In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition

by Michael A. Stackpole

  There was no answering any of them.

  At least, not without pain.

  Life was good. If it took some money to buy off trouble, I’d do it. I had more stashed still. I could wait things out. I could make due. It would be okay.

  What are you doing?

  I shook my head. I was talking to myself the way Nighthaunt’s cattle did. Maybe even the Daisies. I wasn’t that stupid. I was capable of deeper thought, but I didn’t care enough to work that hard. Believing the illusion was easier.

  All of a sudden I felt very tired.

  The sound of the lift cage opening brought me back from dark places. Selene moved through the shadows. She kneaded my shoulders, then kissed the top of my head. “Hi.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “Where’s the remote for your Murdoch?”

  I moved some junk aside and handed it to her. She pointed it, flipping away from the All-Soviet channel which was running a Stalinist Agricultural Projection retrospective. She bounced the image through a half-dozen channels, then settled on an overhead shot from a newscopter of a huge house blazing merrily.

  I read the scroll. “Not possible.”

  She set the remote down and hugged me tightly. “Haste Manor is gone. Nick’s gone with it.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  We didn’t talk much during the ride out to the Manor. The fire’s glow lit the horizon like dawn, it was just coming from the wrong direction. That was unsettling, but somehow less so than knowing Nighthaunt was gone. Nighthaunt had always been there and now…

  Cops and C4 II were all over the place, looking tough and angry. Rumors swirled through the crowd along with smoke and ashes. For unknown reasons a bunch of criminals had attacked Haste Manor. They blew through the gate, broke into the house and after a quick firefight, something exploded, engulfing the Manor in flames. Everyone assumed it was a bomb that went off prematurely since the raiders’ vehicles were scattered, toppled and burning, all over the lawn.

  Most folks put the attack down to Nick’s having been a visible supporter of the Greylan administration. That made sense to civilians. Those of us who knew, however, had a whole different spin on what had gone down. Me, especially. Nighthaunt had said he was on to something. What had he learned? How had he been exposed? Had the criminals hit Haste Manor, not realizing who Nick Haste was?

  There was another problem for those of us who understood the truth. We had to wonder how much the criminal element knew. If they had attacked Nick Haste because they knew he was Nighthaunt, how many others did they know about? Were all of us vulnerable? I half-expected to see C4 II all fly off to answer the call of another attack somewhere.

  There was no mistaking what was going on. This was the third unannounced and deadly attack by criminals inside a month. Some folks might figure it was a coincidence, but they were optimistic fools. The rules of the game were changing, and the system that had been so carefully constructed to keep fear manageable wasn’t equipped to deal with such escalation.

  Selene and I bundled back into the limo and headed toward town. She was shivering, so I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

  She grabbed a handful of my shirt and hung on tight. “I can’t believe…”

  “I won’t until I see a body.”

  “If he was still alive he would have let someone know.”

  “Unless he had reasons to want to be thought dead.”

  “You think?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past him.” I kept my voice hopeful, but all I could think of was the bottle he’d left in my cupboard.

  She looked up. “Sinisterion?”

  I considered for a moment, then shook my head. “Not his modus operandi. He learned with Puma that killing someone lets them off the hook. He’d rather have them live with their failure. I’m pretty sure he figured his book hitting the bestseller list would be driving Nighthaunt nuts.”

  “He didn’t know?”

  “Never got it from me.” I kissed her head again. “We’re going to jump to the conclusion that his secret ID killed Nick Haste, but we don’t know that. We may never know. While we need to act as if that was how it happened, we have to acknowledge that it may not have been. When you hear hoof beats, think horses before you think zebras.”

  She nodded and snuggled closer.

  I thought more about that bottle. I felt absolutely no desire to look at it. It might yield the clues that would allow me to solve the mystery of Nighthaunt’s murder. Talk about a way for me to emerge back on the world stage. I’d go from a forgotten wannabe to Nighthaunt’s avenger in a heartbeat. I could even accept his mantle, becoming the new Nighthaunt to avenge the old.

  Nick had as much as said he’d like that. And maybe the bottle’s secret would confer upon me that honor. Maybe it gave me the information I’d need to open up the Mausoleum and stop the criminal mastermind causing trouble in Capital City.

  No way. If Nick had known that much, there wouldn’t have been a fiery glow in the rear view mirror.

  No. The bottle would remain in that cupboard. I was retired. Period. The pyre that was Haste Manor marked the wisdom of that decision.

  Investigators found multiple bodies in the smoking ruins. Dental records allowed them to identify Nick Haste and Ethelred Pennywise. They’d been bound and shot before the place went up. The rest of the corpses were raiders. Underworld informants eventually yielded their identities. They were small-time hoods who’d been affiliated with a number of local gangs. Not quite an all-star hit squad as much as a collection of unpredictable sociopaths nobody was going to mourn.

  The city held a huge memorial for Nick Haste and the mayor vowed that Nick Haste would replace the statue of Mao. This met with surprisingly little protest from the Asian community. It was suggested Nick would be depicted in the garb he’d worn on a humanitarian trip to Lhasa, and would show him carrying the young Dalai Lama in his arms, which mollified critics.

  A smaller memorial service was held in the chapel at St. Black Moses. Attendees entered through a side door and were each given a courtesy mask. Selene, Vicki and I sat in the middle, two rows behind Terry, Kim and Diana. Grant, Gravé and Andromeda sat in the front row beside Delores Greylan–who appeared quite overwhelmed. I wondered if this was the first she knew of her husband’s other life.

  Only Redhawk appeared in costume, and came to the podium as the masked priest withdrew. He gripped the lectern in both hands. Just the effort he used to quell the tremble in his arms brought a lump to my throat. Eyes were dabbed well before he ever began to speak.

  “I want to thank you all for coming. Nighthaunt was always a fiercely private man. He always viewed himself as a solitary figure, not because he did not appreciate all the rest of us, but because he sought to insulate us the way he insulated the citizens from the ugly and evil things that lurk in the shadows.

  “All of you knew him in ways that are unique to you. I was blessed enough to know him as a mentor, then a friend and, finally, a peer. My most fond memory was of one of our last adventures together. I’d been having trouble solving the case of a runaway teen who had become involved with a gang. I asked Nighthaunt to help me. He agreed, but did little more than listen to what my ideas were. He asked a couple of questions, then we were off. We broke into the group’s headquarters. That was like kicking over a hornets’ nest. We blew through them, found the girl and got her out.

  “It was only afterward that I realized he’d not thrown a punch nor a Spookstar. In fact, aside from a warning here, or letting himself distract someone there, he’d really not done much of anything. So I asked him about it and he just nodded–no, not even then was he going to smile–and said, ‘If you’d needed help, I’d have given it to you. You didn’t. You won’t, ever again.’”

  Redhawk paused and his shoulders slumped slightly. “Nighthaunt was a legend. Though he had not been overtly active for a decade, just whispering his name was enough to make the hardest men quiver fearfully. I will admit, mor
e than once, to being chagrinned and yet gratified when someone said, ‘It’s Redhawk. Give up now, or Nighthaunt will come and kick our asses.’”

  Mild laughter rippled through the crowd.

  “Some of us here have had adventures all over the globe, and on other worlds. Nighthaunt did all of that, too, but Capital City was his city. It gave birth to him, sustained him, and called to him to defend it. Even after he retired, he could not help but use his resources, both behind the mask and otherwise, to help maintain the city. He was tireless in his commitment to Capital City, and we will continue his battles.”

  Redhawk’s head came up. “It has occurred to some of you that something seriously wrong is going on. There is a concerted effort to destroy Nighthaunt’s city. I can tell you right now it will not succeed. We are not going to surrender Capital City to the forces Nighthaunt held at bay for so long. You will see, over the next two weeks, how our efforts will pay off. These things we do in Nighthaunt’s honor.”

  He straightened up and opened his arms. “Please, my friends, Nighthaunt’s friends, let us not dwell on the man we have lost. Let us remember always the friend who was there when we needed help. This is how he would want to be remembered. This is how he deserves to be remembered. This is how he shall live forever.”

  We remained through the Mass and then moved with the others into the Church’s side yard. People milled around while the priest blessed and kindled a small fire in a stone basin near the gate to the street. The courtesy masks would be burned as we left. Some people even wrote little messages on the masks, so their wishes could be carried to Heaven in the smoke.

  I approached Redhawk and offered him my hand. “You have my heartfelt sympathies.”

  “I’m sure.” He didn’t even bother with faux-politeness. “I’m surprised you dared show up here.”

  “What?”

  He lowered his voice. “He was a sick old man. What in hell were you doing filling his head with nonsense?”

  “I have no idea…”

  “Oh, come off it! It’s bad enough you always wanted to be him, but to fawn over him and tell him you believed his fantasies? Why would you do that? Have you no decency, no respect?”

  My eyes tightened. “Listen to me…”

  “No, pal, you listen to me. I know what’s going on here, and once I can prove it, you’re done, got it?” He jabbed a finger hard against my breastbone. “You should just pack your bags and go away. Again. Far away. It won’t stop me from finding you and dealing with you, but at least you’ll have a sporting chance of getting away.”

  I opened my arms. “I truly am sorry for your loss.”

  I walked away from him, my thoughts all jumbled. I wandered to a corner to collect myself, but Kim grabbed my shoulder.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Not just now, please.”

  “No, it needs to be now.” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder to where Diana stood with Terry. “Diana’s all confused. She thinks you’d have let some creeps take Puma’s uniform. But I told her…”

  I nodded. “I would have.”

  “What? But…”

  “I would have. And I’d have let them walk out of there and I wouldn’t have gone after them.”

  His jaw opened, then slowly closed again.

  “Look, kid, that uniform isn’t her grandfather. She can’t see that right now, but it’s true. If she makes that uniform into her grandfather, then she truly can lose him. She’s got to keep him in her heart and memories, and she has to live as he would have wanted.”

  “She’s trying to…”

  I shook my head. “You think Puma would have wanted this life for her?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “No. No parent would. Think about most of the sidekicks. They’re all wards and adoptees or distant relatives. Why? Because there’s detachment there. It’s the old apprentice system. No parent will work their own child hard enough. When a parent does, it doesn’t work. First Amendment is a good example.”

  “But the current Colonel… Okay, so maybe you have a point.”

  “And my point is this: Puma would have welcomed Diana as a hero, but that isn’t what he would have wanted for her.” I looked him straight in the eye. “But none of that is the reason you wanted to talk to me. You want to know what’s wrong with me. How could I let them take Puma’s uniform? Why didn’t I fight back, against them, against Becker? Isn’t that it?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m retired, that’s why. I don’t know why that’s so hard to understand.”

  “You can’t just quit being a hero.”

  “It’ done.” I shook my head. “Why won’t you let me quit? Nighthaunt wanted me back in the game. You. Diana. Look, you have to understand that there comes a time when you realize that it’s over. I can look out there and see patterns. Someone decides he’s going to knock over a liquor store, and he gets caught. You want to know why? Because he’s doing the same damned thing the first twenty-seven guys did in knocking over that store. The only difference? He’s doing it, and he thinks that’s somehow significant. It isn’t. And numbers twenty-nine through five billion will get caught the same damned way.”

  “And we’re there to catch them.”

  “You’re there to catch them. You still have that youthful optimism that tells you that by catching them you’re making a difference.” I sighed. “I’ve got perspective. It isn’t going to make a damned bit of difference if I catch them or not, because twenty-nine is waiting.”

  “And if catching twenty-eight makes twenty-nine think better of it?”

  “There’s always another twenty-nine. Always.” I stared at him. “But that’s not your problem with me, is it? No, your problem is that in absentia you built me into something I never was.”

  “You saved my mother.”

  “I know, and without that you might not have been born. I get that, but look at who I was. I had an independent career for three years. I had three more years with C4, mostly holding capes, directing traffic and keeping the odd civilian out of the line of fire. And then I went away.”

  “But if you hadn’t…”

  “Hypothetical. I could have had my career ended the next week. Ever look at the statistics on heroes? Worse than the old NFL. Average career for a pro football player was three years. Average age of death, fifty-six years. That’s the toll the stress takes on the body. I guarantee you, any hero over fifty-six is a mutant, an alien, or got out early.

  “But, look, because of what happened with your mother, because of your father, because I wasn’t around, you took scraps of legend and built me into something I never was. And you built yourself to be worthy of that legend. When I showed up again, it was a chance for me to validate everything you’d done, and the biggest validation would be the two of us going off to fight crime together. Don’t deny it. Been there. Know the feeling.”

  “Well, maybe…”

  “No maybe about it.” I clapped him on the shoulders. “The thing is, kid, I never asked to be a hero.”

  “No, you never asked to be my hero.” He batted my hands off his shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ll keep working on the Crusher. For Diana. The Chaser’s done. I’ll be moving my stuff out of your lair. I’ll find somewhere else to go, someone else to be.”

  “Kid…”

  “No, you’re right. I’m really not a kid anymore. There are adult responsibilities that need shouldering.” He turned from me. “About time I start taking care of those.”

  I watched him walk away and felt my guts shrinking.

  Selene came walking over, a uTiliPod in her hand. “Bad news. It’s your father.”

  I groaned. “Sometimes I wish he would just die. What happened?”

  She stroked my arm. “Your wish just came true.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I never got to see my father’s body. Consular officials from Santiago showed me video of a coffin being sealed and loaded onto a plane.
A flag from the Republic of Santiago was draped over the coffin and the body was conducted into the belly of the plane by a military honor guard.

  The official stopped the Murdoch replay. “Doctor Sinisterion will be buried with the honor befitting a diplomat of my nation. You, like the others, will be permitted at the memorial ceremony, if you so wish.”

  “Others?”

  The man, swarthy, small, with grey hair raked into a massive comb-over, shrugged. “Doctor Sinisterion had a number of enemies who wish to make sure he is dead. Many of the press wish to be there as well.”

  “You don’t have to save space for me.”

  Vicki and Selene looked at me as I said it. On the way from the church we had discussed whether or not I would let the Consulate know Sinisterion was my father. I’d opted against it. I couldn’t see any advantage to be gained from it–save perhaps some message being passed along, which was the last thing I wanted. In fact, all I saw was downside, with word getting out and a number of his enemies deciding to even the score by going after me.

  The man gave us an envelope thick with documents addressed to Castigan. I refused it, but Vicki took it. I thanked the man and he bowed perfunctorily. He promised that Sinisterion would be on a postage stamp by the end of the year.

  We returned to the limo and headed back to Selene’s place. Vicki began leafing through the documents. She read various bits and pieces aloud. It was a perfect public relations job–a post-mortem revision of his life. Somehow I imagined that the only regret he’d have had was not living long enough to pee on Nighthaunt’s grave.

  I should have felt guilty about wishing my father dead, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel joy over it, either. Fact was, I felt absolutely nothing. It would have been easy to credit it to my father shaping me into a weapon to kill Puma, but it was more complex than that.