulled into was really more of a mansion.
A tall iron-wrought fence surrounded the grounds of the mansion. Through gaps in the foliage that was artfully intertwined throughout the fence, I saw George and the woman get out of their cars. George pawed at the woman as she opened the front door to the mansion. The two of them went inside. I did not need to use my water powers to surmise the two would soon be exchanging bodily fluids.
Once the two were out of sight, I put my idling car into gear and drove up the street a bit. I turned around and parked so I was a good distance away from the house’s driveway, but I could still see if anyone came or went.
I pulled out my cell phone. I brought up a real estate app I often used. I punched in the address for the house. It was owned by Edgar and Claire Morganthal. Edgar’s name sounded familiar, so I plugged his name into my web browser. A picture of him came up on my screen. Edgar was the chief executive officer of Triplex Tech, a big pharmaceutical company in Astor City. I recognized the picture and realized why Edgar’s name sounded familiar. I had seen him before on the news. He was one of the richest men in Astor City.
After surfing the web for a bit, I found a picture of Claire and Edgar that had been taken at a charity event. The caption identified the two as husband and wife. Though the picture was a few years old, Claire was clearly the woman George had gone into the house with. Also just as clearly, George was not Edgar. George was the junior of Edgar by at least a couple of decades.
Perhaps Claire and George were merely discussing world politics in the house. Or maybe they were making s’mores and giggling about the cute guys they had seen at the gym. Maybe, but I did not think it likely. It was more likely they were engaged in what we in the detective trade called the horizontal mambo.
Marital fidelity seemed to be rarer and rarer these days. It was enough to make me into a cynic.
I thought about what the world was coming to as I waited for George to make another appearance. I also thought about the fact it seemed Eileen was not the only one who had cheated on her husband with George. I wondered if George would also try to shake Claire down for money. I wondered if George made a habit out of sleeping with and blackmailing married women. I also wondered what Claire looked like without her clothes on and if her ample curves were real or manufactured. If I ever chatted with George, perhaps I would ask him.
Finally, I wondered how long George would be in the house with the woman. I was hungry. Sleuthing burned a lot of calories.
Unfortunately, whether the two were having sex or making s’mores, George seemed to have considerable staying power. It was shortly after 7 p.m. when George made another appearance. But, finally make an appearance he did. I was starting to think I might have to make a snack of my left arm when George’s car pulled out of the driveway again. I snapped myself out of my daydreams about steaks smothered in gravy and strawberry sundaes with walnuts, started my car, and started following George again.
I followed George outside of the city to a suburban area. He pulled into a large, luxury apartment complex on the northeastern side of town. The complex was not too far from Zenith Fitness. George parked in a lot behind one of the apartment buildings. I drove past his parked car and parked on the far side of the lot where I could still watch what George did.
He got out of his car. I followed him with my eyes, and then my powers when he was out of sight. He took some outdoor stairs to the second floor of the apartment complex. He reappeared to my view, and stopped in front of an apartment door. I watched George fumble at the door with a set of keys. The door opened, and George went in.
I got out of my car and took the same set of stairs George had. I walked around the second floor until I found the door George had gone into. No one else was around. I stood to the side of the door and used my powers to sense the presence of anyone inside. Other than one person, presumably George, no one else was in the apartment.
It seemed I had found where George lived. I made a mental note of his apartment number. It was like putting the number into a steel trap. I had a memory like an elephant.
When I got back to my car, I jotted down George’s apartment number and address before I drove off to finally get some food. Even elephants forgot things from time to time.
CHAPTER 8
The next morning I went into an Astor City Coffee location near George’s place shortly after it opened at 7 a.m. I had the barista fill my thermos with their dark roast and give me a separate large cup of their blonde roast. I usually made my own coffee at home and at my office. I was shocked by the total when the barista rang me up. I handed her a twenty.
“I remember when you used to be able to get a cup of coffee for a dollar and get a bunch of change back,” I said. “How is it you are able to rob people without even pointing a gun in their faces?”
She grinned at me.
“Two words: caffeine addiction,” she said as she handed me back an astoundingly small amount of change. “Enjoy your fix.”
I took a sip of the brew. It was really good. I beat a hasty retreat out of the place before I got tempted to empty out my bank account there.
I happened to glance at an Astor City Times newsrack on my way to the car. An article about the Sentinels was on the front page above the fold. The Sentinels were the preeminent superhero team not only of Astor City, but also of the state and arguably the country. They were also in the conversation if you made a list of the world’s top superhero teams. I followed their exploits pretty closely. I had been a Sentinels fanboy before I even knew I was a Metahuman. I still followed their exploits pretty carefully for several reasons: one, boyhood nostalgia; two, the Sentinels were in the news constantly; and three, the superhero Lady Justice. Lady Justice had been one of the founding members of the Sentinels decades ago. She still was one of the linchpins of the team along with heroes like Doppelgänger, who could assume the form of any other person, Avatar, one of the most powerful of all Heroes, Ninja, who was the preeminent martial artist in the world, and Millennium, whose Meta abilities allowed him to tap into the mystical plane. At the time, there were seven Heroes on the Sentinels team roster.
But, my favorite was Lady Justice. Though her face was partially obscured by a mask, she had not appeared to age a day in all the years she had fought supervillains and crime with the Sentinels. It was widely speculated she did not get older. Her young, nubile looking body lent credence to the speculation. Her superhero costume revealed more of her flesh than it concealed. Her pinup girl appearance belied her power, though. Lady Justice was super-strong, her skin was invulnerable, and she could shoot concussive blasts of energy out of her hands.
If it had not been beneath my Heroic dignity to admit it, I would have said I had a crush on Lady Justice, and had for years. Generations of men—and not just a few women—could have said the same. One of the assets Lady Justice brought to the Sentinels was her contacts with the criminal underworld. Since I also had underworld contacts, Lady Justice and I moved in similar circles. I had never met her, though. I might have squealed like a little girl if I did.
Large
ly due to the fact Lady Justice’s barely covered body featured prominently in the photograph on the front page of the newspaper, I dug into my pocket for some change. I bought a copy of the paper. I took it and my coffees to the car.
I pulled into the parking lot of George Chase’s apartment complex before 7:30 a.m. Though George did not strike me as an early riser, one could never be too sure. So, I wanted to make sure I got to his apartment before he left for the day to do whatever he spent his days doing. I congratulated myself on my people reading skills when I saw George’s car when I pulled into his parking lot. It was true what they said: the early bird got the worm. Though, if that monster between George’s legs was the worm the cliché spoke of, this bird wanted no parts of it.
I had come well equipped for a day of surveillance. I had my coffees, some bottles of water, several sandwiches, a bunch of granola bars, the Astor City Times, and a book on tape. I also had an empty wide-mouthed bottle I could use when all the water and coffee drinking had its inevitable consequence. Oh the sacrifices one must make to practice one’s craft. As I sat there waiting for George to make an appearance, I wondered, not for the first time, how long it took those superheroes who wore body-hugging costumes to get them off and go to the bathroom.
I had exhausted thoughts on that subject and a bunch of others before George made an appearance shortly before noon. Apparently George did not believe in the early bird got the worm aphorism. But, he was not a dashing detective and superhero. Maybe people less dashing than I could afford to start the day late. After all, how exciting could the day that lay before them be?
I saw George walk out of his apartment and lock the door behind him. He was dressed in light khaki pants, a tattersall shirt, and a leather bomber jacket. Despite him not being a detective and superhero, he still looked pretty dashing. I was starting to think that him looking dashing was how he paid his bills. By following George for a while, I was hoping to find out for sure soon enough.
Superhero Detective Series (Book 1): Superhero Detective For Hire Page 4