Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "Do you know why you're here?"

  "Because I got caught?"

  Lindenbaum smoothed the wrinkles from his russet sweater vest and sat back. "Lets take a serious look at the pattern of behavior. You deliberately choose words or actions intended to get a reaction out of people without being innately destructive so that you can attempt to shift blame after the fact, even if only in your own mind."

  "Oh, right, I do it all for the attention, like I haven't heard that one before."

  "No, you don't. You have my undivided attention, and you're still seeing if you can get me to lose my calm. So the question remains, do you know why you're here?"

  "Are you trying to get all metaphysical on me, baldy?"

  "No, I'm wondering if you're self-aware enough to admit it."

  "I'm here because I'm fucking bored."

  "Elaborate on that."

  "Lets say I do what everyone wants. That is, I'm a good little boy who plays by the rules. What's one day look like? I wake up to find that Mom's already gone to work. If I'm lucky, she remembered to leave me lunch money. Usually I'm not, so it's either scrounge or starve. There's not much in the way of food in the house, so if I'm being good, it's starve," Ed said. "Obviously I don't do that on a normal day, so normally I get in trouble for taking money from one of her hiding places. Back to the hypothetical. I go off to school. Teacher's teaching to the lowest common denominator, covering stuff I got months ago. I've been told never to answer questions posed to the class and to let those who don't care take a shot at getting it wrong. So what can I do? I can't sleep in class, they get pissed off at that. So I end up doodling in my notebook, which gets me in trouble anyway."

  Ed sighed. "So after getting lectured by an overpaid pinhead who calls himself an Assistant Vice Principal, I get sent back to class and struggle to stay awake for the rest of the day. Since I'm being a good little boy, I once again try to apply for a job. The manager tells me, sorry, we hired the guy with a degree in underwater basket weaving because he'll work for minimum wage too, but he doesn't have school anymore. So I go home. Mom's not there, she's on to her second job by this point in the day. So I'm alone for five hours, trying to amuse myself. Mom finally gets home, pours herself a straight gin and gripes about the day. She falls asleep on the couch. I know better than to wake her, because she'd hit me with the gin bottle. Even when I do make dinner to try to be nice, she doesn't see it."

  "So the day ends, and I'm trying to fall asleep while thinking about how much my life sucks and how bored I am." Ed looked down at his precarious position and moved to the chair. "So, yeah, I try to amuse myself at the expense of slow people. You figured me out Doc."

  "And you're lying to me," Lindenbaum said.

  Ed frowned. "I thought shrinks weren't supposed to say stuff like that."

  "I could say whatever I want, most of it wouldn't be productive. Dishonesty is equally unproductive. I believe you're being honest about school but your relationship with your mother is at best a gross exaggeration or an outright fabrication."

  "All right, you caught me. She doesn't drink. For dinner we have warmed-up slop from a can, and then she goes to sleep. I don't know what her day is like, she hardly says anything to me."

  "These sessions are supposed to help you. Every time you lie to me, it sets us back."

  "This one wasn't a lie!" Ed said. "But if you want to help me, get me out of that God-damned school. It's fucking killing me."

  Esposito inhaled the aroma of his coffee and frowned. It smelled burned. He drank it anyway. A light rain was falling, matting his hair to his head and darkening the shoulders of his raincoat. He looked up at the glass towers of downtown and sighed. "Another Sammy sighting," he muttered, tossing the undrinkable remnants of his drink in a nearby garbage can. Checking for traffic, he crossed the street and entered the Gotfried Tower. Approaching the security desk in the brown marble lobby, Esposito took out his identification. "I need access to the twenty-fifth floor."

  "Just head on to the elevators," the guard said pointed to the back of the lobby. "Twenty-five is public access."

  "Thank you," Esposito said, giving a nod as he passed. The elevator walls were polished steel, not quite mirrored. The floor was a dark gray carpet. As the doors opened on the twenty-fifth floor, Esposito scowled. Razordemon leaned against a plain white wall across the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest.

  "I thought we were working together on this."

  "Say it again after they re-open the bridge."

  "I was not looking for Lucid Blue users," Razordemon said. "They were causing mayhem, and I had to restrain them."

  "And the guy without a face?"

  "We went over this yesterday."

  "Whenever I get a corpse without a face, it tends to bother me. Especially when a supposed expert was on the scene at the time."

  "And if we don't tack down the source of Lucid Blue, he won't be the last."

  "How did you know I'd be here?"

  "Shiva heard about the Sammy sighting. I figured you'd check on it."

  "Who's Shiva?"

  "A popular Hindu deity."

  Esposito glared at Razordemon. "What is it with masks and smart-ass remarks? Don't answer that, I don't want to know."

  "How did someone know to call in a Sammy sighting?" Razordemon asked.

  "The word on the street already knows we're looking for him. One of his rivals tipped us that he was here."

  "When you can't compete, sic the government on your competition."

  Esposito ignored the comment. "I'm going to hit the men's room before I check this out." He headed down the hall, turned a corner and pushed open the restroom door.

  "Motherf-" Sammy said before taking Esposito's elbow to his jaw. He dropped the wad of paper towels he'd been drying his hands with. Esposito slammed him against the wall, the nearby stall door popping open as he cuffed the skinnier man. The stall was empty.

  "Well, that was easy," Razordemon said. Sammy turned to face them, backing towards the stall. He'd traded in his T-shirt and jeans for a button down shirt and black slacks, firmly belted this time.

  "Hey there," Sammy said. "Detective?"

  "Esposito."

  "Yeah," Sammy said, drawing out the word. "I take it you're unhappy about last time?"

  "We can't always catch you when you're using," Esposito said.

  "What? Oh, the Blue," Sammy said. "Yeah... about that." He twirled the cuffs about his finger off to the side. "I ain't a user." In a roll of thunderclaps, a swarm of Sammys appeared in the room and swept over the other two in a stampede. In a moment of shock, the stomping of overpriced boots and grasping of dozens of hands overwhelmed the two men. As the last trample of footsteps receded down the stairs, Esposito blinked at the ceiling. He looked at the four pairs of handcuffs binding his wrists.

  "I am starting to really not like Sammy," Esposito said.

  "These copies aren't metal," Razordemon said.

  "How do you know?"

  "I can't absorb them."

  Esposito glanced over to see that the veteran hero had also been knocked flat on his back and cuffed multiple times. Other pairs of cuffs had simply been discarded on the floor of the restroom. "So now what?"

  "The clothes of the original got copied when he was, and disappeared with the copy too," Razordemon said. "If we wait, we'll be down to one pair of cuffs."

  "Screw that," Esposito said, fishing his keys off his belt.

  Part 9

  Rain strummed the windows as the four watched Wolfjack try to get the television to take the output from the laptop he'd brought with him. "Do you need a hand?" Ed asked.

  "I've got this," Wolfjack said.

  "I really don't like the dress code here," Errol said. "If I can't wear my armor, I'd rather be in street
clothes. Running around in a catsuit feels wrong."

  "It's the rules," Wolfjack said. "And your armor hasn't been approved for general use." The screen finally switched to the desktop. "All right, this will work, we can begin."

  "So what is on the agenda?" Lazar asked.

  "Tactical review," Wolfjack said. "First mistake: you got out of the van without instruction."

  "He also didn't tell us to stay in the van," Ed said.

  "That's why you're not being penalized for having left. But this is still week one, and from what I hear, you don't even know what your teammates can do."

  Eyes went to Gabe. "Don't look so shocked. I report on your behavior daily."

  "Mistake number two: you engaged with neither plan nor coordination," Wolfjack said.

  "Hey," Ed said. "Birdstrike and I worked pretty well together."

  "Because you two have already worked together. You failed to coordinate with half of your team." Wolfjack gestured towards the other couch.

  "Did we do anything right?" Kevan asked.

  "You did effectively identify who was better suited to handle which opponent and neutralized them without serious injury. There's a lot to be said for that."

  "Yay team," Kevan said.

  "Who were those guys anyway?" Errol asked.

  "Gang members out of Riverside," Wolfjack said.

  "Riverside is the other end of the city from the Arch," Ed said.

  "Yes, Forty-First Street is well outside their turf. From what I gather, they were spoiling for a fight with the Community Fund."

  "So they're idiots," Ed said. "You're supposed to avoid Community attention."

  "They weren't that tough," Kevan said. "Why would they want a match outside their weight class?"

  "From what I understand, they're not normally powered," Wolfjack said.

  "What?" Ed asked. "Either you have powers or you don't."

  "I don't have the details, but there appears to be an exception to that rule."

  "Great," Lazar said sarcastically. "Who does have the details?"

  "The investigation is ongoing. However, the fight can still serve as a lesson regarding the handling of powered offenders."

  "You're not any older than us, are you?" Ed asked.

  "What?" Wolfjack asked.

  "You're deliberately trying to pitch your voice towards the lower registers, and you pick your words to try to sound officious rather than speaking naturally."

  "The factor you need to bear in mind is that I have the years in this business and the training that goes along with having been a sidekick from a young age. I still know what I'm talking about, so my age isn't relevant."

  "Yep, I was right," Ed said, leaning back. "What school do you go to?"

  "That's not relevant."

  "He's right," Gabe said, "It's not relevant. If you don't drop it, I'm going to drop you."

  "All right, let's go back to our other mistakes. I assume you hooked up the laptop for a reason?" Ed asked.

  "We have copies of much of the video taken of the incident," Wolfjack said. "So we can go over some of the less-obvious details regarding your performance."

  "Goodie," Ed said. "We should be here all night then."

  A dozen rough hands hauled Sammy from the motel bed and threw him to the floor. A boot pressed down on his neck. Before he was fully awake, the muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his head and the air was filled with the mechanical sound of rounds being chambered. "Try that multiplying shit, and we shoot every Sammy Sham we see," the person standing on him said. The light clicked on, flickering over the dull beige walls. Sammy glanced up as best he could with his throat pressed against the carpet. Those holding the motley assortment of automatic weapons were clad in blue and white gang colors. A hulking member of their crew stepped forward, his breath whistling through a scar-mangled nostril.

  "TJ," Sammy said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  "Two of our boys are dead and another is missing body parts 'cause of the juice you've been selling, Sammy," Rance said, bringing the wrench from his shoulder down into the palm of his left hand. "I had almost gone legit and you pull this shit on us."

  "Look, TJ, man, it ain't my fault," Sammy said. "I don't cook the stuff, I'm just the middle man." Sammy squeaked in alarm as Rance's wrench slammed into the floor just inches in front of his nose. A nervous chuckle squeezed past Sammy's throat. "If you got beef, I can take you to him."

  "You best not be lying to me, Sammy," Rance said. "'Cause the best part about busting you is getting to keep cracking that goofy-looking head of yours until I find the real one." Rance hauled Sammy to his feet. If anything, Rance's grip was stronger than the full weight of the gang member he'd displaced.

  "You ever been checked for super-strength, TJ?"

  "Shut it, Sammy," Rance said. He hauled the smaller man out of the motel room and down to the parking lot. The gang members filed into the back of a waiting powder-blue van with dented fenders. "No extra talk, where are we headed?"

  "New Garden, Avenue R, by Fourteenth South." The van pulled out of the parking lot and shambled along the dark streets.

  "Look-"

  "Shut up, Sammy."

  Sammy looked down at his bare feet and frowned. They'd left his good boots behind. At least he'd had the presence of mind to sleep in his clothes. Reaching Avenue R, the van turned south. He looked at the other passengers in the cargo area of the van. The only seats were in the front, and they were occupied by the driver and Rance. Sammy knew instinctively that when you got past a certain number of people, you were guaranteed to have someone who would so something stupid when startled. With automatic weapons in close proximity, Sammy didn't want to find out the hard way which one it was. He just plastered on a fake grin and bided his time.

  Two driveways in from Fourteenth Street South, on the right hand side, was a small office park. At Sammy's direction, the van turned in and pulled up in front of a small brick building with blue glass insets forming stripes in which the windows hid. Approaching the door, Rance found it locked. Sammy gestured to the intercom panel. "If I may."

  "Try anything and you'll be a greasy smear," Rance said.

  Sammy smiled one of his fake smiles and pressed the intercom button marked, "Gallows Micropharm."

  "What is it?" An irate voice said amidst the crackle of static.

  "It's Sammy, can you let me in?"

  "What the fuck are you doing here?"

  "Come on, do I have to say it all from out here?"

  There was a grumble and the door buzzed. Rance pulled it open and the crowd streamed inside. The inside door on the left side of the hall marked 'Gallows Micropharm' was not locked. Inside sat three lines of stone-topped counters, one along either wall and one on an island in-between. The sinks, fume hoods, and occasional racks of test tubes were all that Sammy could put names to among the jumble of equipment and apparatuses. Standing by the center island was a figure in a stained white lab coat. He set down what he was working on and moved his safety goggles from over his glasses to his forehead. Pulling off a black rubber glove, he ran his fingers though his short black hair. He stared at them with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

  "Sammy, what is this?" he asked.

  "You the guy who cooks Lucid Blue?" Rance asked.

  "Lucid Blue is the name Sammy gave it," he said.

  "Yes or no?"

  "Yes."

  "So who are you?" Rance asked.

  "Darrel Gallows."

  "Like the place they hang people," Sammy said.

  "Shut up, Sammy," Gallows said.

  "Your juice has killed and maimed three of our boys," Rance said.

  "Iteration Seven... was flawed. Iteration Twelve is more promising."

  "What happened to the
ones in between?" Sammy asked.

  "They didn't work."

  "Why the fuck are you selling experimental product?" Rance asked.

  "I'm broke," Gallows said. "I need to finance my work. Buy chemicals, hardware, food, pay the rent on this place, operating expenses like that."