Double Lives (Johnny Wagner, Godlike PI Book One)

by Matt Cowper

  “No, it isn’t,” Julia said firmly. “As I was telling you, Gray Squirrel learned of my husband’s secret identity. I don’t know how – but one day he showed up at our house, in costume, with his nut-bombs.”

  I stopped scribbling and waited for her to continue. When a villain discovered a hero’s identity, things almost always ended badly. It never happened to me back when I was the Daring Destroyer, but everyone knew capes who’d lost friends or loved ones when some maniac found out who they really were.

  “It was early morning, a few months ago,” Julia continued. “I had just gotten out of the shower, my husband was in the bedroom getting dressed – he was a teacher – and Molly, our little girl, was in her room waiting for us sluggish grown-ups to get ready.” She smiled at the thought. “She’s so impatient. I don’t know where she gets it from. Me and Patrick, we’re both reserved…well, Patrick was reserved, but as Captain Neptune, he acted…like a superhero.”

  She stared down at the floor for a few moments, and then, with what looked like considerable effort, continued her story.

  “So there we were, getting ready for the day, and Gray Squirrel kicks down the front door and comes barging up the stairs, chattering like an actual squirrel. That was his thing; I always thought it was cute, but I guess he thought it was intimidating. He yells something about knowing who Captain Neptune really is, and that he’s going to make us all pay. I scream, more out of shock than fear, and Patrick comes flying out of the bedroom, looking like could fight an army – and win.”

  She smiled at the memory. I sat there, waiting for her to continue.

  “He was ready to knock Gray Squirrel through the wall, and he would have done it, too, but then Molly saw the giant squirrel at the top of the stairs and started screaming.”

  “I bet that was pretty traumatic, getting terrorized by a villainous squirrel-man.”

  “No, she wasn’t scared at all!” Julia exclaimed. “She ran right up to him and hugged his leg like he was some amusement park mascot. I can hear her right now: ‘Wow, a squirrel! Did you get him for me, mommy? Who is he? He’s so big! Do you eat nuts? Can you climb trees?’ She was thrilled!”

  “Plucky little kid,” I said, chuckling. “What did Gray Squirrel do?”

  “He was stunned, just like us. If he was a maniac like Balderdash or Befouler, he would’ve just knocked her aside, or…or killed her. But he just stood there – he looked touched. Patrick didn’t know what to do – he had his fist cocked, but his daughter was hugging his arch-nemesis, and the arch-nemesis looked like he was going to cry.”

  She paused. It looked like she was going to cry herself, but like all the previous times her emotions had welled up during this conversation, she was able to stifle her tears.

  “Finally Gray Squirrel patted Molly on the head, gently got himself out of her hug, and looked my husband in the eye. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Then he ran down the stairs and out of the house. And that was the only time he attacked our home. He fought my husband plenty more times, but he never bothered me or Molly again.”

  “Huh,” I said, tapping my pen on my legal pad. “What happened after he ran off? Did your husband pursue him?”

  “No,” Julia replied. “He couldn’t chase him as Patrick Anderson, for obvious reasons, and he wasn’t able to slip into his costume – not with Molly right there, watching our every move.” She smiled. “We of course didn’t tell her that her daddy was a superhero – it took Patrick dying for her to learn of it. She thinks it’s the most wonderful thing, that her daddy used to fight bad guys. She still thinks he’s going to be resurrected somehow. You know, like how the Elites always seem to pop back up.”

  I wanted to say that only the big names seemed to return to life; mid-tier guys like Captain Neptune usually stayed dead. I held my tongue, though.

  “What did you do after all this?” I asked. “Did you increase your home security? Did Patrick try and find out how Squirrel learned his identity?”

  “We already had Comfortable Fortress technology, so there wasn’t much more we could do, unless we hired Professor Perfection himself to design a security system. And Patrick – well, he seemed embarrassed about something. He said he’d ‘beat that chattering idiot until he tells me everything he knows,’ but their fights after all this were just – normal. Not normal, but you know what I mean.” She gave a weak shrug. “After a while, things just settled down and we went on with our lives.”

  I scribbled furiously. Comfortable Fortress security? How could they afford such top-of-the-line tech? And why hadn’t Captain Neptune been more zealous in interrogating Gray Squirrel?

  “Now you understand why I don’t believe Homer would intentionally kill my husband,” Julia said. “If he really was vicious, he would’ve killed us when he broke into our home.”

  “OK, even taking that into consideration,” I said, “people do change. Maybe he turned homicidal at some point after this. It happens all the time – nice guy snaps, goes on a killing spree. All it takes is one bad day. And, like you said, he did fight your husband on numerous other occasions. He didn’t stop being a villain just because your daughter hugged him.”

  “Maybe so,” Julia conceded, “and if that’s what happened, if Homer Bollinger really did plan to blow my husband’s head off, then I hope he rots in jail forever.” She paused and stared at the floor, apparently embarrassed by her stridency. “But I don’t believe that. I still believe what my husband always said about him, that Gray Squirrel was just a sad man who wanted people to notice him.”

  “I’ve heard that about Squirrel.”

  “It’s true. At least, I think it’s true. I think there’s a line he wouldn’t cross. My husband always said his nut-bombs wouldn’t even hurt a normal human. Why would he suddenly make one powerful enough to kill my husband? Yes, he could have changed, like you say, but – I just want the truth. My husband is dead, and we know who did it – what we don’t know is where the bomb came from.”

  “You think someone else made it?”

  “Yes, I do. My husband always said Gray Squirrel wasn’t intelligent enough to design and build his own equipment – he said he had to have someone helping him.” A long pause. “I think…I think he was set up.”

  I tapped my cheek with my pen, working through possibilities. “OK – so this conspirator – or these conspirators – knew your husband’s defenses would be down when he fought Squirrel, since he was never much of a threat, so they gave Squirrel that bomb, but didn’t tell him how deadly it was. He probably thought it was just going to stun your husband, or something.”

  “I’ve considered that,” Julia said. “You saw how my husband just stood there. Yes, he was cocky, but none of Squirrel’s bombs had ever hurt him before. Patrick used to say they tickled.”

  “Has anyone asked Squirrel about this?”

  “I don’t think so,” Julia said, shaking her head. “The people at the Division of Superhuman Crime just want to wrap the case up as quickly as possible.”

  “Let me guess: Damien Woodruff, the chief prosecutor, is handling this case.”

  “Yes, he is,” Julia said. “Do you know him?”

  “Fortunately, not personally,” I said, “but I do know he’s a huckster and a liar, and wants to be mayor of Z City someday.”

  “I don’t like him either,” Julia replied. “I tried to tell him my concerns, but he just smiled and smiled and said they’d take care of anything.”

  “I’ve seen that thousand-watt smile plenty of times on the news,” I said, “and every time I wanted to break some of those bulbs – excuse the violent language, and the cynicism. We Bootheelians don’t really like authority.”

  “No, it’s OK,” Julia said. “I’m not much of a rebel myself, but the way people have been treating me…maybe I should be more assertive….”

  “You’re being plenty assertive now,” I said. “And the lifestyle you and your husband led was tough. Yeah, people want to take a crack at a nosy PI every now and th
en, but it’s nothing like when you don the cape and spandex.”

  The words came out before I could rein them in. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t want to commiserate so much that she suspected I used to be a superhero.

  “I know,” Julia replied. “My husband had his own rogue’s gallery, villains who were obsessed with him. I don’t really understand it; why would they want to fight my husband?”

  “The short answer is because they’re crazy and egotistical,” I said. “But since we’re on this topic, who were your husband’s main enemies?”

  “Well, there’s Gray Squirrel, of course, but he’s in jail now. Then there’s Gale Force; he’s still mad because Patrick stopped that tidal wave of his. Then there’s Befouler. I hated him; he would pollute the ocean just to make my husband mad. Balderdash was the most dangerous; he was so unpredictable.”

  I pondered the names she’d listed. I’d never fought any of them back in my superhero days; somehow Captain Neptune was always nearby to stop them. Strange how that worked – it was almost like villains wanted to get caught by a specific superhero.

  But I’d still heard enough about the villains to know they were all capable of building or acquiring a bomb powerful enough to kill Captain Neptune.

  Was this a one-villain plot, or had some – or all – of them worked together? And why use Squirrel? Why not just kill Neptune themselves, instead of banking on the hapless sort-of villain lobbing his squirrel-bomb at the right moment?

  “Who else would want to harm your husband?” I asked. “You’ve mentioned villains, but heroes aren’t always saints – in fact, I’d say they rarely are. No offense.”

  “Well….” A long hesitation. “I shouldn’t say this, but…there were some problems with Waverush, his ward…or partner, as Waverush insisted on being called.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “As Waverush grew older, he started chafing under my husband’s guidance. He didn’t want to be treated like a kid, but my husband felt responsible for him. Eventually, they had an argument – a fight, actually. They fought all through Jameson Bay, pounding each other. I don’t know who won – not that it mattered. Waverush went out on his own after that.”

  “They had the same powers, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, they did. There was an accident, and…no, I shouldn’t give you too many details. I don’t want to give away Waverush’s secret identity.”

  “I understand,” I said, just to keep her talking.

  “So, um…they were both strong and durable, and they could control currents and communicate with sea life – and breathe underwater, of course. My husband was slightly more powerful, but…well…no, I shouldn’t say.”

  I set my pen aside and leaned forward, trying to appear benevolent and trustworthy.

  “Julia, I understand you wanting to protect Waverush, but if there’s anything I should know….”

  “No, no,” Julia said, looking away. “I shouldn’t…just talk to Waverush, if you can. I don’t think he’d ever harm Patrick, but….”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  “No, not in months.” She scrunched up her face. “Actually, it may have been years.”

  “Not even at the funeral?”

  “No.” She fiddled with a fold in her skirt. “The funeral…it was surreal. So many heroes, all of them saying the same things to me, saying how great Patrick was. I almost couldn’t take it. I just wanted to get back home with Molly.”

  “Did anyone say or do anything suspicious at the funeral, or did you see any shady characters? Sometimes murderers attend funerals to gloat over their victims – happens a lot in the superhero community.”

  “No, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but there were a lot of people there, and I was just trying to get through the ordeal.”

  “I understand,” I said, writing a few more notes. “Well, Mrs. Anderson – Julia – that bomb didn’t just fall out of some multiversal portal. I’ll do my best to find out who made it, and who duped Squirrel – if he was duped. I do have concerns, though – not for myself, but for you.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “This could get messy. Damien Woodruff doesn’t like anyone questioning his authority, and if I take this case, me and him are going to butt heads eventually. I’m not worried about any fallout, but if he wants to, he can find out you’re my client. All the cloak-and-dagger stuff in the world won’t protect our confidentiality if—”

  “Stop right there,” Julia said. It was less a command than a plea. “I’ve already thought about all this, and I…I still want to hire you.” A smile that she probably thought was brave, but that still held plenty of doubt. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? This is what private investigators do, right? They look into things the authorities don’t have the time or resources to investigate. Why would Woodruff have a problem with that?”

  “I can think of a million reasons why,” I said. “For example, this may not be a simple case of the DSC trying to get an easy conviction. Someone there might be protecting whoever orchestrated this murder.”

  Julia studied her hands for a few seconds, then looked into my eyes. “I’ve already made my decision. I want to hire you.”

  “Alright, then,” I said, smiling to ease the tension. “Consider me hired.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said, returning the smile. “Mr. Harrison said you were a bloodhound, though he made it sound like a bad thing….”

  “Oh, is that how you heard about me?”

  “Yes. He was the only one at the DSC who really talked to me – well, he talked at me. For some reason, he just went on and on about you, like he hated you. After hearing him talk about you so much, I had to meet you. If you irritated him so much, I figured you were the man I needed to hire.”

  I smiled, but not too broadly; I didn’t want to give away the well-intentioned deceit. Burt Harrison was on my side – well, kind of – but if he admitted we occasionally worked together, Woodruff would fire him instantly, if not throw him in prison. Thus, why Burt had to use reverse psychology to persuade Julia to come here.

  “Me and Burt have crossed paths before,” I said, “but I’m not worried about him. Woodruff really runs the show; everyone else just scrambles around for table scraps.”

  Julia sighed. “I didn’t know this city was so…corrupt. I guess being the wife of Captain Neptune, I only saw the sunny side of things. Everything was so simple. My husband fought the bad guys, and they were thrown in jail, and…you probably think I’m naive, don’t you?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “After all, you’re not just blaming Gray Squirrel for everything because it’s the easy thing to do. A naive person would just believe the bullshit – pardon the language – that the DSC threw their way so they can get some false closure.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Your husband is destroyed, Julia Anderson,” Dak rumbled, “and that cannot be undone. Indeed, I do not wish it. But destroyers should always claim their actions, not hide behind chattering squirrel-men. I will find who did this, and then, if my host does not cower and bleat as he usually does, I will show them true annihilation.”

  “Who said that?” Julia said, jumping out of the chair and looking around wildly. “I thought we were alone.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, frowning at my arm. “That’s just Dakroth’gannith’formaz, the God of Destruction – Dak for short. My God Arm. He acts up sometimes.”

  “God Arm?” Julia said. “Yes, your website mentioned that. I assumed it was some sort of cybernetic enhancement or a marketing gimmick.”

  “No, it’s an actual god. Here, let me show you.”

  I took off my jacket and glove and held out my arm. Julia gasped, just like Sergeant Killall had back at the bank.

  My right arm was mostly black, with pinpoints of white scattered around, like a starfield. There were also specks of blue and turquoise that dissipated just as quickly as they appeared. This usually meant Dak was in
a pensive mood – pensive for a god of destruction, that is.

  “Your arm is an actual god?” Julia asked, staring at the swirling colors. “And it talks? How does…how does that work? It looks like a human arm, sort of – except for the colors, I mean.”

  “Yeah, we keep it looking like that most of the time,” I said. “Don’t want to be dragging around a battle-axe, do I? It functions just like a normal arm, too – again, most of the time. I can scratch an itch, open a jar of peanut butter, whatever.”

  “Does it give you powers?” Julia asked.

  “Sure does,” I said. “I can do some awesome stuff, but Dak is ornery – sometimes he blows up stuff I don’t want blown up. Then I have to pay for the damages.”

  “How did…how did this happen?” She bit her lip. “Is your real arm under there, or….?”

  “Nope,” I replied. “I lost my arm in an accident, and tried to get a magical replacement. I got a replacement all right, but it was more than I bargained for. It’s a long story.”

  “That’s…very interesting.” She looked at my God Arm for a few moments, like the colors had her mesmerized. “You say he’s a god, but I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Dak’s a minor god now…actually, he already was minor, but he’s even more minor now that he’s bonded to me—”

  “John Wagner, your prattling incenses me!” Dak roared. “Cease your lies! There is nothing minor about Dakroth’gannith’formaz!”

  “You know you’re not what you once were, Dak!” I said. “Do I have to tell Julia about that fireball you tried to form last week?”

  “You know I do not want to discuss the fireball!”

  “Well, we are going to discuss it, because you need to be knocked down a peg or two for interrupting our conversation!”

  “Is that so, you sniveling sack of meat?” Dak raged. He was getting louder and louder; the entire room was shaking. “Well, since you choose to mention that unfortunate incident, I shall mention your pathetic pining for this cat-girl named Felicia—”

  “OK, that’s enough for right now, Julia,” I said, practically running to the door. “I’ll get Erna to print out a contract, and we can talk about the retainer in a few minutes. Me and Dak have some issues to work out.”