Being a crime lord, he was predictably intimidating. Almost as tall as me and nearly as broad, he wore a cream-colored designer suit adorned with gold cufflinks and a matching tie pin. Dark-skinned, he had sightless white eyes and close-shaved hair, and he lounged at the table like he owned the place—well, maybe not owned, but threatened the real owners for protection money, certainly.
The hostess announced me, and he gestured lazily at the chair across from him. I sat, and the hostess fled the room.
“Mr. Del Toro,” the Prophet King greeted. “I’d heard you’d woken up. It took you longer to get in touch than I’d thought.”
So he’d been expecting me. Interesting. Most people would chalk that up to his ability to perceive the future, but I knew better. He could only predict threats to his life, not every little thing that might happen. He was either trying to be mysterious, or he knew information that had made him guess I’d approach him. That, or he’d foreseen a threat to his life that happened while I was meeting him. Tensing slightly, I glanced around the room.
“No bodyguards today, Mr. Dupree?” I asked.
“Why? Planning on attacking me?” He smirked and took a sip of something on the rocks, though it was barely noon. The table bore an assortment of appetizers: shrimp cocktail, crab cakes, and soft buttered rolls. They were untouched, and I didn’t reach for them, not after Eddy’s tale of how the Prophet King had drugged Val’s drink last time they’d met.
“Amala’s in a jail cell,” he continued. “The police didn’t take kindly to her busting up a hospital when I sent her to murder you.”
“That is illegal,” I replied in the same light tone.
“It’s inconvenient. I’d always planned on her taking over when I stepped down, and with her locked up, I’m having to push back my retirement.”
Huh. Amala Kapoor, AKA the supervillain Ember, was almost always at the Prophet King’s side, but I’d assumed she was another bodyguard, not a chosen successor. More importantly, though…
“I didn’t know you were planning on retiring.”
“I need to spend more time with my children. They’re traumatized—understandably after what happened, and I… I feel my time has come.”
So Mr. Lucifer didn’t have his kids anymore? He’d rescued them? Hiding how he’d surprised me, I asked, “Why wait for Ember, then? Why not just step down now?”
He raised an eyebrow. “And leave a power vacuum in Miami’s underworld? Is that what you want?”
“No, but I’m surprised it’s something you’d consider.”
“Hmph.” He leaned back. “I’ve done a lot of work on this city, spent a lot of money and effort to make sure everyone knows they work for me and that I won’t tolerate pointless shootouts between gangs or pushing drugs in schools. If I leave now, that all crumbles, and a lot of people will get hurt.”
I cocked my head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound like a superhero.”
His mouth tightened like he’d tasted something rancid. “Superheroes didn’t save me after Pretty Boy Jeffries forced me to join his gang when I was fifteen years old. And where were the superheroes when I was abducted and beaten by every crime lord-wannabe trying to use my powers for their own gain? Don’t insult me by calling me one of you. I’ve made my own path.” He paused and smoothed out his facial features, his fingers straightening his tie. “But we’ve gotten off topic.”
“I don’t think we ever got on topic.”
“True enough.” He inclined his head. “You’re here for information.”
“Val always says you know everything that goes on in this city. Dr. Sweet’s here somewhere, and I want to find him.”
He took another sip of his drink. “I would’ve thought Mr. Lucifer would be your top priority, given how he’s possessing your wife.”
I couldn’t tell him Val had found a way to break free of his control. The more people who knew, the higher the chance it would get back to Mr. Lucifer. “I have someone on the inside and a plan to take care of that. But he’s working with Dr. Sweet, and I don’t know their ultimate goal.”
The Prophet King said nothing, his face contemplative.
“You talked about not wanting people to get hurt earlier,” I pushed. “And you must know what Dr. Sweet’s capable of. He’ll bring nothing but pain and misery to this city. Help me stop him.”
“I know,” he said, “But I’m not used to giving out information for free.”
Supervillains. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “What do you want?”
He drummed his fingers against the table, his gold rings gleaming. What would he ask for? Something illegal, probably. The question was how far I was willing to go to stop Dr. Sweet. I couldn’t help but glance at the glass of ice water in front of me, condensation dripping down it and pooling on the coaster. Was it tainted with Dr. Sweet’s drug? How many people had already unknowingly taken it?
“There’s nothing you can offer me that I’m interested in,” the Prophet King said finally. “Valentina, on the other hand…”
I straightened up. What he did want from her?
“I owe Valentina,” he said. “It’s thanks to her that I have my children back. So for her sake, I’ll tell you.”
Val had gotten his kids back? I really wished I’d had more time to talk with her in that water plant.
“I’m listening,” I said.
The Prophet King ran a ringed finger idly around the rim of his glass. “I don’t know where the doctor is. He’s as slippery as they come. But my men found one of his labs last night. I’ve had it under surveillance since and am debating just blowing it up.” He paused. “But instead of risking my men’s lives, how about I leave it to you and your friends?”
“I think we could take care of it,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t. I’d hate for you to think I was doing this for you.”
“No, but I’ll thank you anyway. My mother raised me to be polite.”
The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, and the Prophet King summoned one of his men, who gave me the lab’s address. Once he was gone, I said my goodbyes and stood to leave.
“For what it’s worth,” the Prophet King said, “I…regret the necessity of sending Amala to kill you.”
“Apology accepted,” I said with a grin. Then I left, part of me actually hoping the charges against Amala Kapoor wouldn’t stick, so the Prophet King could retire like he wanted and take care of his kids.
But right now, I had other things to worry about.
• • •
A day and a half later, I was beginning to think the Prophet King had lied to me. We’d decided to stake out the lab rather than destroy it in hopes of Dr. Sweet or Agent Lagarde showing up. We didn’t even go inside it to investigate, fearing security cameras or other surveillance would tip off Dr. Sweet that we knew where it was.
Luckily, there was a motel across the street—or maybe unluckily, since it had been abandoned for years. Rotting, broken furniture filled its halls, housing cockroaches and other vermin. A musty smell pervaded every room, and crushed beer cans and broken needles littering the floor showed we weren’t the first people to squat here. We chose a second-story room that was only moderately filthy and had a good view of the lab. Then we took it in shifts of two people to watch the place.
Nothing came of it—well, nothing related to finding Dr. Sweet or Agent Lagarde. Julio put Elisa and me on the first shift, during which she apologized for getting mad at me. It was a weight off my shoulders—though it just made room for other weights to take its place. The lab was a one-story storefront with the letters “BEAUTY SUPPLY” adorning the top, though one of the P’s was missing, and the T hung precariously. The windows were papered up, and a sign announcing “Closed for Renovations” hung on the door, though it was faded and looked as if it had been there for a while.
No one went in or out. Had the Prophet King played me for a fool? Was he protecting Dr. Sweet, or was there another reason he’d send me
on a wild goose chase? I told myself to be patient, that a day and a half wasn’t all that long. But when Jocelyn and I relieved Julio and Eddy after their shift, nothing had changed, and we were all feeling low. We debated trashing the lab just to see what would happen before deciding to wait at least another day.
Jocelyn and I settled in, getting as comfortable as was possible in the dump. Everything I touched left dirt on my hands, and the smell made me sneeze. Jocelyn’s mouth was a tight line as she surveyed the moldy room, but she didn’t complain. We took the wooden chairs the others had left by the window and peered through the ratty curtains to the lab across the street.
“The glamorous life of a vigilante,” she said with a sigh.
“To be fair,” I replied with a grin, “being a government-sanctioned superhero wasn’t much better. I’m sure we both ended up in plenty of dumps like this.”
“True, but at least we were getting paid.” She shifted towards me, looking considerably cheerier. “Okay, worst thing you ever dealt with on the job. Three, two, one—go.”
“Starla Strauss,” I blurted, then immediately felt bad about bad-mouthing the dead.
“I’ve heard of her,” Blue Sparrow said with a nod. “Kept getting herself held hostage so a hero would rescue her, right?”
“And if there were no handy villains around, she’d crash her car in front of you and wait to get pulled out of the wreckage.”
“Yikes.” She grimaced. “Yeah, I’ve had my share of obsessive fans.”
“Please tell me there’s not another serial damsel-in-distress out there.”
She barked a laugh. “No, you’re safe. Mine was a crazy stalker. Showed up at all my public appearances, which was fine, but then he started lurking outside my apartment.”
I winced. “Please tell me the DSA did something about him.”
“In a way,” she said with a smile. “Mom waited outside one night. I never found out exactly what she did to him, but last I heard, he’d moved to Alaska.”
Her smile faded as she looked back out the window.
“We’ll find her,” I said. “Then we’ll figure out what Dr. Sweet did to her and set it right.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, not taking her gaze from the dirty glass.
I made small talk for a bit, trying to take her mind off things, but wasn’t very successful. We settled into silence, which was better for stealth, anyway. Outside, the afternoon light gradually faded, and one streetlight on the corner flickered pitifully to life. We couldn’t risk a flashlight or lantern in the motel, since it would signal our location. The darkness beckoned even more creepy crawlies from the cracks and crannies in the room, and I gave up on trying to stomp on them all after a while.
As the lab remained dark and silent—if it even was a lab—I wondered what we’d do if the Prophet King’s info was a lie. I’d talked to Moreen on the phone earlier, and she had no other leads on Dr. Sweet’s location at the moment. Even worse, she’d reported that her meeting with Walter had been… well, I wouldn’t repeat her exact, profanity-filled description, but let’s just say it didn’t fill us with confidence that the DSA would save the day. Walter was one of the highest-ranking members in the organization, but he had to investigate in secret because he didn’t know who to trust. At least he knew how everyone had been compromised now, though it was probably little comfort.
Could the DSA come up with a countermeasure to the drug? Or, at the very least, a way to detect it? I hoped so but wasn’t about to hold my breath. On the bright side, Lady Nightmare’s video claiming she’d slipped hallucinogens into the water was being played and replayed all over the internet and across news channels, sending people into a panic. (It helped that, on top of her fearsome reputation and dire threat, she had people with phenomenal video production skills. She’d lounged on a black leather chair like a throne in the clip, wearing a poison green gown and matching mask and looking all-around like a nightmarish queen.) Dr. Sweet would have a much harder time getting his drug into the water supply, though I doubted this would stop him permanently. At least—wait.
A van slowed down in front of the lab, causing both Jocelyn and I to lean forward. Cars had driven past before, but none had slowed. Most even ran the stop sign at the end of the road, not wanting to risk pausing in this part of town. Jocelyn and I exchanged a quick glance, waiting to see if the van would stop.
It did. The doors opened, and two people got out. The first was a pale young woman wearing leather and fishnets—Treat.
The second was Agent Lagarde.
Chapter 12
She’d gotten the traditional “I’ve gone evil” makeover. Her hair had been cut and fanned out from her head in a loose afro, and she wore black from head to toe—well, head to ankle. Her boots were stylish and blue, matching the lenses of her blue-tinted glasses. She banged on the side door of the van, and it slid open. Five No-Men—zombies in fitted black suits and white masks molded into the shape of a blank face—lumbered out and shambled towards the lab.
Lagarde then barked something at Treat, who didn’t seem keen on taking orders. She mouthed off in reply, but Lagarde raised a single hand to her glasses, threatening to take them off. Treat flinched and stormed after the No-Men, fists clenched and arms swinging.
Jocelyn tore the blinds aside and wrenched open the window, stepping on the ledge and making to fling herself into flight.
“Wait,” I hissed. “Let me get downstairs first. We can attack together.”
She tore her gaze off her mother with effort, a desperate, dangerous look in her eyes. I was afraid she’d ignore me, but she proved to be more level-headed.
“Be quick,” she said.
I rushed out of the room in answer. No matter how hard I tried, I could only go so fast with my bad knee. Gripping my cane in one hand and the bannister in the other, I hurried down the stairs. Every other step made me wince, and I startled a dark shape that scurried under a pile of trash, but I didn’t slow. I pulled my burner phone out my pocket with my free hand and dialed Julio.
“Lagarde and Treat just showed up,” I said by way of greeting. “We’re going in. Backup would be appreciated.”
“We’ll be there ASAP. Be careful.”
Bursting out the front door, I shoved the phone back into my pocket and crossed the street. There was no sign of Lagarde, Treat, or the No-Men, but the van was sill parked outside the lab. They must have just gone inside.
A low beat of wings overhead signaled that Blue Sparrow had taken flight. I reached the sidewalk, grabbing the metal pole of a pedestrian crossing sign. Heaving, I tore it from the ground and kept going, readjusting my grip to hold it like a bat.
Blue Sparrow landed ahead of me and kicked open the door. She disappeared inside, and I hurried to catch up. Something crashed—hopefully not on top of her. Was she alright? I rushed through the door and had a split-second to take in the sight of her fighting the No-Men amid tables of lab equipment.
I lunged and swung the sign at the closet No-Men. The metal smacked into its skull with a crack, and the No-Man collapsed. My guts squirmed at the lethal force, but the No-Man had already been dead. The lobotomy scar on the back of its shaved head was proof of how Dr. Sweet had carved out everything human.
Blue Sparrow grunted as a No-Man landed a punch on the side of her face. She jumped—and a flap of her wings carried her over the No-Man’s head. The No-Man looked up stupidly, and I took the chance to clobber him with the sign.
Blue Sparrow landed on one of the tables. “Can you handle them?” she asked, as I effortlessly backhanded a No-Man coming up behind me.
“Yes. Go.”
She flew after Agent Lagarde and Treat, and I bashed another No-Man over the head with the sign. The one I’d backhanded stumbled up, so I hit it harder, and this time, it stayed down. That only left one.
It lumbered up to me, and I swung the dented sign.
The No-Man caught it in its fist and pulled.
The metal twisted and snapped. Crap. T
aking a step back, I tossed the broken piece aside and surveyed the No-Man. It was subtle, the way it was hunched over and how the plastic white mask didn’t quite fit right on its face. It certainly wasn’t as misshapen as the other No-Men with super-strength that I’d fought in the past, but it clearly had powers. This was about to get a lot more painful.
It swung a beefy fist. I sidestepped and jabbed the tip of my cane into its knee. It dropped to a half-kneel, and I drove my elbow down onto its hunched back. The impact sent a jolt through my upper arm, but it sent the No-Man to the floor.
That’s when I noticed Jocelyn. She darted left and right erratically like a bird that had flown into a house and didn’t know how to get out again. Sweat dripped down her panicked face, and she was punching wildly at something only she could see.
Psychic assault. It had to be. I scanned the room and saw Treat not too far away, a smirk on her face as she stared at Jocelyn. I needed to—
The No-Man tackled me. My back hit the floor, knocking a puff of air from my lungs. Then the No-Man punched me in the face, and I lost the ability to think for a second. I raised an arm to feebly block its next strike. Then I remembered my cane and swung it like a club. It was a present from Val, made of a much sturdier metal alloy than the sign had been, and it knocked the No-Man off me.
Ears ringing, I grabbed a nearby table and pulled myself to my feet. The force jolted the table, knocking over the glass vials atop it and giving me an idea. As the No-Man stumbled up, I turned and shoved the table, sending it shooting across the room like a speeding car—straight at Treat. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t have time to get out of the way. The table slammed into her midsection and knocked her down.
Jocelyn paused mid-punch, blinking as she looked around. I didn’t have time to speak to her, because the No-Man was back on me. It grabbed me with one hand and punched my back with the other. Hissing in pain, I elbowed it in the gut. I should’ve known better. No-Men didn’t feel pain, so the strike did absolutely nothing. I went for the joints instead, driving my heel into its knee.
The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 5): Superhuman Disaster ( Page 9