by Tom Andry
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Chapter 13
The cold air hit me like a punch to the lungs. My breath came out in a large cloud. I pulled my jacket around me as I stepped off the bike. Walker looked back at me and nodded.
"Thanks for the ride, John. So...do I meet you here or..."
"I'll look for you." He didn't wait for a response and sped off on the bike. It made a sound more like a whirr than the rumble I'd expect from a conventional motorcycle.
I turned to the building. It glowed blue from the interior light passing through the ice walls. I stepped toward the doors and, for once, they didn't slide aside. Instead, I had to push them in manually. They swung back and I had to take a quick step inside to avoid getting hit on the backswing.
The bar was, in the simplest terms, made of ice. The chairs were ice, the counter was ice, and I saw a woman in what looked to be a costume made of spider webs scrape ice off the wall and add it to her drink. She glanced over at me, taking me in from head to toe. I pulled my jacket tighter and tried not to look at her chest as she looked away with a faint look of disgust.
It was early in the evening and only a few patrons were in the bar. Most were huddled in groups of two or three around tables that somehow had small fires burning in the center. Some warmed their hands, others cooked food on skewers, but most just sipped their drinks. In the center of the room was a glass sphere floating about a foot off the ground. The bottom third of the sphere was filled with what looked to be snow while the rest was empty air. The globe was huge and the interior was easily the size of a large living room.
I scanned the room for familiar faces. I found more than I would have expected. Luckily, most of the ones I recognized were previous clients rather than the people I had investigated. While the clients often had a reason to resent me, not the least of which was because of my prices and my penchant for uncovering their true names, they at least had no reason to attack me out of hand.
In the back right corner of the room was a group of supers. Their table had no fire and they were providing at least half the noise in the bar. I couldn't quite make out what they were saying over the music. The background music sounded like someone trying to break a guitar over a set of drums while receiving shock therapy.
I moved toward the bar, noticing a second darkened table on the left side of the room. As I sidled up to the bar, I thanked my stars that Ted's clothes were resistant. While they'd get wet, they'd dry quickly and I was unlikely to feel the cold through them.
"Good evening, sir. What would you like?" the bartender was a short man with a congested voice and an immense head of hair. It was blonde and thick and it flowed through the air in a breeze I didn't feel. He wore a red and gold spandex outfit that bulged in the middle and kept right on bulging. He looked not unlike an Easter egg in a wig.
"Scotch, neat. Single malt if you have it?"
"Super or regular, sir?"
A small laugh escaped, "Regular please. That super stuff is murder."
The bartender laughed back, "You don't know the half of it. There is no drinking age in Proving Ground. Even less so here. If you can make it to a bar, you can drink. And the kids..." he shook his head, his hair flowing around him like he was underwater, "it's like they can't wait to get drunk. They've had their fifth by the time the first kicks in."
"And then it's too late."
"You can say that again, sir."
The man stood there, smiling at me.
I swallowed, "Um...so how's business?"
He shrugged, his second and third chin jiggling in response, "I can't complain. Of course, we only get the serious types in here. The location and all."
"Yeah, not exactly 'on the strip'."
"Indubitably. Of course, things were much different before Gorgon took over the neighborhood. But, we make do. People think it's chic to drink here. We have started selling souvenir ice." He pointed to a wall behind him, a huge section chiseled away, "You wouldn't be interested?"
I put up a hand, "Naw. If my ride in was any indication, it wouldn't make it out."
"We do ship, sir. We have an excellent contact that has a great guarantee."
I smiled, "Yeah, I think I know him." I paused again, the bartender still staring at me. "Um...I'm Bob."
"Harry."
I smiled, and nodded to his hair, "It should be 'Hairy'."
The super's eyes narrowed in confusion, "It is Harry."
"No, I mean like H-a-i-r-y not H-a-r-r-y."
"It is."
I closed my mouth, "Oh. Sorry. Um...about that drink."
He smiled again, "Right away, sir. I assume you are a man of taste so I need to get something from the reserve. It's in a warmed room in the back. It wouldn't do to serve quality scotch too cold."
"Okay." I glanced around the room and then back at the bar. Hairy was still standing there. "Uh...so, when would you be getting that drink?"
"Right away, sir."
"Okay."
He didn't move.
I took a deep breath, "You see, what I think we have here is a communication breakdown."
Hairy's grin turned into a chuckle, "Look down, sir."
I pulled myself forward and looked over the top of the bar. Hairy's hair wasn't simply long, it was everywhere. It covered the floor at his feet and I realized that Hairy wasn't short - he was a dwarf. Little person. Midget. Damn, I could never remember the right term. To bring him up to bar-level, he was standing on a three-foot pile of hair. A large bundle, half as thick as my wrist, was writhing across the floor and around a corner into a doorway. The door was half the size of a normal door - probably perfect for Hairy, though it would be a pain for a normal-sized person, much less some of the over-sized supers.
I sat back, nodding, "I see. You got me there, Hairy."
"Yes I did, sir. You're a good sport for not getting bent out of shape."
"I suppose you get your fair share of that around here."
"More so beforehand, sir. When we were just a normal bar, we had fights daily. With Gorgon, only those who can get in, do. Which means fights are rare. That's why we installed the Globe." He nodded at the sphere in the center of the room.
"Huh. For fights. I would have guessed dancers or something."
"And bands on occasion. We get as much use out of it as we can." A glass appeared in front of me. "Ah, here we are, sir. Your beverage."
What looked to be an arm of hair complete with three fingers and a thumb that looked more like horn than hair pushed a glass into my hand. Hairy smiled and nodded. I sipped the scotch. He was right. It was the perfect temperature and smooth enough to drink all night. I'd have to get the name of this.
"Adequate?"
I nodded, impressed, "Very. Which label is this?"
"I'll be happy to write the specifics down for you?"
I nodded my thanks. "And how will you be paying this evening?"
It occurred to me that I had no idea how money worked in the Super City. Of course, had I not been railroaded by politicians, supers, and events, I might have stopped to ask. I searched my pockets feeling nothing but my 19 keychain. I resisted the urge to take it out and play with it.
I held up my wrist, "Do these work?"
"Of course, sir." My smile faded as he added, "As communicators. We only accept XB."
I scowled, "XB? What is that?"
"The only currency good in the Super City." He pulled out a note. It had a picture of the Bulwark on one side, the Super City on the other. "XB is the official currency of the Super City. It can only be earned and spent here. I'm surprised you don't know this, sir."
My scowl deepened, "As am I. Okay, how do I get this XB stuff?"
"Well, if you were near a bank, you could convert some. But that's costly."
"How much?"
"I believe the going rate is $100 US dollars to 1 XB."
I shrugged, not knowing what to say, "Okay. That means nothing to me. How much does this drink cost?"
"150 XB, sir."
&nbs
p; I almost fell off my seat, "Are you telling me this is a $15,000 glass of scotch?"
He shook his head languidly, "No, sir. I'm telling you it is a 150 XB glass of scotch. I'm sure you could get it for cheaper elsewhere."
Elsewhere being planetside. This was ridiculous. I scanned the room. It hadn't changed much, but I took a closer look at the two darkened tables. The boisterous one on the right of the bar had only gotten louder, spandex-clad arms occasionally flicking into the light. The other corner was so dark, I couldn't even make out the table, but I would swear I could hear voices.
"What about a tab? Could I settle with you later?"
"I'm sorry, sir. You'd need to have a history with this establishment to start a tab."
I licked my gums. This really was good scotch. I wasn't sure it was $15,000 good, but it was good. A slow grin poured out of me as a thought occurred, "What about Gale? Does she have a tab here?"
"Sir, I can't talk about our customers."
"I understand. I tell you what, why don't you call her? See if she is okay with me putting my drinks on her tab?"
The small man cocked his head from one side to the other, "Bob. You said your name was Bob. You aren't Bob Moore?"
"One and the same."
The man turned his back to me, "All the more reason not to extend you credit. I've never met an ex that was happy to pay for the other's drinks."
"Hey!" was all I could manage. He had called my bluff and I didn't have a second plan. I supposed I could call Liz, see if she could free up some money. I had plenty of money in banks and investments all over the world, not to mention a small fortune stashed around the apartment, but I wasn't sure how much could transfer here. "Liquid" Liz liked to call it. Fifteen grand was a lot of money but I was sure I had it. Plus, with scotch this good, I might have to have another.
"Bob?" I turned and a figure was approaching. A few inches taller than me, the man was dressed in khakis and a white T-shirt looking as out of place as me in the midst of all these supers.
"Yes?"
The man smiled and I knew exactly who it was.
"Tinkerer?"
"What the heck are you doing here, Bob?"
I fished for a response, but could only come up with, "Having a drink."
Ted smiled, "Well, let me buy you one."
Hairy interrupted, "Apparently, you already have, sir."
Ted looked confused for a second, then shrugged it off, "Great. So...I can't believe you're here." Ted took me by the shoulder and led me to a table. We sat and he leaned in, whispering, "I see you're making good use of my modifications. So, what have you found out?"
I leaned in as well, "You know, I've been a bit busy. And it has only been a few hours, Ted."
"Right, right. Did you hear about that Austrian guy?"
I closed my eyes, "Australian, Ted. And yes, I did. I found him."
Ted clapped his hands, "I should have known. Bob Moore, not one day here and already in the thick of it."
"Yeah, that's me." I sat back and sipped my scotch that suddenly tasted a bit better because I knew I didn't have to pay for it. "What about you? What are you doing here?"
Ted motioned me to lean in and I did, keeping the eye rolling to a minimum, "See, I hear the LTs are all in a tizzy. They are leaving like leaves in spring."
I stifled a laugh, " Sometimes it's scary the breadth of your knowledge."
Ted smiled, his eyes gleaming, "Thanks, Bob."
"My pleasure. But you said 'LTs'? Who are they?"
"They are you. League Tippys. Apparently, they are all shipping out and Gale is having a fit. I wanted to come down here to find out what I could about the engines. You see, this place is really..."
Ted faded out as the realization hit him, "You know!" he hissed, "You're here for the same reason!"
Not exactly, but it didn't hurt to let him think so. "So, do you know who runs technology off the City?"
Ted nodded, "I was just talking to him, but he doesn’t know anything about the engines. Unless..." Ted gasped, "you don't think he was lying, do you?"
"Oh...you know people, Ted. They can be conniving." I took a breath, hoping for the right answer, "Now, Ted, I have to ask you a question. The night that Doc Arts died. Do you remember it?"
"Of course, Bob. How could I forget?"
"You were there, right? I saw you in a police uniform. Going through the equipment. After it all went down."
Ted nodded, "Yeah. You know I was."
I paused for effect, "Now this is important, Ted. What did you take?"
He shrugged, "I don't know. Stuff. Anything that looked interesting."
"Did you take anything that had to do with those microbots?"
He shook his head, "No, why?"
"You're sure. You're absolutely sure."
"Yeah. Of course. Why?"
I leaned back. Ted played the part of a party animal, a flight-of-fancy super that didn't seem to have much of a brain in his head. But I knew how devious he could be when he put his mind to it. Plus, I didn't even know what he really looked or sounded like. The devices that he used to change his voice and appearance could easily be made to make him sound truthful. Plus, there were the unitards.
I threw my head back. I didn't want to think about that.
Ted was my friend, I reminded myself. We'd worked together for years. Yes, he'd always seemed only a few bad decisions away from a world domination plot, but he'd never done anything, to my knowledge, worse than messing with his fellow supers.
That was the part that worried me: the "to my knowledge" part.
Ted had it in him. I knew that. But, if history had taught me anything, so did many other supers. Even The Raven, the most destructive villain the world had ever seen, was once its most powerful protector.
"Is everything okay?"
I forced a smile, "Yeah, of course. So, who's this guy you were talking to?"
Ted nodded over his shoulder, "He's back there. TC is his name. You want me to introduce you?"
I shook my head, "No. I better handle this one alone."
Ted pouted, "Are you sure? We could do 'good tippy, bad super'. I'm pretty sure I have a scary super persona queued up."
I stood and looked at Ted, "Are you seriously suggesting that I be the 'good' one in an interrogation?"
"Hey," Ted exclaimed, "I'm the one who can change his appearance. I could look so horrible it would cause blood to shoot out of your eyes."
I shook my head, "I think I've seen that one before. It involved a thong, right?" I took a step toward the darkened table, but then stopped, "And by the way, what's up with this getup?" I motioned to Ted's face.
He shrugged, embarrassed, "It works for Mo. I figured I'd give the whole 'plain' thing a try."
I exhaled, "He doesn't look plain; he just doesn't look much like a super. And most of that is because of the scar. I don't see a scar on you."
Ted turned up his nose, "A scar? I don't think so. Plain is one thing, disfigured is something else."
I brushed some frost off my pant leg, the metal under the fabric hard, "Yeah. We wouldn't want that."
I turned and walked away. The dark corner was still dark, and even as I got closer, got no lighter. It obviously wasn't a natural darkness like at the other table. I steeled myself just outside.
"Moorster?"
My mouth dropped open. "You've got to be kidding me."
A black gloved hand reached out of the darkness and pulled me in. I landed hard in a chair made of ice at a table not unlike the one I'd left Ted at. I glanced back the way I'd come and saw that I could no more see out the darkness than I could see in from the outside. Except, instead of a wall of black, my eyes were assaulted by a wall of orangish light. I examined my surroundings. It was like being pulled into the negative of a film. All the colors were flipped. Across from me sat a small man with a small, wooden box on the table in front of him. He was wearing a bowler hat and had on a tight-fitting, pinstriped suit with one of those western-style leather
tie things - the kind that is only two leather straps held together with a type of broach. This one, however, had what looked to be a metal bowtie holding the leather in place.
Next to the small man was the outline of a larger man, his arms folded over his chest. He was completely black against the white background. It was like he was the moon during a solar eclipse. A corona of energy originated from somewhere behind him. The super didn't move as I adjusted in my seat.
"Tay," I growled. "I thought you were in jail."
The prematurely aged face smiled back at me, scars from his private "pleasures" straining in protest. "Good behavior."
"Good behavior? You?" I spat the word.
"Moorster, I'm a changed man." He put his arms up, showing me the bar, "Respectable businessman and all. How do you like my establishment? Tres chic, no?"
"Location leaves a little to be desired."
He shrugged, "It serves." He turned to the super, "Sal, get the man another drink. He's dry."
I looked down. My drink was still half full. I downed the rest of it. Tay hadn't changed much. I'd met him when he owned a tippy/super S&M club. The Raven had descended on the place and killed nearly everyone. Tay had escaped as had Alan and I. Later on, Tay had been apprehended when he tried to take back Nineteen.
The super stood and walked out of the field of darkness, the corona appearing the same even when he turned. I looked back down at Tay. He'd set down his bowler and his eyes were hard and cold. Tay had always come off as stupid, but it couldn't be. He might have stumbled into the first bar. Right place at the right time. But not twice.
"I've been trying to see you."
Tay smiled, "I know. At least I know you did when I was in lockup."
"But you wouldn't see me."
"We don't have anything to talk about."
I reached across the table to grab onto Tay's lapel, "The hell we don't," I growled.
Suddenly, my chest burned and fluttered. I felt my arm weaken and drop before I could even reach Tay. I fell back into my seat, gasping.
Tay laughed, "See, Sal here has a very specific power. He can reverse things. Light for instance. But he can also reverse bodily functions. That includes your lungs and heart if he wants. If he reverses and then lets go fast enough, your heart just stops. Or your breathing. Or your blood flow." His smile widened, "You see where this is going."