by Nick Svolos
Backdraft didn’t make sense, either. Even if Ratna’s suspicion proved correct, I couldn’t imagine the government facing more than a scandal-of-the-week if it came to light. Sure, there would be a ruckus on Capitol Hill, but they’d just toss a few low-level guys under the bus, sit through a few hearings, and promise not to grab superkids off the street again. Things like this didn’t go much further than that. What are you gonna do? Shut down the FBI? Not likely.
No, this play was way too desperate. There was something bigger going on than an escaped ERD guy on a burglary spree. Damned if I could guess what, though.
My reverie came to an end when LaBlanc entered the room.
“Alright, Mr. Conway, you’re free to go.” He unlocked the handcuffs and held the door open for me. “If you’ll just come this way. There’s some paperwork you need to sign.”
I stayed in my seat, rubbing my wrist as if it was chafed. “I see. So, you don’t have any questions?”
“Not at this time. We may have questions for you later. It would be best if you didn’t leave town.”
I got up and took my time heading toward the door. I was sick of this crap and decided to stick a needle in this guy. “That’s a shame. I have a trip planned, and I’m not gonna miss it.”
“I’m afraid that might be a problem.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not a problem,” I walked past him. I caught a momentary look of shock on LaBlanc’s face. He buried it fast enough, but it was there. “At least not for me.”
Forney was waiting out in the corridor, fixing me with a disapproving glare as I emerged from the interview room, and LaBlanc fell in behind me as we started down the hall. Neither man spoke until Forney grunted, “This way,” at a corner. A sign on the wall pointed to the left and said “Processing.”
I was wondering what form of “processing” I had in store for me when I caught sight of a woman in a dark suit coming the other way down the passage. Her eyes went wide, and she ducked into a side office.
I’d be willing to bet my eyes went just as wide as I damned near tripped over my own feet. I couldn’t believe who I’d just seen.
The last time I saw her, she wore an ERD outfit. She’d tried to melt my eyeballs with blasts of weaponized sound until Baron Guapo knocked her out. When she came to, she was in ability-nullifying manacles, sitting on the sidelines of the Coliseum’s torn-up playing field. The cops had removed her mask and I’d gotten a good look at her face. Special Agent Lucy Wells was about thirty years old. Brown hair and eyes. About five-foot-five. Good-looking, but not so much that you couldn’t get her mixed up with any of the other women in LA who could answer to the same description.
I recovered from my stumble. I’d thought she was in jail. She certainly should have been. She’d used her powers to try to kill a normal. On national television. Even when you factor in that the normal she was killing was me, it was still kind of a big deal.
I risked a glance at my escorts, but the agents remained stone-faced. Had LaBlanc set this up? Was this some sort of test? Wells’ reaction seemed genuine, so probably not. Maybe an intimidation move, then? To let me know that these guys were above the law? Or maybe just a coincidence?
Yeah, well, I don’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore. I’d been doing this job way too long for that.
Intimidation it was, then. I gritted my teeth. That didn’t work on me anymore, either. Still, I kept my mouth shut. While it would be fun to raise a stink and start casting accusations around, this would be small potatoes. No, this was one to save for later, when I could pin it on a big potato.
We ended up at the booking counter where a civilian employee handed me my property and a receipt to sign. My keys, wallet, notebook, pen, voice recorder, and phone were all there. The only thing out of the ordinary was that my phone was off. I never turned it off.
“Did you get what you needed?” I asked as I signed the receipt.
“Pardon?” LaBlanc asked.
“From my phone,” I elaborated, sliding it into my pocket. “Did you get what you needed?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, sliding a packet of papers toward me. “Now, if you’ll just sign these forms, you can go on your way.”
The top sheet was some kind of non-disclosure agreement. I pushed it back to LaBlanc without looking at the rest of them. “I respectfully decline.”
“Look, these are just routine—”
“Nothing about this is routine, agent. You arrested me on a bogus charge so you could hack my phone. Now you want me to sign away my First Amendment rights. That’s not gonna happen. Anything you want signed, you can send to my paper’s lawyers. I’m betting one of them’s already sitting in the waiting room.”
I kept my voice calm and continued. “Let me tell you what is going to happen. I’m going to go talk to that lawyer. After that, I’m gonna walk outside. I’ll bet you a box of donuts there’s a bunch of reporters out there. It’s been a slow news week, and they’re hungry for a story. They’re gonna want to know what this is all about. I’m gonna tell ‘em. I’ll hold a little back, but that’s only because I’m gonna use it in my story.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You know what the funny thing is, Agent LaBlanc? It didn’t have to be this way. I don’t know what’s going on, yet, but I can see it’s bad. You wouldn’t be exposing the Bureau to this sort of heat if that weren’t the case. If you’d come to me in good faith, I’d have moved heaven and earth to help you. Instead, you decided to play things this way. Tried to intimidate me. That was your big mistake, agent.”
I could see my little diatribe was wearing on him. His body tensed and he glared at me with the fury of a cop pushed too far. One being pressured by his superiors to get something. Something bigger than me, that was for sure.
“Alright, Conway, how was that a mistake?”
“I don’t intimidate that easy. I’ve stared down gods.”
***
“Kill it!” Helen screamed from the couch, her legs tucked under her in terror.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered as I strode across her condo’s living room to the spider crawling on the wall. The little monster saw me coming and tried to scurry behind a picture frame, but I blocked it with one hand and scooped it up with the other. “Seriously, you know this thing can’t hurt you.” Hell, if you gave the little guy a machine gun and the training to somehow use it, he still couldn’t do anything more than put a few holes in her USC Trojans T-shirt.
“I don’t care!” She was laughing now, embarrassed. “Just get it out of here!”
“Alright, alright.” I took the spider out to the patio, releasing it into the little garden she kept out there. The hairy little bugger took my intervention in good humor, disappearing into the foliage. “Good hunting, dude.”
“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” she asked when I came back in, brushing a bit of web off of my hand. “I know it’s silly, but I just can’t stand those things.” She shivered. “Creepy.”
“Yeah, but didn’t you clear out a hive of his eight-foot-tall, man-eating cousins in Bermuda last year?”
“That was different. They were hurting people.”
“Oh, I see.” I didn’t. “You know, the things that guy eats are probably things you don’t want around.”
“I don’t care,” she said with an adorable little pout. “They creep me out. Crawling around, leaving webs everywhere. Surprising me when I least expect it. Sneaky little jerks, if you ask me. I mean, how can something with a brain that small control eight legs?”
I sat down and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m hip. It’s all I can do to manage two.”
“Exactly. It’s unnatural.”
I wasn’t going to talk her out of her arachnophobia any time soon, so I decided to change the subject. “So, how’s Patty?”
“Better,” she smiled up at me. “Made a lot of good progress today. Her
confidence is growing. She can now jump through a wall and land on the other side.”
“Awesome. She figure out how to bring her clothes with her yet?”
“Not yet. The poor thing. She’s very embarrassed about it, too.”
“Well, Greyshade called this morning. I guess he got delayed by some Noblesse business. Should be here in a day or two.”
“He can’t get here soon enough for my taste. She’s not out of the woods yet.”
“Who’s watching her tonight?”
“Taaliah. She figured I needed a night off with my fella.”
“Good, ‘cause after today, he needs a night off with you.”
“I can’t believe the FBI pulled that stunt. Do they still have your phone?”
“Naw, the IT guys at the paper have it. Looking for proof it was hacked.”
“Was there anything on it?”
“That’s just it. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t keep people in this business in my contact list. Just in case something like this happens.”
“Maybe they were after your call records.”
“They coulda gotten that from the phone company. A nice quiet warrant and nobody would be the wiser. For an investigation they were trying to keep on the QT, they sure have a funny way of doing it.”
“Did they search your laptop?”
“No, and that’s got me puzzled, too. They could have grabbed my notes or my computer. Could have leaned on Ratna or Harry. They didn’t do any of that.”
“How about your apartment? Maybe they locked you up so they could break into your place.”
“Hmmm. That’s a good thought. I haven’t been home yet.” I gave it a few seconds consideration. Although we spent most of our nights together when we weren’t on duty, I still kept my place in Santa Monica. One doesn’t just give up a rent-controlled apartment a few blocks from one’s place of business. Even if it was kind of a rat-trap. “Still, there’s nothing there they couldn’t have gotten a warrant for. Maybe I should see if Ben can spare a guy to check for bugs.”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “On the other hand, I’m starting to wonder if there’s an ulterior motive.”
“Like what?”
“Well, let’s break this down. First, they corner you as Captain Stand-In—”
“Hey, you’re not supposed to know about that.”
“Yeah, right. Fedor couldn’t keep something like this a secret if a movie deal counted on it. He’s pissed. When he heard what they did to you today, we had to keep him from going down there and blasting the place to smithereens.”
“Oh, God, Ultiman’s gonna go ballistic.” I could hear the lecture already. “So, by way of apologizing to an FBI agent, you antagonized him into arresting you. And you,” he’d turn to Suave at this point, “decided the appropriate course of action would be to blast your way into the Federal Building?” Insert some creative cursing, all in Latin, and it would sound a lot like that.
“Probably, but that’s on Suave, not you. You’re only in trouble with me.” She winked. “But to get back on point—first, they lean on Cap. Then they lean on you. What do those two guys have in common?”
“Well, we’re both keeping company with the same woman.”
She laughed and punched me in the shoulder. “No, you dope. Try again.”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this. They already know I’m the same guy.”
“No.” She was speaking faster, the way she does when she gets excited about something. “They don’t. Cap’s our rookie member. The new guy. Reuben’s a reporter who’s close to the team, but still an outsider, at least as far as the world is concerned. You’re the two guys who are most likely to be turned.”
“What, turn traitor on the team?”
“In both cases, they tried to tie you up with talk of national security. It’s a criminal act if you tell anyone. But they know you will.”
“So, they’re setting me up?”
“Sure. Oh, this is good. You see, they have probable cause now. They can haul one of you in and force you into a deal. Do what they really want, or go to jail.”
“Great. The two weakest links in the chain, and I’m both of ‘em.”
“Hardly.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the nose. “They screwed up. Backed the wrong pony. Ponies, I guess. But still, the wrong ones, because my boyfriend is incorruptible.”
I blushed. “I guess I got you fooled.”
“Like hell. But don’t you see—now that we know what’s coming, we can find a way to turn it around and use it against them.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
She shrugged. “Damned if I know. Let's get some dinner and figure it out.”
I couldn’t help but grin as we went to her kitchen and started cooking. She had a fantastic mind in that pretty head of hers, and she knew how to use it. It was pretty close to the top of the extensive list of reasons I had to keep her around.
In fact, it was on the line right under the one about her mind-blowing legs.
***
It takes a while these days to find a functioning pay phone in Los Angeles, but I eventually spotted one at a car wash off La Cienega. I punched in a number from memory and a few rings later, a groggy voice grunted something over the line.
“Good morning to you, too, Reggie.”
“Conway? You got any idea what time it is?”
“Two in the afternoon.”
“Yeah. Who the fuck gets up this early?”
“Mostly people who aren’t rock stars or criminals.”
“And I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout playin’ guitars. This better be good.”
“It’s not. We need to talk. The FBI spent most of yesterday trying to get me to give them your name.”
“Shit.” I could hear him rummaging around. “Alright, I can be at Mickey's in an hour.”
“Uh-uh. I haven’t spotted ‘em yet, but I figure the feds are watching me. Can you make it to Venice Beach?”
“Yeah, that’ll work.”
We agreed to meet on the boardwalk in an hour. I got there in half that time and spent the next thirty minutes using every counter-surveillance trick I knew to throw off any tail I might have.
Call me paranoid, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I kept my movements random. I walked into a second-hand clothing shop, found the back door, slipped into an alley, popped back onto the street long enough to find another shop and repeat the process. After a bit, I wandered out to the boardwalk, stopped for a coffee at a cafe, and watched the crowd.
Nothing.
Either these guys were unimaginably good at their jobs, or LaBlanc wasn’t having me followed. Neither seemed likely. Maybe I’d actually lost them. That didn’t seem likely, either.
It was almost time to meet Reggie, so I went into the bathroom and peeled off my wig. My hair, what there was of it, was growing back from my encounter with Backdraft at its accustomed speed, but was still only long enough to make for a crew cut. I tucked the hairpiece into my messenger bag, pulled out the workout bag with my Captain Stand-In getup, and stuffed the messenger bag into it. Once that was done, I headed out to the boardwalk to bury myself in the crowd. I walked around, browsing the vendor stalls until Reggie made contact.
“Alright, man, what’s the deal?”
“They want to know who told me about Backdraft. Bad enough to arrest me just so they could hack my phone.”
“I know you didn’t have my number in there,” he muttered threateningly.
“Have you been arrested yet?”
“Good man. So, what’s the play?”
“I need to get ahead of these guys. How’d you find out?”
“Shit, man, you know I can’t tell you that.”
“You can and you will, unless you want the heat. The feds’re scared, Reg. Something big’s coming down, and they’re going off the reservation. If I can figure out what it is, I can give ‘em another target. If not, it’s just a matter of time before they wind u
p at your door.”
Reggie cursed, took a quick look around, and cursed some more. “Talk to The Mouse.”
Again with The Mouse. For a guy who takes such pains to operate from the shadows, he sure was making a lot of noise.
“I don’t get it.”
“He gave me the tip. Told me to pass it on to you.”
It took a couple of seconds to process this. Mickey was more likely to serve you a drink in a clean glass than give away information. This thing was making less sense every second.
Still, a lead is a lead. “Alright, man. Thanks.”
“No charge this time. Just keep this shit offa me.”
I nodded, but he was already gone. I wandered around the stalls for another fifteen minutes before making myself scarce as well. Going back to my car didn’t seem to be a good idea, considering the circumstances, so I hailed a cab and brooded in the back until the driver dropped me off in a residential neighborhood a few blocks from the King of Spades.
I stopped at a gas station and used the restroom to get my wig back in place before going into the henchman hiring hall. It was cool and dark, and I took a stool at an unoccupied end of the bar.
“You look like a man who could use a drink, Mr. Conway,” Mickey said as he poured three fingers of Scotch into a smudged glass and set it before me. “That one’s on me.”
I downed a third of it. “I guess you know why I’m here.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Your run-in with the FBI was on the news. Probably wondering if this is some sort of set-up.”
“The thought has crossed my mind. Doesn’t seem to be your speed, though.”
“Oh?” He seemed pleasantly surprised. “How so?”
“You prefer solutions without a lot of moving parts. I figure if you wanted me out of the picture, it would involve blunt-force trauma.”
“True. I guess I’m becoming predictable in my old age.” He refilled my glass. “Fortunately, you weren’t the problem I needed to solve.”
