The Hero Beat

by Nick Svolos

  Sinfonie stopped laughing, pressing me back down on the floor with a hand to my shoulder. “Whoa, don’t try to get up for a while. Trust me on this, that’s a nasty bump on the back of your head.”

  “Ugh, what did she do to me?”

  “Just a little tap,” she said. She started giggling again. “A love tap. I can’t figure out which is funnier, the look on your face, you falling for that old trick, or that you’re in love with a superhero.”

  “What? No, I’m dating Helen. Just working with Herculene.”

  “Oh, come on, Reuben. How many six-foot-plus women with a body like that do you think are running around out there?”

  I ignored her. I had to get moving, or the story was going to get away from me. I levered myself to a sitting position. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I decided to wait for a bit before trying to stand. “Not many, I guess. How long was I out?”

  “Just a few minutes. Your girlfriend asked me to keep you here until this is over. You’re not gonna give me any trouble on that, are you?”

  I sighed. “Look, I’m on the biggest story of my career, here. Everyone keeps telling me to back off, and I should probably listen. But, I have to see this through to the end. You’ve known me long enough. Do you really think I’m going to walk away from something this big?”

  She looked sad. “No.” She sat in silence for a moment. “I can’t go with you on this, Reuben,” she said softly.

  She had too much to lose. “I understand. I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  I finally felt like I could stand, so I did. My legs felt a little shaky, but I recovered soon enough. I fumbled my phone out and called for a taxi. Sinfonie collected up the evidence and put it all back into the manila envelope.

  “So, what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking it’s time to finally burn this place. Too many people know about it now. It’s time to make my retirement permanent.” She sounded wistful.

  I felt bad for her. It was pretty obvious this place had a lot of significance to her. I smiled and said, “Sinfonie had a good run.”

  “That she did. From international eco-terrorist to common arsonist.” She crossed the room and got a couple of bottles of liquid and started squirting it on the computer, walls and floors, working her way to the door. I stayed ahead of her and walked out into the night as the cab rounded the corner. She handed me the envelope, stood on her toes and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Be careful, Reuben. These guys are playing for keeps.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  “Hey, come to the house this Sunday. We’ll have a barbeque. Bring Helen. I’d love to meet her under better circumstances.”

  “You got it.” I got into the cab and told the driver I was going to the Angel Tower. As we drove away, I looked back to see Sinfonie walk a motorcycle out of a shed, spark a flame and toss it into her lair. As an orange flickering glow began to emanate from the warehouse’s open door, she started the bike and drove off in the other direction.

  I asked the driver for the time and he told me it was about 4:30 AM. While we drove, I got to thinking about the meteorite with the metal they used to make the cape-killers, and I got my phone out and began to research the subject. What was nagging at me was that Galestorm knew exactly what to look for and where to find it. I figured it’s easy, more or less, to know where a meteor hit. There are plenty of radars and astronomers out there and meteorites hit Earth all the time. Most burn up in the atmosphere, but plenty are big enough to hit the ground. The estimates I found on the web confirmed my guess that there are several of these objects hitting the Earth each day. The rock in question was heavier, but it still seemed like they knew exactly what to look for. We didn’t get a chance to go over every file in the Special Project directory, so maybe the answer was in there.

  I was still considering this when the car pulled off into an alley and came to a halt. I looked up, seeing that we weren’t at the Tower, and was about to say something to the driver when I saw that he was pointing a pistol at me.

  “Third time’s the charm, Conway,” the man said.

  Time stood still. My eyes stared into the round black hole at the end of the gun’s barrel as it expanded to swallow me into its abyss. I heard the sound of a motor approaching, the sound echoing off the walls of the tall buildings bordering the alleyway. My mind slipped out of gear as I realized there was no way out. No, not like this. The man smiled as he began to squeeze the trigger. The noise of the motor grew closer, it sounded like a motorcycle.

  The man sat there, smiling, and perfectly still. Trembling, I began to edge to my right, towards the door and out of the line of the pistol’s barrel. He remained as still as a statue, except I could see his face twitch a little, as if engaged in some internal struggle. I got the hell out of the car. My heart was pounding and adrenaline coursed through my veins. I looked up and saw an idling motorcycle. Astride it sat Sinfonie. In my head, I heard “It’s alright, Reuben, I got him.”

  “It’s Longshot, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Look, I can’t hold this guy for long. He’s strong. There’s a police station four blocks back the way you came. Start running.”

  It sounded like a good idea. I reached in and grabbed the envelope. I paused and slid the pistol’s safety into position and removed it from Longshot’s hand. I tucked the weapon into my waistband. I got back out of the car, and suddenly realized I had a better idea. “How long can you hold him?”

  “A couple of minutes, if I’m lucky. Reuben, get out of here!”

  “I’m sick of running from this asshole, Sin. Do you have anything to tie him up with?”

  Her face showed the strain she was under, but I think she saw where I was going with this. “Saddlebag.” I moved quickly, found some large nylon zip tie restraints in her bike’s bag, and with Sinfonie’s help in manipulating his limbs, I soon had him hog-tied. None of the information I had about him indicated super strength, but I went ahead and tripled up on each set of zip ties, just in case. I connected his hands and legs with a third set of ties, remembering the way the Angel Security guys did with Hammerblow. I hoped he was very uncomfortable. I pulled him out of the taxi and dumped him hard on the pavement, hoping that was uncomfortable, too. I patted him down, removing a folding knife and another pistol from the man and tossed them into the car. I took a step away from the prone bounty hunter turned assassin pulled the gun out of my waistband, released the safety, checked to make sure a round was chambered, and pointed it at his sternum. Another gift from my dad. I didn’t own any guns, never fired one outside of a range, but he made damned sure that I knew how to use one if I ever needed to.

  It was time to play tough guy. I don’t have the build or the demeanor to do that very well, but having a large-caliber pistol makes up for a lot of shortcomings. I held the gun steady, took up the slack in the trigger and spoke conversationally, “Longshot, I’m gonna level with ya. I’m a reporter, not a fighter. I have no illusions that I’d survive twenty seconds if you get loose, so believe me when I tell you that I’ve already resolved in my mind that I’m going to kill you if anything happens that makes me nervous. If you try to escape, I shoot. If you shout, I shoot. Now, I’m going to ask some questions and you will answer them. If I’m satisfied with the answers, I’ll turn you over to the cops. If you don’t, I shoot. Sinfonie, let him go.” She did, I could see her sag with relief out of the corner of my eye. “Now, nod your head like you understand.”

  His blue eyes never left the gun in my hand. Now that I could get a look at him, I could see he was Caucasian, about one hundred seventy pounds and built like an acrobat. I figured him for about five-foot ten, though I hadn’t seen him standing yet. His head was covered in slicked-back white hair. He had a cop mustache, one of those push brooms that looked more in place in the disco area than on someone walking around today.

  Longshot nodded slowly. “Good,” I said. “First question, who hired you to kill me?”

  The bounty hunter grinned. �
��Gail Crenshaw. But you already knew that, didn’t you, Conway?”

  I ignored the question. “When?”

  “After the photos hit the news. She figured you were a loose end. Wanted me to clean it up.”

  “What’s she paying you?” I didn’t really care, but I have to admit I was curious what this sort of job paid.

  “One hundred million in an untraceable account.”

  “Wow, for little ol’ me? That’s quite a payday,” I said appreciatively. My life isn’t worth that much. A sum like that had to be for the refinery work. He probably threw me in for free as a professional courtesy. “What else is she giving you?”

  “Just the money. What else would she be paying me with?”

  He tried to sound confused, but I knew he was hiding something. “Bullets. The kind that can kill invulnerable supers. Where are they?”

  He shook his head in denial, but a trace of fear in his eyes betrayed him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “The trunk,” Sinfonie said.

  “You got him?” In my peripheral vision, I saw her nod. I reset the safety and tucked the gun back in my waistband. I pulled the trunk latch next to the driver’s seat and went around to the back of the cab. Looking into the trunk, I saw a man lying next to a canvas duffel bag. He looked to be an immigrant from Africa. He wore a short, tan kaftan over blue jeans and a pair of sandals. He also had a large red hole in the center of his forehead. A trickle of dried blood ran from the hole, across his lifeless left eye, down his cheek and into a puddle on the floor of the cab’s trunk. My blood filled with ice, pounding in my ears. With numb, shaking fingers, I reached into the bag and poked around past a couple of disassembled sniper rifles and his combat gear, finally finding what I was looking for. In a little leather pouch were nine bullets, each looked to be about a half-inch in diameter. I stuck the pouch in my pocket, and then zipped the bag back up, leaving everything else the way I found it.

  I came back around to Sinfonie and Longshot. “He killed a man to get to me,” I said hoarsely, as I pulled the pistol out again and thumbed off the safety.

  She must have gotten something from my voice, or maybe my surface thoughts, because I was about to do something very bad. As I leveled the gun at Longshot, she put a hand on my arm. She was looking at me, and our eyes met. She didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes, well, it looked like she was scared. Scared for me. Like I was about to do something that she didn’t want to believe I was capable of. Something you don’t come back from. Seeing that look in my old friend’s eyes, it hit me hard; made me stop. The fear I saw in them reminded me of something important.

  I’m a reporter, not a vigilante.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. I smiled at Sinfonie. “OK, ‘plan B’.” I put the weapon away, pulled out my phone and thumbed through the recent calls list to find the number for Lieutenant Dawson.

  XII

  The cop answered on the second ring with a surly, “Dawson.”

  “Dawson, this is Reuben Conway. I understand you want to talk to me.”

  “Conway, I wanted to talk to you about twenty-hours ago. You have any idea what time it is? Why now?”

  “Because now I have something to tell you,” I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “How fast can you make it downtown? Time’s a factor. I have something for you: the bomber from the refinery.” As I said it, Longshot involuntarily twitched with surprise. It gave me great joy to see that twitch.

  The surliness was gone from the cop’s voice as he answered, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Where?”

  With a little help from Sinfonie, we managed to figure out the address of the alley we were in. I told him the address, adding that there was a dead man involved. After I hung up, I looked to Sinfonie, “I don’t suppose you’re going to stick around to provide a statement to the police.”

  She laughed. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll stick around, just in case, until I know they’re almost here and take off.”

  I handed her the envelope with the evidence. “If they find this on me, it’s game over. Mind hanging on to it for a bit?” She agreed, and put it in her saddlebag. I led her off a little way to where we could talk without Longshot hearing us. “Thanks,” I said, “But, what happened to not coming with me on this?”

  “That plan kinda went out the window when I scanned the driver. He had his defenses up, so I couldn’t make a move until he felt safe enough to make his.” She sheepishly added, “Sorry for cutting it so close.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. Hell, she’d just saved my life for the second time in as many hours, and she was the one apologizing? “I’m the one who should be sorry, Sin. I should have been more careful.”

  She smiled and gave me a playful shove, “Yeah, that’s right! This is all your fault! You better bring a really good bottle of wine on Sunday.”

  I grinned. “You got it.”

  We heard approaching sirens about ten minutes later. Sinfonie went to her bike and rode off into the pre-dawn darkness, but I could also see her walk her bike down the alley and take up a position behind a dumpster. She winked at me. To my eyes, she was semi-transparent, and I realized that the image of her driving off was just being superimposed on my vision. She was probably broadcasting it, so anyone around would think I was alone in the alley with Longshot. Another of her powers. I thought it was pretty darn cool.

  True to his word, Dawson got to the alley in just under fifteen minutes, with two squad cars close behind. Dawson pulled in into the alley in a brown Crown Victoria as the squad cars cordoned off both ends of the alley. “You’re up early, Mr. Conway,” the detective said as he got out of the car. He was a heavyset white man in his mid-forties, dressed in a rumpled grey suit. He was balding, and what hair he had left was going grey. A gold wedding band on his left hand glinted in the headlamps as he walked over.

  He stopped as he saw the taxicab’s grizzly cargo. He turned and waved one of the patrolmen over, pointing to the trunk, “Call this in and tell them I said to put Chavez on it.” As the cop started talking on his radio, Dawson turned back to me and shook my hand. “Don’t worry, Chavez is a good guy.” Turning to regard my prisoner, he said, “So, who’s this?”

  “A bounty hunter who goes by the name of Longshot. Gail Crenshaw hired him to kill me. He killed the driver to get to me. I have the gun I think he used to do it in my waistband. Shall I hand it to you?”

  “Slowly, please.”

  I did as I was instructed and handed the weapon to him, butt end first. “There’s another pistol and a knife in the car, as well as whatever’s in the gearbag.”

  Once all the weapons were accounted for and in police custody, Dawson observed, “You look like you’ve been through the ringer, Conway. Want to talk about it?”

  “Yep. Let’s take a little walk.” We walked over towards the dumpster, far enough away that Longshot and the cops couldn’t hear but Sinfonie could. As we walked, I noticed that he always kept his hands in motion. He’s adjust his sport coat, look for something in a pocket, gesture as he spoke, that kind of thing. It seemed at first like a nervous tic, but it reminded me of something from a Mickey Spillane novel where Mike Hammer used the technique to defeat an assassin. He kept his hands moving to get the gunman used to the constant motion, so when Hammer made his move, he could catch him unawares. I thought the cop might be doing the same thing. Probably makes it easier if he had to go for his gun. I filed it away for future study, figuring it might be something I could use.

  “Do you remember a superhero from the Korean War by the name of Gale?” I asked.

  The stocky lieutenant rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I think I heard of her when I was a kid. Brought down fighters using storm powers or something. That her?”

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “I seem to remember she died or something.”

  “Nope. She’s alive. Alive and pissed.” I spent the next few minutes running through the whole crazy sto
ry. I didn’t realize how nuts it sounded until I said it all out loud. To my relief, Dawson didn’t slap on the cuffs and call the boys in the clean white shirts to come and take me away. Instead, he just stepped back and let the story run around in his head.

  A few minutes later, he seemed to make up his mind. “You got some evidence to back all this up?”

  I handed him a memory card. “That’s my footage from last night. You’ll need to have someone do some enhancement, but The Angels confirmed it was Longshot who set the bomb. It also shows that Phoenix Fire was shot before she died. Ultiman has the round that killed her in his possession.”

  “Jesus, Conway, you should have given this to me a long time ago.”

  “If I had, I wouldn’t have anything to back the rest of the story. I’ve got an envelope full of documents that ties everything to Crenshaw.”

  He stuck out a meaty paw. “Let’s have it.”

  “It’s at the Tower. We need to get over there. Unless I miss my guess, Hell’s about to break loose. For all I know, it already has.”

  “Okay, but I’m not letting you out of my sight until this is over. Get in my car. I’ll give you a ride.”

  I didn’t see a way to refuse his offer, and I was more than a little surprised that he didn’t just arrest me for withholding evidence, so I followed him.

  Sinfonie spoke in my head, “Reuben, what are you doing?”

  “I’m playing it straight,” I thought back to her. “I think we can trust this guy. Scan him and tell me I’m wrong.”

  There was a pause. “What do you know, a trustworthy cop. Now, I’ve seen everything.”

  “Thanks for the confirmation. What are you going to do?”

  “Joe will be getting up for work soon. I need to get home and make up some story that won’t land me in divorce court. I’ll take the kids to my mom’s place and get back out here as soon as I can.”