Double Lives (Johnny Wagner, Godlike PI Book One)

by Matt Cowper

  “Take off your mask,” she said, removing her own. “It’s safe to breathe now.”

  I did as I was told, then tossed it to her. As she reached out to grab it, I charged forward, ramming her with my shoulder. She hit the brick wall, but bounced back like it was made of rubber. In a blink, there were somehow two pistols in her hands. I swept my God Arm at her before she could point them at my head; my arm still had super-strength, and I knocked aside the guns easily.

  “Why are we fighting this cataclysmic beauty?” Dak asked.

  “Are you serious?! Do you have a crush on her already?”

  I sent a punch in the direction of this “beauty’s” mid-section, but she leapt aside and I hit nothing but brick. I wrenched my arm out, sending mortar and slivers of brick crumbling to the dirty pavement.

  The mystery woman somehow had two more pistols in her hands. I dove at her knees, knocking her feet out from under her. She crashed down onto me, and I twisted around, trying to get on top of her. From her back, she kicked me in the nose, and I felt blood start to dribble out of my schnoz. But I still had super-strength, and I cracked her in the ribs and pinned her arms to the ground.

  “Sorry, but I usually like to be on top,” I said.

  “And I like blowing up chauvinistic pigs.” She tilted her head to her right arm. I cut my eyes over, and saw a grenade in her black-gloved grip.

  “Oh, I tremble,” I said. “You’re not going to kill us both.”

  “You don’t think?” She flipped the pin out with a pinkie. “There’s something you should know about me: I have a pretty stout healing factor. That grenade may incinerate half my body, but I’ll heal. You won’t.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. The old healing factor trick. Everyone who gets in a bind pulls that crap.”

  “Look at my left shoulder.”

  I cut my eyes the other way, and saw a cut a few inches long. She must have injured herself in our scuffle. As I watched, the cut healed over, leaving nothing behind except a smear of blood.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Get off me – NOW,” the woman snarled.

  “If I do, are you going to pull some more pistols from wherever you’re pulling pistols?”

  “You attacked me.”

  “Answer the question.”

  The woman let out a noise between a sigh and a groan.

  “No, I won’t pull any more pistols. Now get the fuck off, before I really get pissed.”

  “OK, OK,” I said. I released my grip on her and stood up. I brushed myself off and wiped blood from my face. My nose didn’t feel broken, which was one good thing to come out of this tussle.

  The mystery woman lay there for a few seconds staring up at me, then kipped up. Her hands were now empty; she’d apparently returned the pin to the grenade and stuffed it back into one of her pouches without me even noticing it.

  “Now come on,” she said. “We need to get away from this scene – unless you want to stick around and explain to the cops what happened.”

  “Actually, I’d appreciate an explanation from you,” I growled. “You attacked those civilians—”

  “You’ll get one, just not here.” She sprinted down the alley like a gazelle with turbo-thrusters. I started after her, but I could barely manage a jog. I’d already ran across the city to meet with Gray Squirrel, battled Waverush, who nearly drowned me, and then fought a crazed woman with a healing factor who had an entire armory strapped to her body.

  Thankfully, the mystery woman stopped at the end of the alley by an open manhole. I halted as well, panting.

  “Hurry up,” she said, gesturing to the hole.

  “Oh, hell no,” I said, waving my hands. “I don’t do sewers.”

  “You are such a fucking weakling,” the woman hissed. “Do you want to find out who gave that null-raxite bomb to Gray Squirrel or not?”

  I stepped forward, my fists clenched. “What do you know about it? Tell me, or—”

  She put on a respirator mask again and jumped down the hole, leaving me threatening a trash can.

  I peered down into the sewer. The woman was already gone; all I saw was fetid brown water sloshing around.

  “Well, shit,” I said. “Literally.”

  I jumped down after her, splashing into the rank soup. The smell nearly melted my nose hairs. I covered my face with my left hand and looked down the sewer line. I saw a shadowy form a few yards away; the mystery woman was holding a light and walking through the gunk like it was a mountain stream.

  “Where the hell are we going?” I said. My voice bounced off the curved tunnel, making me sound as godlike as Dak when he rumbled.

  “Away from here,” came the reply. “Follow me.”

  I did, trying my best not to trip into the sewage. A few times I nearly slipped, but I managed to right myself by touching the cold, slimy wall.

  That bath I’d been wanting? It sounded even better right about now.

  We walked beneath Z City for what felt like years. Oddly, I got used to the smell, and was able to move through the sewer without covering my face. I didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing – maybe my olfactory sense had been eradicated, and I’d never smell a juicy steak or a steaming baked potato from Vinnie’s Steakhouse again.

  Finally the mystery woman stopped and pointed her light up. It illuminated a manhole cover above us.

  “Stand back,” she said.

  She whipped out a pistol and shot the cover. The bullet was some sort of explosive round; there was a bang of smoke and flame, and the cover blew off, sending bright sunlight slanting down into the sewer.

  The mystery woman pulled out another pistol, this one with a grappling hook on the end, and fired it into the open air. A line followed the shot, and the hook latched onto something above-ground. She tugged at the line, and then, satisfied that it was safe, ascended to the surface like she was climbing a ladder.

  I followed at a much slower pace.

  Rising from the sewer was like rising from Jameson Bay after Waverush tried to drown me. We were back in air that I was gratified to learn was fresh, or fresh enough – my nose hadn’t been rendered useless after all. I gulped, and sucked, and gasped, and again thought about that bath I was going to take.

  The mystery woman pressed a button on her grappling-hook pistol, and there was a loud pneumatic clank. The hook dislodged from where it had cut into a brick wall about ten feet above us, and the line zipped back to the woman. She shoved the gun back into a holster, removed her respirator mask, and turned to me.

  “We’re safe now,” she said, “or safe enough.”

  “You know, I would’ve appreciated a mask myself down there.”

  “That was payback for attacking me.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  A long pause. “Did you really just say that?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but I was being sarcastic.”

  “Huh.” She adjusted some grenades strapped to her belt. “Hard to tell.”

  I looked around as I got to my feet. We were in another alley, but I thought I recognized one of the buildings at the end of it, across the street.

  “We in Bootheel?” I asked.

  “Not quite,” she said. “Close, though.”

  I glowered at the woman. “So – guns, a mask, camo pants. You supposed to be some sort of badass?”

  The woman stared back at me through her mask. “So – jeans, sneakers, a threadbare jacket, and a five o’clock shadow. You supposed to be a down-on-his-luck PI?”

  “Touché,” I said, unable to prevent a grin from forming. “You know who I am, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been tracking Waverush. Heard you two talking just now. Able to fill in the blanks.”

  “How did you hear us? We were standing a few feet apart, and no one else was near.”

  “Got tech that lets me listen in on people’s conversations from a convenient distance.” A rat scurried by us. She l
ooked at it for a few seconds, like she was contemplating shooting it, then turned back to me. “Were you really hired by Neptune’s widow?”

  “Who are you?” I asked, ignoring her question – not that it mattered. At this rate, everyone in Z City would know Julia Anderson was my client before the day was done.

  “Name’s Deathrain,” she said.

  “Great. A supervillain.”

  “No, an assassin.”

  “There a difference?”

  “Supervillains fight superheroes to try and prove they’re better than the Boy Scouts. They always have these elaborate plans, these ridiculous monologues, and these cramped, dirty secret lairs. I don’t go for any of that. I just kill people.”

  “That sounds illegal,” I said. “As a law-abiding citizen, I should place you under citizen’s arrest.”

  “You can try,” Deathrain said, placing her hands on two of her pistols, “but I think you want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Yes, we very much want to hear your husky voice, Rain of Death,” Dak rumbled.

  Deathrain’s eyes jerked to my God Arm and her fingers twitched on the trigger guards of her pistols. Then she relaxed, but only slightly.

  “Ah, your God Arm,” she said. “So it speaks, too.” She tilted her head towards Dak. “And what do they call you?”

  “I am Dakroth’gannith’formaz, the God of Destruction,” Dak rumbled imperiously, “but you can call me Dak.”

  “Dak it is, then.”

  “You have one of the most destructive natures I’ve ever encountered,” Dak said. “I sensed you from afar, and I felt something stir within my god-breast. I wish to know from whence you came, and to whence you are going.”

  “What did you do to those people back there?” I interrupted. A love-fest was brewing, and while Dak may have been smitten with this killer, I wasn’t – though her rack was really nice. “And why did you shoot Waverush? That is, I’m guessing you’re the one who put a tranq dart in his back.”

  “Yes, I did shoot the moron,” Deathrain replied. “And that smoke was derived from blackout serum. It’ll put the civilians to sleep for about a week. Waverush, being a superhuman, will recover in a day or so, even taking into consideration the dart’s effects.”

  “A week?” I shouted. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “To protect you.”

  “What? How will that—”

  “Stop shouting. You sound like you’re on your period – and that’s coming from a woman.” She crossed her arms, pushing up her breasts; I could see a good portion of soft white flesh. “At least a dozen people saw you during your little wrestling match with Waverush. Now those people will be in dreamland for a week, and when they do wake up, I doubt they’ll remember your average face. I’m giving you time to maneuver. Oh, and there was a security camera nearby too, but I sent a hollow point into it. You’re welcome.”

  I crossed my arms as well and ground my teeth, although I had to admit she’d neutralized Waverush’s plot to make me look like an out-of-control superhuman. “And Waverush? You said he’ll be up doing breaststrokes soon. Somehow I don’t think he’ll have forgotten me.”

  “He may come after you again,” Deathrain said, “but maybe not, after I get through with him.” She reached back and patted her sniper rifle. “Me and Tony are going to have a chat with him as soon as he wakes up. I’ve been tracking him for days; I’m not going to let him jump back into the ocean so he can get back to fondling jellyfish. I considered carrying him along, but as soon as a superhero goes missing, the whole world mobilizes to find him. Too much attention for me, too many spandex idiots I’d have to evade.”

  “Why are you tracking him?”

  “That’s my business.”

  I sent her a glare that could’ve melted through ultimatium. Unfortunately, the mask covering her face prevented me from seeing if it was working.

  “Nice glare,” Deathrain said. “Am I supposed to shiver in fear?”

  OK, it wasn’t working.

  “Did you say Tony?” I said, switching tactics. “You named your rifle?”

  “Yeah, doesn’t everyone?” I thought I detected sarcasm, but I wasn’t sure.

  “No, they totally don’t.”

  “The name of my rifle is irrelevant at the moment,” Deathrain snapped, dropping her arms to her sides. “I’ll get to the point: you’re trying to find out who set up Gray Squirrel. So am I. Let’s pool our resources and—”

  “Hell no,” I said. “First off, I haven’t said I’m working that case. Secondly—”

  “Don’t give me that client confidentiality shit. This is Z City. Anyone can find out any—”

  “Secondly, you’re an assassin, for fuck’s sake. You could have set up Squirrel, for all I know, and now you’re trying to rope me into some complicated scheme so I get blown up too.”

  “I don’t do complicated,” she said. “If I gave him that bomb, I’d be shooting bullets into your thick skull instead of standing here talking to you.”

  “Yeah, I totally believe you,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And why do you want to team up? You’re a lone wolf assassin, I’m a private investigator. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Which are?”

  “You know, when someone says, ‘I have my reasons,’ that means they aren’t going to tell you what those reasons are.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “You have to give me some reason why I should even begin to trust you.”

  “We’re not talking about trust. We’re talking about tearing through this city to find out who really offed Neptune, and then going our separate ways.”

  “Still not good enough.”

  “I swear to Christ.” In a fluid motion she swept Tony, her sniper rifle, into her hands. I stepped back, ready for another skirmish, but she wasn’t aiming the rifle at me – she was cradling it, like it was a child.

  “You see this?” Deathrain said. “This is how I earn my dough. I shoot people from very far away. If I have to get close, for whatever reason, I shoot them with these.” With one hand, she stroked a few of the holstered pistols at her waist. “But mainly Tony puts food on the table. And I don’t let my quarry escape. If someone hires me, they know whoever they send me to kill will end up wormfood.”

  “Yeah, I get it – you’re an assassin. We’ve already established your badass credentials.”

  “No, I don’t think we have.” She slung the rifle back over her shoulder. “I’m not an assassin – I’m the assassin. I have a reputation to uphold. So when someone kills my mark before I put a bullet in his medulla oblongata – which is what happened recently – I’m naturally a little miffed. I’d like to find out who this someone is, and remove them from the marketplace.”

  “Lemme guess: your mark was Captain Neptune,” I said.

  “Correct,” Deathrain said.

  I raised my God Arm and clenched my right fist, ready to test that healing factor of hers. But I noticed my hand, the only uncovered part of my arm, was swirling pink and purple.

  “Dak!” I thought-spoke. “I knew you liked this murderess, but I didn’t know you were already thinking of marriage!”

  “What are you babbling about, John Wagner? I am not—”

  “My hand is pink and purple. That means love, kisses, bad poetry, and emoticon-heavy Yaybook statuses.”

  “I…I admit to seeing the value of her destructive ideology.”

  “Well, put your god-penis back in your god-trousers! If we have to fight Deathrain again, I need you focused!”

  “My god-penis, as you call it, will do what it wishes. And you—”

  “Hello?” Deathrain said, waving a hand in front of my face. “Will you pay attention? Jesus Christ, you’re the most obtuse private eye I’ve ever come across.”

  “Yeah, well – fuck off.” It was all I could manage at that moment. I lowered my God Arm, smoothed out my jacket – which was pointless, since it was still soaked – and then r
esumed my glaring.

  “You know, mentioning you were hired to kill Captain Neptune wasn’t the best idea,” I finally said.

  Deathrain shrugged. She walked over and leaned against the building, and again crossed her arms. “I don’t care. We both want to find out who set up Squirrel, and why. Squirrel’s obviously a patsy, and I don’t kill patsies – usually. I want to kill the person who duped him and took my money.”

  “Pretty extreme form of capitalism,” I said. “Ever consider working at an investment bank?”

  “Funny,” she said flatly. “Now, normally I wouldn’t waste my time with an idiot like you, but such is life. I want this done quickly, and we each have information the other needs.”

  “A twist of fate, and I’d be coming after you, instead of this mystery person,” I said. “That’s not a good foundation for a partnership.”

  “But I didn’t kill Captain Neptune, so you aren’t coming after me,” she said, adjusting her mask. “Anyway, this is getting tiresome. Are you in or out?”

  I stared at her for a few moments. I should apprehend her right now and hand her over to the police.

  But I found myself speaking: “First I want to know who hired you to kill Neptune.”

  “No idea.” She pulled out a glinting knife that looked like it could slice hairs in two, spun it in her hand, and then returned it to its sheath. “Someone left a name at one of my drop boxes – the name of our deceased waterman, in case you can’t figure it out. The note said funds were forthcoming. I checked my bank account, and sure enough, a one followed by a lot of zeroes had been debited. It was twice my normal fee; someone wanted this guy dead, and didn’t want to clip coupons. I got the message. I came to Z City, but someone got to Neptune before me. Of course, that payment had to be returned, which means those ultimatium-tipped bullets I need will have to wait.”

  “And, of course, it’s nigh-impossible to trace the account that sent you the money.”

  “Of course.”

  “So at least two people wanted Neptune dead….”

  “Or one. Maybe they hired me as backup, in case Squirrel didn’t throw that bomb – or vice versa.”