I was feeling good about the week and decided to patrol for an hour. If nothing came up, I’d go dancing. I was close to the end of my hour and then, bold as brass, two guys just tossed a garbage can through a jewelry store window and started grabbing. And, in retrospect, I should have known something was up. I’d never seen a jewelry store on that corner before and those tempered glass windows just don’t shatter that easy.
Didn’t matter. I was out of the Chaser and into the alley. I pulled a shock-rod, set it and flung it. In a narrow alley, with a couple of ricochets, I could get both of the morons with just one toss. It was going to be simple.
Then the big guy in the back turned. His eyes blazed red and my shock-rod evaporated.
My good week was turning into a very bad day.
It got worse. I spun. A third guy was cutting me off. I figured my father had set this up, which took my chances of survival down to zip point nada. So I reacted, somewhere down below the primate level. Fight or flight, and I had to do one before I could do the other.
I barreled into the third guy. I clipped his jaw with my head and surprised him. That gave me a moment to shove him off, then I was out of the alley. I ran away from the Chaser, but used the remote to send it home, hoping they’d chase it. One of them did, flames flaring from the bottoms of his boots.
And the other guy was just on the edge of the alley, so they were all behind me.
Or so I thought.
I bounced straight off a guy’s chest. The guy with the glowing eyes. Had to be. Couldn’t be two of them that big. But that was okay, because I rolled to my feet, leaped away and caught hold of a passing truck. Nearly dislocated my shoulder, but I was away.
Nighthaunt rubbed at his jaw. “You led us a merry chase that night. You really lived up to your totem animal. You ran, you fought, you did everything except the one thing Greg would have done.”
“And that was?”
“Wait to be rescued.” He fell silent for a moment. “That tendency was my fault. He got used to it. It’s a hard habit to break, waiting for someone else to fix things. It’s worse when you choose to ignore the offers of help.”
“So Greg isn’t listening to you.”
“No.” He drank and set down an empty glass–though it remained neither empty nor down for very long. “I won’t bore you with details or get cryptic. There is a link between the Hall of Fame and the Little Asia massacre. I’m not sure what. I don’t know who, but it is out there. I’m amassing information. I’ve offered it to Greg, but he thinks everything is under control. He trusts too much in the illusion.”
I shrugged. “It could be he thinks you trust in a different illusion.”
“And it could be he’s right.” Again Nighthaunt sighed, this time wearily. “I just… you don’t do this this long, you don’t live in this city this long, and fail to feel what’s happening.”
“I’m hardly in a position to judge.”
“True. And you are retired. If you truly can be.”
“I am.”
“Nothing calls out to you? You don’t hear the people in pain and fear?”
“Sure, but, you know, it’s like being at the scene of an accident. I can see people in pain, I can feel them being afraid, but I’m not a doctor. I’m not an EMT. I would hurt more than I can help. “
“But you still have to feel the desire…”
“I suspect I always will, just like Grant and Terry. But they’ve worked it out. While I think you’re right on the mix of wolves and cattle, maybe eliminating the wolves isn’t just a matter of apprehension. Maybe it’s prevention. Maybe education and opportunity will give someone a chance at something other than a life of crime.”
“There will always be a need for wolfhounds.”
“Funny thing about wolfhounds. They don’t tend to live very long.”
Nighthaunt chuckled. “I was right about you.”
“How so?”
“You could have been my heir.”
“I’m flattered, but I don’t see it.”
“No one else would have had the stones to argue with me, especially when, philosophically, we are so alike.” He swirled amber liquid in his glass. “You know that’s the truth. You may be retired, but you wish you could be hunting wolves, not cultivating daisies.”
I drank.
“I’ll leave the bottle for you. There’s a second in your cupboard.” Nighthaunt stood slowly. “If anything happens to me, drink to my health, will you?”
I stood and offered him my hand.. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
He grasped my hand, his grip firm and strong “Why would I start now?”
“There are people who would think our entire careers were acts of stupidity.”
“The lowing of cattle concerns me not at all. I care only to hear terrified wolves howl.” He pumped my arm, then let go. “My best wishes to Selene, Grant and Terry. Please pass on my regards.”
“Come back and we’ll finish the bottle.”
He paused for a moment, considering. Time weighed. His voice softened. “I would like that.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-one
I didn’t touch the bottle stashed in my cupboard. Nighthaunt was of my father’s generation. If they were characters in some novel, they’d have been twin orphans, split up, raised apart only to be drawn together in some sort of self-destructive death spiral. There would be something about that bottle or on the label or in it that would be a clue. He wanted me to have it in case something happened to him.
It was the age they were raised in. More black and white, full of courtesies layered over insincerity and duplicity. Everyone played nice in public, but seethed behind the scenes. They learned to express themselves in subtle and oblique ways, which, if you weren’t watching, seemed quite innocent.
When I was growing up, no one committed suicide. They always accidentally overdosed. Or the one I loved: they had an accident while cleaning a gun. That one used to make sense until I learned how to clean a gun. No way you could have an accident doing that, not by accident, anyway. But accidents make details easy to politely ignore when the casket has to be closed.
That doesn’t mean people weren’t genuine or sincere. They were, and had greater freedom to be so because everyone understood there was a social order. You could rise or fall, provided you didn’t push. You had to earn what others now would demand as their right. That was why the Deuteragonist Society ran into so much trouble–they demanded what others didn’t think they’d earned.
After that running battle with C4, when I was finally winded and bruised, at bay in an alley but still defiant, Graviton just nipped in and grabbed me in the blink of an eye. I recognized him from that move–his pulling off the ski-mask just confirmed what I knew in my heart. Nighthaunt, Colonel Constitution and the Golden Guardian rounded out the quartet.
Without a word, Graviton flew Nighthaunt and me to Haste Manor. I was deposited with Ethelred Pennywise, the venerable Haste manservant. He led me to a guest suite, pointed me to the shower and while I cleaned myself up, he laid out a tailored suit worth more than I cleared in a month. He handed me some Motrin, praised my ability to tie my own tie, then conducted me to a dining room where I sat at Nicholas Haste’s right hand.
There they all were. Grant Stone and his wife, Dr. Julia Angle, Terry Veck, William Wright the first and his son, the second; Lord Raptor, Wild Hare, The Advocate, Silver Sword, Polestar and Scarlet Archer. It took a second or two to realize I was dining with the Capital City Crime Crusaders, all of them with their faces exposed. More importantly, they talked about life–not as a hero, but the difficulties they were having at work or with ailing parents or, well, just normal stuff.
The meal was great. Haste Manor, I thought at the time, boasted a staff of a dozen, but Ethelred did it all himself. Wines matched courses perfectly. The food was exquisite. Grant, the food critic, tucked himself in and inhaled the food. I ate a bit more slowly, but only becaus
e I feared doing something that might wake me from the dream.
Then we retired to a study lined with books. Tall windows stood open, admitting an evening breeze. That’s when I had my first Scotch, and drank it neat. That’s what Nighthaunt had remembered all these years later.
Graviton took the lead after everyone settled down. He, being invulnerable, wasn’t affected by alcohol, but still seemed to appreciate the taste. “You’ve been recommended as a candidate for C4. After what we saw this evening, we’re offering you our friendship and a chance to join with us. You’re part of the new generation of heroes. We want your energy, your skill, your intelligence and, quite frankly, your spirit.”
I must have sat there in silence for hours. Okay, probably not that long, but it seemed like it. Then I said something stupid.
“Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?”
They laughed.
My cheeks burned.
The Advocate set her brandy down. “Nick was cutting his food into tiny bits tonight and chewing gingerly. We have the right guy.”
“But I’m nobody.”
Terry smiled. “Doesn’t matter who you are, it’s who you’ve made yourself into. I liked what I saw tonight. We all did. Join us and we’ll train you, help you, and count on the same in return. You’re good. We’ll make you better, and you’ll make us better.”
I looked at Nighthaunt. “You sure you want me in?”
“I nominated you.”
I think there was more silence at that point. If I drank, I didn’t taste it. Just to be sitting in a room with these people was an honor. The trust they showed in revealing their identities was an even greater one.
They offered a choice that really wasn’t a choice at all.
“Thank you for the invitation. I accept.”
Applause erupted. Polite applause. I read it correctly. They were glad to have me, but they didn’t fully trust me. The power gathered in that room could easily destroy me, in costume or out. Even then I thought that L’Angyle could use magic to blank my memory if I’d said no. They’d risked something, but not everything.
Thinking back on it, even then I recognized part of what was going on. They understood the need for continuity, but they were also uneasy with it. Those who had children had young children. Those who had sidekicks were already discovering how rebellious they could be. First Amendment had begun to step from his father’s shadow, but he was also his heir apparent. Within three months the role passed down, so Colonel Constitution II and I were viewed as the next team.
We even got nicknamed “The Killer Cs.”
It was also understood that we knew our places. We were above the sidekicks who likely would never be invited to join. We would never, however, rise to the Olympian status of the group’s founders. I really didn’t have a problem with that, as I saw them being just a step below the gods anyway.
And, then while I was away, that age died.
Grant, Terry and Nick might be relics, but they belonged in the Hall of Fame. Or a museum. Me, too–the museum part. Oddly enough, I wasn’t having a problem with that.
In fact, I wasn’t having much of a problem with anything. Castigan’s business chugged right along. Becker never said anything to the police, or they didn’t treat his charges as credible, so that remained of no consequence. Heightened police and C4 II presence on the streets suppressed what the Murdoch was calling “wildcatter crime,” and other decried as “scab crime.” Everything was going great.
Then two people walked into the show room. They said they had some Nighthaunt gear to sell, so Diana buzzed them in. One, a pretty and petite Asian woman, showed a couple of Spookstar knock-offs to Diana. While Diana explained why they were fakes, the other guy–taller and stockier in that Neanderthal way–just turned in a lazy circle, taking everything in.
I caught that on a security monitor, so I came out of the back. “May Castigan help you?”
The woman abruptly turned from Diana. “You’re Castigan.”
I nodded.
“You have a nice place here. Elegant. Refined. Upscale.”
“Thank you.”
Her partner loomed over her. “Be a shame if something bad happened to the place, you know?”
It took me a second to comprehend. It was a shake-down, a pure protection racket. I pay them an “insurance premium” and my place doesn’t burn down or get blown up. That was the cockroach of crime, or had been when I’d been working. But under the new system, protection just didn’t fly. If they were going to do something to my store, they’d let folks know, get a hero lined up and get publicity out of it.
I frowned. “Beg pardon?”
The woman’s face became impassive. “You’re an intelligent man, Castigan. You know the score. Ten thousand.”
“And the term?”
“A month. First month now, five points a day compounded when it’s late. Understand?”
“Completely.” I reached slowly for my wallet. “I have five on me.”
She held her hand out. “I’ll take it.”
The Neanderthal stepped toward the vault and pointed at Puma’s uniform. “And we’ll take that as collateral against the rest.”
“You are already charging interest for the balance, which will be here this afternoon.”
“Not good enough. It goes with me.”
I held a hand up. “Diana, don’t.”
She glared at me, her hand frozen above an open drawer. “You can’t let him take it.”
“’You can’t let him take it,’” whined the Neanderthal. “Who do you think you are, girlie? You think you can stop me? I don’t think so. I’m taking it and keeping it just because you’re so unfriendly.”
Diana stood. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, he is, Diana. Collateral.” I walked to the vault and opened the door. Air hissed, filling the vacuum. “Collateral, agreed.”
“Sure thing, Gramps.” The Neanderthal slammed a shoulder into my chest to brush me aside. Laughing, he ducked his head and entered the safe. “Come to poppa.”
Diana lunged from her desk. She slammed the vault door shut, then hit the red button, starting the pump. She came up and glared at the woman.
“Here’s the deal, sister. Fifteen seconds, he’ll feel like he’s in Denver. Fifteen more, the top of Everest. Another fifteen, he’d have an easier time breathing on Mars. The blood vessels in his eyes will burst. They’ll rupture in his skin, and he’ll just bleed out all over the place. So you have a choice. Come back for the other five grand, or go get a sponge for cleaning up your pal.”
The woman looked at me. “Your aide has a spine. Do you stand by her action?”
“That action speaks for itself. Five thousand, two-fifty by four?”
The Neanderthal, his cheeks bulging, pounded soundlessly on the vault’s window.”
Diana’s eyes narrowed. “Vault’s got video. Know how much we’re going to make putting this out there for Murdoch distribution?”
The woman nodded.
I elbowed the green button and heaved the vault open against the vacuum. The Neanderthal stumbled out and fell to his hands and knees, drawing in one loud breath after another.
Diana kicked his hands from beneath him and rested her boot on his neck. “If you ever imagine you’re worthy of touching that uniform, I’ll be happy to remind you that you’re wrong.”
I handed the woman the money. She counted it, then tucked it away. The Neanderthal crawled from the shop after her, propelled toward the elevator by Diana’s swift kick.
She shut the door, then turned, her face flushed. “Get your coat.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to follow them, aren’t we? That was a classic protection racket thing. We follow them back to their boss, follow him, find the big boss and take everything down.”
“No.”
“What?” She looked at me, puzzled. “She was one of the China Dolls.”
“And he was one of the Red Devils.”
&nbs
p; “But, then…” Her joyous expression began to die. “You’re just going to let them take that money?”
“And I’ll have more for them this afternoon, as I agreed.”
“But…”
“Look, Diana, there are two things going on here, and we better be straight about them. A week ago you stopped Becker from trying to punch me. Today you placed a man in an airtight container and started pumping the air out.”
“I wasn’t going to let him die.”
“I didn’t think you were. You acted according to your judgment, and that’s good, but playing at heroing isn’t good.” I shook my head. “You could have been hurt.”
“But Terry says I’m fast.”
“And that’s great, until you meet someone faster. Then it hurts a lot. Blue Ninja thought she could handle Baron Samizdat. That didn’t work out too well.”
She looked at me and blinked. “So you were just going to let him take my great grandfather’s uniform?”
I nodded slowly.
“How could you?”
“It’s just cloth, Diana.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a symbol. It’s everything he stood for. I thought you understood that.” She slammed her desk drawer shut, then snatched it open again. She tucked the Cat’s-claw into her purse, then slung it over her shoulder. “I have to get out of here.”
She shoved the vault door closed and started the pump again. “Don’t let them take it. Don’t let anyone touch it. I’ll be back for it later.”
She didn’t come back. I was pretty sure she was watching when the China Doll returned for her money. I gave her cash, then saw her out, locking the door behind her.
She’d never asked about the uniform.
I don’t know what I would have done if she had. I should have been curious, but I wasn’t. I’d not felt anything at the first request. Maybe that was because I knew Diana wouldn’t let them take it. Part of me wanted to hope that was the reason, but the rest of me knew it wasn’t.
I truly didn’t care. Sure, I remembered Puma. I revered him, but I’d distanced myself from all that. He’d been a role model, but that was for the life I once led. Had I not gone away, would things have been different? I didn’t know, and worse was that I shunted that question into a bag of hypotheticals, labeled “Do not touch.”
In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition Page 24
