Hellfire

by Michelle Schad

  “We are, ma’am,” Falcon answered in the affirmative. “Fire manipulation, unfortunately.”

  “You have an opinion already, Agent Falcon?” Zephyr pressed, stepping closer to the man with the scruffy beard and too-long hair. He was taller than she, but that was not difficult, all things considered.

  “Partial, ma’am,” Falcon said while staring at a fixed point away from Zephyr’s face. Military trained, indeed.

  “Do share, I don’t have the patience to tiptoe through bullshit.”

  Now, he looked at her. She knew she was not the easiest person to stomach. She cursed like a sailor and threw her money around like it was a helium balloon, but she also lead the PeaceKeepers with thorough knowledge and well-proven tactics. She treated the agents beneath her the same and expected results; results she was not getting. Already there were whispers all over Chicago about ‘the Evolved freaks’ and the cops sent in to hunt them down. Hunt them down. Those were not words she wanted to hear among the populace. They created a panic and high sense of paranoia that made her job harder.

  “His power is reactive, ma’am,” Falcon explained. “There is past trauma that feeds into it, I think. PTSD that has never been treated. I don’t believe he is consciously capable of committing the types of crimes we’re seeing. He would have to be hard-pressed to do it, something to trigger that anxiety response and keep it fueled until it’s finished.”

  “So noted,” Zephyr said, stepping a little closer. “Make sure he isn’t triggered. White on rice, Agent Falcon, by any means necessary. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Agent Sparrow, set your hound to hunt,” Zephyr continued. “That man knows people who know more people. I want to know those people; I want to know the fleas on their back. Dig. Bargain his parole sentence if you have to.”

  “Is that wise, ma’am. He’s a convicted super- villain,” Duck interrupted. Zephyr narrowed her eyes at him as if doing so would burn a hole right through his skull to the lack of a brain he seemed to posses.

  “Do super-villain’s have friends and play with service dogs specifically trained to maul people like him, Agent Gustavo?” Angelo had no answer, blubbering like the fool he was, verbally demoted in a room full of agents. “Kindly shut the fuck up. You will all canvas the Chicago area for anything that even smells of arson or unusual death. All the hobos in an alley suddenly pass from exposure, I need to know about it. You will report directly to Agent Sparrow or Agent Falcon who will both report directly to me. I do not have the patience to deal with the ass-hattery of this branch. Dismissed.”

  James left A.E.C. headquarters with a grimace on his face. ‘Any means necessary’ was a rather broad term and not something James particularly cared for. He liked Hadi; probably liked him a little too much, all things considered. Gen walked beside him, periodically looking up at him with worry in her big brown eyes. She felt his stress, the tension in his muscles that he had to be wary of. Medicines only went so far. Stress made his condition worse which, in turn, stressed him out even more.

  Zephyr had a point, however. If there was something wrong with Hadi or Virgil, she'd have torn them to pieces by now. The only one she didn't really like was Duck, but that wasn't hard. No one liked Duck. Still, he looked to his four-legged partner for wisdom but only saw big brown eyes with no clear answers.

  “I cannot believe I’m doing this, Gen,” he said, pulling his phone out as he stormed through Millennium Park. Headquarters was not far. If there were more windows, the view would be phenomenal. As it was, he got to look at antiseptic white walls and clear touch panels any time he was in that horrid building. He scrolled through the contacts until finding Hadi’s number. The bartender was on leave following his head injury, the bar closed for a few days to do repairs. No one really wanted to be inside the bar after what happened anyway. James couldn’t blame them. Trauma of any kind was a very powerful thing. He’d read Hadi’s file, read about the hate crime that left him in the hospital for three months and another young man dead. James didn’t even want to imagine what that was like. He was very careful with his privacy, his life, his partners for reasons just like what Hadi endured. What made it worse, were the reports starting to circulate about people being lynched or beaten by friends and neighbors, people they trusted, under suspicion of being Evolved. So far, the A.E.C. wasn’t doing a good job at maintaining their secrets.

  “Hey, it’s James,” he said into the phone as he slowed his steps near the Bean. “Feeling better? -- Good. - - No, no worries. I’m glad you called me. -- Listen, uhm… the bar is closed but I still need to eat dinner. How ‘bout I cook for you for a change? - - Ok, fair. Moose normally cooks for me. No offense to Moose, though, I don’t wanna cook him dinner. - - Yeah, tonight. You up for it or… - - Ok. Seven? - - See you then. - - Bye.”

  James pressed the Bluetooth, then proceeded to smack himself with his phone.

  “I’m going to regret this…” he said to Gen, whistling for her to follow as he continued on past the Bean to hail a cab.

  ~

  Hadi laughed at James’s misfortune as a child. Somehow, falling face-first into mud in front of everyone was funny to everyone but James. Still, it was a tidbit of information that bred trust, a story of vulnerability. The wine helped as well. Dating was not really James’s thing. His last partner had courted him, and it was not related to work in any capacity, just a nice guy at a bar. This just felt awkward. All the same, he made a good show of it, cooking his famous veal Parmesan and, even went so far as to shave most of his beard off so he didn’t look so much like Jail-Bird Bruce Wayne, and a little more… polished, Valerie would call it. Despite orders and awkwardness, James genuinely enjoyed Hadi’s company. Secretly, he wished for this date to be the real deal, to be casual and innocent rather than something he needed to do for work.

  “You must have been cute as a kid,” Hadi grinned. James snorted. He was a terror as a kid, but that was beside the point. His mother kept decent enough pictures that now sat in a box under his bed; he’d been cute enough.

  “Not as cute as you, I’d wager,” James said without thinking, refilling the wine glasses. Hadi smirked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Hadi smiled. “So, why Genevieve?”

  “Why’d I get her or why’d I name her that?” James asked, handing Hadi his refilled glass of wine. Gen wagged her tail at the sound of her name, looking up from the sofa. Hadi looked at her and smiled.

  “Why’d you name her that? Why you got her is sort of obvious,” Hadi shrugged. Gen went almost everywhere with James. He did not hide his condition from anyone; there was no point. Most people stared, wondering if he really needed a service dog. He didn’t look sick; not usually. Hadi never questioned it or thought it out of the ordinary either.

  “She is the patron saint of Paris,” James explained. “I was stationed in France for three years. Paris is one of my favorite cities. Besides, she’s my saint, right, Gen?”

  The dog barked, making both men laugh. Small talk was not going to get James the answers he needed, however. He needed to up his game.

  “So… what’s with you and Lindy?” James asked. It was a curiosity of his and potentially useful information. He observed how the two interacted and heard mention of their relationship. They were close. It was really none of James’s business, but, orders from on high made it his business. Hadi only shrugged.

  “Nothing, really. Just friends,” Hadi answered, sipping the wine. “She’s got a boyfriend. Fireman, I think. Seems nice. He treats her good.”

  “A fireman? Like, a fire-fighter?”

  “Yeah. It’s been freaking her out there’s so much fire lately. She worries about him. He’s been at most of the bad fires. I guess they’re kinda serious. She keeps talking about taking him back to Texas.”

  “But you still cash in on some benefits?” James pressed. Hadi grinned.

  “Does that bother you, Detective Kendall?” Hadi smirked. James grinned back, feeling like an ass fo
r lying to Hadi. His cover was as a private investigator looking into a large firm in Chicago. The story was told almost nightly because the bar miscreants, as James liked to call them, liked to live vicariously through James. Lindy had even called it romantic, one time. Even Virgil remained clueless thanks to Valerie’s quick wit and explanations when he was seen with her. James wanted so badly to tell Hadi the truth. Given the kid’s past experiences with the A.E.C., however, that would be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, especially now. Instead, he leaned in a little closer and smiled.

  “No,” James said, daring to be bold. He kissed Hadi, ignoring the screaming morality jumping up and down at the back of his head. He needed Hadi to open up, to trust him with more than a request for bail. The wine most definitely helped.

  07

  Every footstep Lonny took echoed back at him in triplicate. It was an odd thing, something born of the exposed metal beams and siding in the warehouse the Contractor always insisted on meeting in. It all seemed horribly cliche to Lonny: secretive dude with a penchant for dark, mysterious, and often times creepy places. Whatever, so long as the money showed up in his mailbox, he wasn’t going to be judge and jury on someone else’s style. He took his time, in no rush to hear the newest complaint his most recent employer had. The Contractor was a very specific individual in addition to being a little on the dark and creepy. Things had to be done exactly to the letter or the man became very irate very quickly.

  “You’re late,” came the unnaturally disturbing voice. It was too deep, too gravelly, too mechanical. Lonny wanted to equate it to one of the voice changing toys his kid used to have but the tonality was more natural than those cheap pieces of shit.

  “Traffic,” Lonny replied as he came to a stop several feet away from the mysterious Contractor. Trust was not something easily given in Lonny’s world, most especially to creeps that didn’t like showing their faces. Then, there was Ray-Bans. Lonny never saw the man’s eyes, but he always wore black, like the Contractor, and Ray-Ban sunglasses. He stood just to the left of the Contractor like some weird body guard. It was comical, after a fashion.

  “We have new information and a growing problem,” the Contractor continued. Lonny sighed, cracked his neck and stuffed his hands into his pockets lest he become even more agitated than he already was. The A.E.C. was a huge problem; people were talking. “It is time to move on and redirect attention elsewhere, Mr. Angram. There is a second pyro that the A.E.C. are investigating. A bartender. Make sure they keep looking in that direction.”

  “A bartender?” Lonny said.

  “Works at the 13th Hour,” Ray-Bans said. “Fire manipulator. History of trauma. Little brother and familial relationship with his co-workers. The A.E.C. is watching him, but new information is pulling the attention away from him. They’re going to drop him like a bad habit. He’s volatile; uncontrolled power that can light up all of Chicago.”

  “So… you want that I should trigger him or something?” Lonny asked uncertainly. Lindsay-Rae worked at that bar. His little bubble of sunshine. This was now hitting a little too close to home for his liking.

  “I want you to do your job, Mr. Angram,” the Collector said calmly. “Make it convincing; dramatic.”

  Lonny tilted his head and frowned. This was not in his contract. While he had no problems carrying out his requested tasks, roughing up some kid just because they couldn’t stand the heat coming down on them was not in Lonny’s job description. The kid, like Lindsay- Rae, was an innocent. His life was already being made miserable if the A.E.C. was looking in his direction. What more did the Contractor want? All of Chicago in an ash pit?

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Angram?” the Contractor said.

  “You’re basically asking me to set off a nuclear explosion in East Side Chicago…”

  “Just do your job, Angram,” Ray-Bans snarled. “The kid needs to be handled! So does the A.E.C.!”

  Lonny’s eyes narrowed, the pupils beginning to glow like embers as his temper rose. He took a single step towards the man in the Ray-Bans, leaning in ever so slightly.

  “Don’t threaten me, asshole,” Lonny growled. “The cops in the city are running like headless chickens because of me. They’ve got no real back-up, thanks to me, or did you forget that little bit? That was done without payment, I might add, because you dumb asses didn’t do your proper homework. You would not have this kind of freedom if I hadn’t torched Venganza like a fucking Christmas roast!”

  One of the few openly accepted Evolved in the city, Venganza, was Chicago’s primary defense. When Lonny was contracted four years prior, the vigilante got dangerously close to learning the truth, so quickly became the next victim. His wife and kids had burned too. Lonny didn’t feel too good about that, even now, but sometimes shit happened. Sometimes, it happened too much.

  The Contractor took a step forward, revealing just enough for Lonny to back down. The hood he wore was deep, hiding facial features but for the eyes - ice blue, frozen, emotionless and deadly.

  “Trigger the bartender, Mr. Angram, by any means you see fit,” the Contractor said. “You will be well compensated. We will redirect the A.E.C.”

  Lonny swallowed hard on the lump that had grown in his throat and simply nodded.

  “Most excellent,” the Contractor said, taking a step back into the shadows. He then handed Lonny a manilla envelope, fat with cash he was not expecting. “Your new target. No survivors, Mr. Angram. Too many complications arise when there are survivors.”

  Lonny looked at the envelope, then back up at the Contractor and his crony. He tucked the envelope beneath his left arm and merely sighed, turning on his heel. He needed to be out of that weird warehouse, away from the Contractor. He needed a new job, a new life. Maybe Lindsay-Rae might fancy a move to California. Lonny always liked it there. Chicago was getting too tense for his liking.

  ~

  Much like most mornings for James, the sunlight brought with it a scathing headache and a need to move lest he become a permanent part of his very large bed. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulder and carefully slid out from beneath Hadi’s sleeping form. Gen slept at the foot of the bed, comfortably nestled on top of the pile of discarded clothes. She glanced up at him as he shuffled to the bathroom, shaking herself out and wagging her tail at him when he was finished. He smiled down at her, throwing on a pair of sweat pants as he made his way out to the kitchen where his row of meds awaited. He glared at them, hating the need for them, but began popping all their tops all the same.

  The phone he left out on the counter rattled, buzzing and singing a crazy Cantina diddy. James practically fell over trying to get to it before the ringtone woke Hadi. He cleared his throat, sliding the button over and placing the flat phone to his ear since his Bluetooth was nowhere to be seen.

  “Falcon,” he said, brushing his hair back from his brow. “Val? - - No, no, slow down, what just happened? - - Yes, I had eyes on him all night. White on rice, I believe was the order given. - - All of them?? - - No, I’m leaving now. Lemme get a shirt. - - Because you woke me up, dammit! It’s like… like… nine. - - Yeah, I’ll see you in five.”

  He ended the call, tossing the phone onto the sofa. As he turned to go back into the bedroom he jumped, feeling his heart lurch up into his throat.

  Hadi stood in the doorway, arms folded, but blessedly in boxers or it would have made things much more awkward.

  “Jesus Christ, Haze…” James breathed out. “Look, I’m not normally one to cut and run but something’s come up with my client.”

  He explained as he dug through the pile for a shirt and a pair of socks. Somewhere he had a pair of shoes as well, hopping around like an idiot until he was dressed.

  “It’s ok,” Hadi chortled.

  “It isn’t,” James sighed, truly meaning it. The night before had been surprisingly pleasant. “I’m really sorry. I feel like an ass.”

  “It’s fine, really,” Hadi said with more understanding and compassion in those three word
s than James had heard in his entire life. He meant what he said. James paused, looking at this young man, this kid nearly half his age and melted. The night before meant more than just gaining information, James felt it in his chest, in the butterflies that took flight in his stomach. He walked over to Hadi, reaching up to press his brow to the slightly taller young man’s.

  “I owe you waffles, handsome,” James said softly, giving Hadi a quick kiss before bolting out the door, whistling for Gen to follow. “Lock up behind you please! See you tonight!”

  It took almost thirty minutes to get across town. The chaos was tangible. Fire trucks and ambulances filled a narrow street. The metro bridge above the small homes was a charred, mangled mess, half of it dangling off the tracks. Five houses were burned, nothing left but cinders. People in pajamas and sweats hovered about, some with soot on their faces. Several were laid out on stretchers or sitting on the curb where it was not flooded from the hydrants that had been used to put out the fire. James glanced around, looking for Valerie or Zephyr. He found Valerie first.

  “How many?” James asked.

  “Fifteen agents,” Valerie sighed. “They were all on their way in to work. The fire spread to the homes when the train blew off the track.”

  “Jesus Christ…” James breathed out. His arm twitched, reminding him how quickly he’d left his apartment. He bit down on his lower lip and squeezed his hand into a fist until his nails bit into his palm. He did not have time for an episode.

  “Are you sure you had eyes an your guy all night?” Valerie asked. He could hear the doubt in her voice, the need to blame someone for the loss of so many of their own.

  “Val, I swear. I was with him all night,” he said, biting his tongue too late. Valerie looked at him, then rolled her eyes.

  “James Edmond Kendall…” she began.

  “Don’t,” he warned. “You are not my mother. My orders were clear.”