The Hero Beat

by Nick Svolos

  “So I’m like, fuck, what am I gonna do? I gotta earn, you know? So, I get to thinking. It’s like, nobody’s talking, and nobody’s earning, and now this thing with the refinery. Something must be going down, and if they ain’t usin’ us, then it must be some straight up super shit, you know? That’s when I called you. Figured two hundred was better than nothin’.”

  “And four hundred is better than two,” I smiled and lifted my beer and took a quick sip. Before Reggie could snatch the money, I put it back down on the bills. “Just one more thing. The trucking company, the one that shut down. What’s the name?”

  Reggie frowned. “Shit, man, I don’t know.” He thought for a moment, “Something with ‘Star’ in the name. What was it? Fourstar Trucking? No, Transport, that’s it. Fourstar Transport.” I lifted my beer for another sip and placed it down beside the money.

  Satisfied, I pushed the bills over to the big man, who grabbed them and pushed them into his pocket. I wrote the name down in my notebook. “I’d say thanks, but we just talked about the Dodgers, didn’t we?”

  “Fuck yeah, we did.” Reggie smiled knowingly and downed some more peanuts and beer.

  I stuck my notebook back in my bag and turned off my phone, placing it back in my shirt pocket. As I left the booth I said, “You take it easy, now.”

  Reggie stuck out his fist for a bump and I met it with my own. “You know it, man, that’s the only way I ever take it.”

  I took my beer and went to the bar. I was about to finish it off and leave the empty, but my attention was caught by someone playing pool. He wasn’t there when I came in. He was tall, about six foot five, and where Reggie was built like a linebacker, this man was built like a wide receiver. His blond hair was cut in a flattop and he was dressed in a grey polo, grey snakeskin cowboy boots and a pair of jeans. I hadn’t met him before, but I was pretty sure it was Hammerblow. I glanced at the clock on the wall, saw I had about twenty minutes before I was supposed to check in with Herculene, and decided to press my luck.

  I walked over to the pool table and put four quarters on the worn wooden edge. “Next game?” I said. Hammerblow nodded and lined up his next shot. I walked over to the stand on the wall, selected a cue and made a pretense of chalking it, all the while sizing the supervillain up. The big man was a decent player, but he was on edge for some reason. He was hitting the cue ball too hard, and missed a couple of finesse shots because of it.

  Eventually, he sank the last ball and said, “The game’s eight-ball. Rack ‘em.” I put the quarters in the slots and pressed the mechanism in. The balls dropped into the return with comforting racket and I arranged them in the triangular wooden rack. Hammerblow set the cue ball on the table, lined it up and broke. The balls scattered, but none went in.

  It was a good break for me. I had a lot of choices, but I saw more possibilities with solids. “I hope you don’t mind me using the granny stick,” I said, motioning with my broken arm. Lining up with the stick and the cue, I called my shot, “Two into the corner.” It was a tricky cut, but with enough follow I’d be lined up on the four and from there I’d have a decent opportunity to get the seven at the other end of the table. I stroked the queue and smoothly removed the bridge from the table so it didn’t interfere with the play. The two rolled cleanly into the pocket and the cue bounced off the rail, coming to rest more or less in line with the four. I sank that and then called the seven, which was lying near the corner at the other end of the table. With a little backspin, I would have a good lead on the one, but I knew I’d never get this guy talking if I showed him up. It probably wouldn’t be good for my health, either. So, I deliberately overdid it so the ball carried a bit too far, leaving the twelve between my ball and the cue. I stepped back from the table.

  The Omega’s face broke into a smile as he lined up the easy shot I had left him on the nine. He sank it into the side and he came around the table to line up for the fourteen. “You’re that reporter guy, aren’t ya? The one that writes for the papers?”

  Bingo, I thought. I had him talking. “Yeah. Reuben Conway of the Beacon.” I shifted the sticks to my left hand and stuck out my right. Hammerblow missed his shot on the fourteen, it kissed the rail too soon and caromed out into the table near the cue spot.

  He shook my hand with a firm grip, just this side of too hard. “I guess you know who I am.” He gazed down at me with the eyes of a predator. “I suppose you’re lookin’ for something to write about.”

  I shook some blood back into my hand and lined up on the shot he’d left me on this six. I sank it, saying, “Well, my story’s more or less done. If you’d like to make a statement for the press, however, I’ll play it straight and report it the way you say it. Otherwise, I’m just here for the ambiance. Five into the corner.” The ball went down with a satisfying thump and I missed the three by a hair.

  Hammerblow stood looking at the table, considering how much he could afford to say. He sank the thirteen and the fifteen in succession and lined up on the eleven. “It wasn’t supposed to go down that way, Conway. We were just gonna ambush The Angels. Get some payback for that thing last year. You know, when they jumped me and Unstoppabull? That was a shit fight.” He paused and sank the eleven into the corner. “Anyhow, somebody tells us there’s gonna be this explosion at the tanks and we figure this would be too good a chance to pass up. The Angels ain’t gonna stand aside when something like that goes down. All we gotta do is get there first and set up.”

  The big man was rolling, all I had to do was keep my mouth shut and listen. “Nobody figured on the Phoenix blowing up though. The whole thing turned to shit. Fist got caught, probably gonna have to bust his ass outta the joint. Spider’s in the hospital. They’re feeding him through a tube, from what I hear. Ultiman broke his back.” He paused and blew an easy cut on the fourteen. “Now we’re all fucked. They’re still digging bodies out of that place. We’re gonna wind up on the List, for sure.” He stepped back from the table.

  I almost felt bad for the guy as I stepped up and sank the one and then the three. If he was on the List, he would be lucky to last a week. “That’s pretty fucked up,” I said sympathetically. I don’t normally curse, but when in Rome, cuss like a Roman. I decided to play a gambit. “Sounds like a set-up, if you don’t mind my saying so.” I deliberately blew my shot on the eight-ball, trying to bank it off the rail and into the near corner.

  Hammerblow’s gaze switched from the table to me and I could almost see the wheels start spinning in his head. “A set-up, how you figure?”

  I stepped away from the table. I took a look around to make sure nobody was listening, and spoke in a low voice. “Well, what’s there to be gained by blowing up some tanks? If you guys caused the explosion to get at The Angels, then it makes sense, but then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Maybe it’s an insurance scam, sure, that could work. But, something this big would be hard to cover up. Cops are gonna know there was a bomb. That gets the Feds involved and things get dicey. Could be some terrorists, but I’m not hearing anyone taking credit for it, so it doesn’t wash. It doesn’t fit their MO.

  “So, unless I’m missing something, I gotta figure someone’s got a different agenda in play. They got The Angels tied up with you guys and left you to take the fall. Something was going down last night, and it wasn’t at the refinery.” That last little bit was misdirection. I didn’t think he knew what actually killed Phoenix Fire, and I wanted to steer him away from that line of questioning.

  I waited to see if the seed I had planted was going to take root. The Omega stood silently, staring at the table as he ran through my line of reasoning. “Shit. It all makes sense, when you lay it out like that.” He leaned his cue against the table and started to walk out the back door.

  Then he stopped, and my heart started to pound in my chest. He turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “What’s your angle in all of this?”

  I thought fast. If I got this wrong, I was finished. “My angle’s the same as always, man. Lookin’
for a story. If I got this figured right, maybe you can find out who’s really behind all this. Maybe the right name gets on the List and maybe you tell me about it. I can squeeze a decent payday out of a story like that.”

  Hammerblow regarded me for a few long seconds. He nodded and said, “Good game, Conway. See ya around,” and left through the back door.

  I replaced my cue and bridge on the stand on the wall, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked to the bar. I took my time, wanting to make sure Hammerblow wasn’t around when I left the tenuous safety of the King of Spades. After a bit, I polished off my beer and set it on a coaster. I looked at the former henchman behind the bar and said, “Enjoy the game, Mickey.”

  “I always do,” he replied without looking up.

  I left through the front door. I was blinded for a second as my eyes adjusted from the dimness of Mickey’s place to natural light, and the heat and humidity hit me like a wet blanket. If anything, it was worse than yesterday. I noticed that my hands were shaking a little. Talking with a lethal person like Hammerblow will do that to you. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

  I started walking, occasionally taking a look around to make sure nobody was following me. I don’t know much about shaking a tail—I’d probably never spot a real professional—but I know enough to weed out the amateurs. Mickey’s clientele were mainly of the amateur variety, when it came to following people. You don’t use them for subtle work. I didn’t spot anyone on my trail.

  It was about 9:10 AM when I got back to the Angelmobile. As I rounded the corner, I saw an agitated Herculene getting out of the car, but when she saw me her face broke into a relieved smile and she slipped back in. I joined her a moment later and started booting my laptop.

  “I was this close to busting into that joint.” She held up her thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart. She took a deep breath and stared out the window. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  I was about to tease her for worrying about me, but I shut it down. I’d poked enough bears for one morning. “I’m sorry, Herculene,” I learned early in life that “I’m sorry” is a good way to begin when dealing with an irate woman, “But it was worth it. I got a bit more than I expected. I’ll explain while you drive.”

  Her expression brightened and she started the car. “Really? Do tell. And, where to?”

  “Anywhere. Someplace far from here.” She pulled out into the street and started winding through the side streets, ultimately turning North on Central. I fumbled around in my old satchel and pulled out a USB wireless network card. As I plugged it into the laptop, I asked, “Does this thing have Wi-Fi?”

  “Sure, but I’ll have to log you in. Want me to pull over?”

  “Yeah, when it’s convenient. I found out where the leak came from, and I need to look some things up. Turns out that there’s a trucking company that hauls stuff from the refinery. They shut down last night and told their drivers to stay away from the place. Fourstar Transport.”

  Herculene’s face broke into an almost feral grin. Her voice became excited. “Wanna head down there? Ask some questions?” She wiggled her eyebrows expectantly.

  “Naw, at least not yet. I think I can get everything I need remotely.”

  “Oh. Darn, you sure know how to spoil a girl’s fun.” She pulled over, logged me into the AngelNet, and pulled back into traffic.

  I chuckled. “Sorry about that. I’m sure we’ll get to some head-busting soon. Anyhow, there’s a bonus. Hammerblow came in while I was there.”

  Her body tensed and she fixed me with a stern glare, and began to forcefully narrate the next part of my story, “And then he said, ‘And that’s when I left the bar,’ because he was a smart man who didn’t want to get punched by a bald lady!”

  I subconsciously edged a little closer to the door. “I’d be lying if I did. Actually, I challenged him to a game of eight-ball.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “You WHAT?!?!”

  I grinned, “I played a game of pool with him. Eight-ball is the lingua franca of the American barroom. Got some good intel, too. Turns out that Omega didn’t plant the bomb. They heard about the blast from an external source and figured it would be a good chance to ambush you guys and get revenge for that fight last year. Sounds like there’s some hard feelings there. According to Hammerblow, they had no idea what they were really getting into.

  “But that’s not all. They’re scared, at least Hammerblow is. He thinks they’re going to be placed on the List, if they aren’t already.”

  “Well, heck, they should be. I was listening to the news while you were in there. They just found two more bodies. That makes nine dead, not to mention another forty injured and eleven missing.” The warrior goddess’ fingers gripped the steering wheel and she added darkly, “They deserve whatever they get.”

  “Even if they didn’t do it?” Herculene’s face reddened and she looked away. I pressed my point home, “Look, I’m not going to shed any tears over these bastards. The world would be a better place if every last member of Omega ended up as a notch on some bounty hunter’s utility belt. That’s not justice, though. The way I see it, justice is finding the people who were really responsible for last night. I want the people who killed the people at the refinery. The ones who created these ‘cape-killer’ bullets and killed Phoenix Fire. I think we should stay focused on finding them. Does that work for you?”

  She took a breath and centered herself. “Yeah, you’re right.” A moment later, she looked at me incredulously, “Wait a minute. ‘Cape-killers’”

  “I find it useful to have names for things. I’m a newsman. Half the game is showmanship.”

  “I don’t know whether to be mortified or laugh myself silly.” She thought about it for a bit. “Well, it’s alliterative, states their purpose succinctly. I guess it’s a good name for them. Still...”

  “Yeah, it hits a bit close to home.”

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  “Let’s make sure they never hit the streets, then.”

  She smiled at me. “Yeah, let’s do that.” She waited a beat, and added, “You do know nobody wears capes anymore, right?”

  She was right about that. Capes went out of style after World War II, about the time when jet engines started to become common. I shrugged. “It’s an iconic image. Anyhow, that guy who runs North Korea still wears one, doesn’t he?”

  She chuckled. Glorious Leader was something of a joke. A dangerous, murderous joke, to be sure, but a joke, nonetheless. “Oh yeah, that guy. I’m pretty sure he’s the only one, though.”

  “Well, if you come up with something better, let me know. ‘Till then, I’m calling them ‘cape-killers’.” Turning back to my computer, I logged into the Beacon’s archives and started a search on Fourstar Transport. In other tabs, I started the same search on several internet search engines.

  “So, I guess this means you’re on Omega’s radar now,” Herculene ventured.

  “Yeah, but I’m thinking it was bound to happen anyway. Seems like I’m on everyone’s radar. It also proves the theory that the assassin wasn’t working for Omega. If they wanted me dead, Hammerblow would have just waited outside for me.”

  “You seem awful calm for a man with a price on his head.” She said it gingerly, like she was afraid of offending me. Or maybe she thought I was in denial.

  Her observation gave me pause. I didn’t feel calm. “To tell you the truth, I’m actually scared half to death. Whoever’s behind all this is going to kill me eventually, and the only way to prevent that is to find out who it is. This situation is forcing me to be very focused. I’m just too busy to show it.” I grinned at her, “Besides, I got a genuine superhero to protect me.”

  She frowned, “Don’t joke about this, Reuben. I’m strong, fast and pretty much bullet-proof, but I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t outrun a bullet. Don’t put all this on me.”

  I felt bad as I realized I was being rather self-centered in all this. I never considered how
this all must be making her feel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” I paused for a moment to think and choose my words. “Do you think I’m taking unnecessary risks? Maybe because you’re here?”

  She turned back to her driving. “Are you?”

  “No. But I’m concerned that you think I am.”

  She sighed, “I don’t know. I guess I never thought of a job like yours being all that dangerous.”

  “I’ve spent over a decade in this job, working around people who can kill me with a minimum of effort and in a variety of creative ways. It’s inherently risky. There’s no other way to put it. That sniper you chased off, that’s a new twist, but that has nothing to do with you. Even if I refused to do this investigation, he’d be out there looking for me. I was marked for death the moment my story hit the wires. No matter what happens, Herculene, this isn’t on you. You’re the only reason I’m still alive and have a chance to do something about this.”

  “Alright,” she said. “Forget about it. Just get this thing figured out so we can put the bad guys where they can’t hurt anyone.”