by Matt Cowper
“Good morning, Amber,” Julia said.
“Good morning to you as well,” Amber said. She was every bit the competent newswoman: conservatively dressed, even though she was fairly attractive, and with a straight-to-the-point speaking voice. I didn’t see her sticking around KOOW, a television station with middling ratings, for long.
“So, Mrs. Anderson, you claim you have new information related to your husband’s murder, information that casts doubt on the culpability of Homer Bollinger, alias Gray Squirrel, in this gruesome affair,” Amber said. “Excuse me for being skeptical, but a traffic camera recorded your husband’s demise. What sort of information could you have? Isn’t this a clear-cut case?”
“No, it isn’t,” Julia said. “This is far more complex than it looks. Homer Bollinger threw that bomb, yes, but he was set up.”
“Set up by who?”
“We don’t know yet,” Julia said, glancing over at me, “but there are several possibilities. Due to the sensitive nature of this situation, I’d prefer not to mention them.”
I was leaning against the bookcase, well out of the camera’s shot; this was her moment, not mine. Plus, grieving widows were far more sympathetic than scruffy PIs with God Arms – and if we did appear together, side-by-side on Julia’s couch, it would probably give more than a few people the wrong idea about us, especially if Julia looked at me with one of those far-too-wide grins she’d been sending me this morning.
“Well, can you tell us how you reached this conclusion?” Amber asked.
“I hired a private investigator, since I had doubts about what actually happened on that day,” Julia said, “and I also did some investigating myself. What we’ve found is…troubling.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“We’ve found out Patrick wasn’t the ideal husband, father, and superhero everyone thought he was,” Julia said, shaking her head. “He was…into some things. Bad things. I’m sorry that those who looked up to him have to hear this, but it’s important everyone knows the truth.”
“Bad things?” Amber asked. “You mean your husband broke the law?”
“Yes,” Julia said. “Specifically, he smuggled drugs and other illegal materials into Z City. With his powers, it would have been easy. I don’t know the full extent of his smuggling, but he was dealing with some villainous people.” A long pause for dramatic effect; Woodruff would surely appreciate that, even though he would certainly hate the content of this interview. “I believe Patrick angered the wrong person, someone he was smuggling for, and they arranged for him to be killed. Gray Squirrel just happened to be the person they tricked into doing it.”
“That’s quite an incredible statement,” Amber said. “What does Damien Woodruff and the Division of Superhuman Crime say about this?”
“I haven’t had much contact with the DSC,” Julia said, moving through the lie easily. “They believed Homer was guilty, and that is true, in a way, but that’s not the whole story.”
“Mrs. Anderson, some people may question your actions here today,” Amber said, her tone mildly accusatory. “Some people may say you’re grandstanding. Others may wonder if you knew what your husband was doing all along, or they may even suspect you aided him. What’s your response to this?”
“I did think Patrick acted odd sometimes,” Julia said, “but I had no idea he was doing these terrible things.” A sad shake of the head. “And grandstanding? I’m trying to inform the public in a responsible manner. People deserve to know the truth. This is part of the truth, but we still don’t know who is really behind my husband’s murder.”
She looked earnestly into the camera. “I’m asking for your help. If you have any information related to my husband’s murder, please contact me or Johnny Wagner, Godlike PI. I also hope Damien Woodruff, chief prosecutor for the Division of Superhuman Crime, gets on board with this. He’s known for being tenacious as well as kind-hearted, and I know he’s busy throwing supervillains behind bars, but his expertise would be invaluable.” Another excellently measured pause. “I know if we all work together, we can get to the bottom of this.”
“A heartfelt plea from a woman with a sterling conscience,” Amber said, getting into dramatic-summary mode, “earth-shattering revelations that will surely rock the foundations of the superhuman community, and unknown conspirators at large. If anyone has any information about this heinous affair, please call our Crime Eradicators hotline. I’m Amber Wachowski, for KOOW News, covering this story as it develops.”
“OK, good job,” Amber said, rising from her chair, her tone changed from dogged newswoman to casual friend.
Various crewmen began rolling up wire and getting their gear together. The blinding lights they’d set up were flicked off, making the living room bearable again.
“I’m sorry,” Julia said. “I fumbled through a few words.”
“Oh, don’t be,” Amber said. “You’re a natural.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Julia beamed, “and thank you for agreeing to do this.”
“No, thank you,” Amber said. “This is a great story. I can’t promise it’ll be our lead story on the evening news – the Elites are always battling space demons or something, and we have to cover it – but it’ll probably be near the top for today’s noon news. And, if nothing else, I’ll be sure it gets plenty of traction online.”
“So will I,” I said, walking over.
“Yes…Mr. Wagner,” Amber said, looking back and forth between me and Julia. “I’m glad Mrs. Anderson has such a…capable private investigator.”
By “capable,” she either meant “handsome, intelligent, and daring,” or “a total fuck-up.” Fatigued as I was, I couldn’t tell which.
“He is only capable because I, Dakroth’gannith’formaz, am bonded to him,” Dak rumbled. “Without me, he would be as helpless as a newborn babe.”
“Not a very respectful companion, is he?” Amber said flatly. I was beginning to lean towards the latter interpretation for “capable.”
“No, he isn’t,” I replied, just as flatly.
The reporter nodded, seemingly understanding I wasn’t in the mood for passive-aggressive repartee. She shook both our hands, smiling professionally, and left with her crew. Julia and I walked to the front door and watched everyone pile into the riotously-colored KOOW van (“KOOW: The Best News First, The First News Best”) and pull out of the driveway.
“That went well,” Julia said. “This was a great idea, Johnny.”
“Thanks, but you’re the one who pulled it off,” I said. “Public opinion is going to be behind you 100% once this airs. Woodruff will have to have one of his smiling press conferences to ensure the public he’ll help you.”
“I hope so,” Julia said. “I’m still worried he’ll try to do something underhanded, something out of the public eye.”
“Putting all this out in the open does have its disadvantages,” I said, “but I think the pros outweigh the cons. You need protection, though.”
“No, I don’t,” Julia said. “This house has Comfortable Fortress security, and my phone has the Comfortable Fortress app. I’ll be fine.”
“What if Waverush shows up and tries to convince you to drop the case? What if Befouler or Balderdash decide you’re getting too nosy? I’d feel better if—”
“If you want to check in from time to time, that’d be fine,” she said, “but I’m not having bodyguards following me around.”
“Julia—”
“You know, I should’ve showered you with praise,” she said, touching me lightly on my God Arm. “With all the hard work you’ve done, and after nearly getting killed by Gale Force, you deserve some recognition.”
“No, the spotlight should be totally on you,” I said. She’d changed the subject expertly. I’d go along with it – for now. “People like brave widows more than superhuman private investigators who are saddled with debt and hold anti-establishment ideas.”
Julia chuckled. “Well, that’s certainly true.” She
sat back down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Have a seat.”
“I can’t stay long,” I said, sitting down. “I’ve got some cleanup to do at the office, and the guy who created my robot secretary is stopping by. I don’t know how he’ll react when he sees what’s left of Erna.”
“Has she ever…um…died before?” Julia asked.
“Well, Jared has dismantled previous models himself,” I said, “but no one’s ever destroyed Erna in a fight. I hope he can salvage something from what’s left.”
“He probably has everything backed up on a computer somewhere,” Julia said.
“Probably so,” I said. “If he does build a new Erna, I hope he’ll still let her work for me. She’s a nice old gal.” I paused, considering. “That would be the 356th version he’d made. As you can tell, he’s kind of obsessive.”
“Like someone else I know,” Julia said, smiling.
“I’m just doing my job,” I said uneasily. “Don’t worry, we’ll finish this jigsaw puzzle eventually.”
“I’m not worried, just…overwhelmed.” She rubbed her temples. “So, what’s your next step? Find Befouler?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Those Retinal Visible Wavelength Increasers – or Color Goggles, if you don’t want to wear your mouth out – made it clear the bomb was Befouler’s. Even if he didn’t dupe Gray Squirrel himself, he may be able to help us find out who did.”
“How do you know Gale Force was telling the truth?” Julia asked.
“We have ways to persuade recalcitrant villains,” Dak rumbled. “Believe us when we say he did not dare utter a lie in our presence.”
“I…see,” Julia said. “Well, I’m glad you’re both so…efficient when interrogating people.”
I rose from the couch; I needed to get out of here before Dak could detail our “persuasion” techniques. “I’ve gotta get going, Julia. Let me know if – I should say when – Woodruff contacts you. I’ll have my guy make sure your interview gets trending, and I’ll track down Befouler. I know a…uh…I know someone who may be able to help with that.”
“Alright,” Julia said, rising as well. “Good luck, and thank you again for all your help.” Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Oh, I forgot all about your payment! Do you need me to—”
“I haven’t burned through your retainer – yet. Getting close, though. We’ll talk about it later.”
“OK.” Moving so quickly I couldn’t stop her, she leaned forward and gave me a peck on the cheek. “For being a good guy.”
“Uh…thanks.”
Julia blushed and turned away. “I better pick up Molly from the neighbors. Bye, Johnny.”
“Bye.”
“How dare she kiss the same cheek that Deathrain licked with sensual abandon last night?” Dak thought-spoke. “You will not consider her for a paramour, John Wagner. I – we – are fated to be with that sublime killer, not this widow.”
“I’m not considering her,” I said. “She’s a client, maybe a friend – nothing more.”
“Good. For once, you make the right decision.”
I walked out of the house and started tapping on my phone, trying to find a lift back to Bootheel through YayRide. I tried to stifle a yawn, but it came out in full mouth-stretching force anyway. It was going to be another long day.
Chapter Twenty-One
I stepped out of the car, thanking the YayRide driver, and hustled into the building. Jared would probably be waiting for me, and I was sure Mardi would want to spend half an hour complaining about the damage caused by my brawl with Gale Force. Better to get all that over with. Hopefully I could placate Jared and convince Mardi that I shouldn’t be liable for repair costs.
A vehicle across the street honked its horn, but I ignored it. When the honks persisted, I turned around, and lo and behold, there was the REAL-E-GOOD EXTERMINATORS van parked between a pick-up and a dune buggy. Big-Eyed Baldwin grinned at me from the driver’s side window.
I walked across the street and looked up at the eyeglass-wearing superhuman.
“You guys are still in this van?” I asked. “Isn’t Netmaster getting tired of driving around?”
“Naw, man,” Baldwin said. “I think he’s getting used to this nomadic lifestyle of ours. We may never settle back into another Net-Pad.”
“Hail, Baldwin With The Big Eyes,” Dak rumbled. “We have had many monumental battles recently. Although we have prevailed without much difficulty, having you fight alongside us would have pleased Dakroth’gannith’formaz.”
“Yeah, we heard you stomped Gale Force,” Baldwin said. “How the hell’d you pull that off?”
“Quick thinking on my part,” I said. Then, before Dak could protest, I added, “But Dak here was the one who pulled off the trick that KOed him.”
“Yes, give credit where credit is due, John Wagner,” Dak said.
“So, what’s up?” I asked. “I was going to email Netmaster later. That interview will be airing soon.”
“Netty has some helpful info for ya,” Baldwin said. “Step into the back and listen for yourself.”
I slid open the paneled door, and there was Netmaster, jacked into the Net and smirking.
“Yo, Johnny,” he said. “Glad you ain’t dead.”
I climbed into the van and sat down on an overturned five-gallon bucket. The inside looked exactly like it had before: scattered exterminator equipment and Netmaster’s tech jutting from the floor and walls. “Me too, though I feel like a goddamn zombie. Once this case is over, I’m going to sleep for a month.”
“Now, normally, I’d call you a lazy bastard for whining like that,” Netmaster said, “but I say this truthfully: you’ve earned a rest.” He stroked the data probe sticking out of his skull. “You know, besides that Gale Force takedown, there are some oh-so-soft whispers on the Net that you and that Deathrain chick scared the bejeesus out of Balderdash.”
“I knew you couldn’t stay away from her,” Baldwin said from the front.
“Indeed we cannot,” Dak rumbled. “To feel her caress this God Arm, and to be present when John Wagner inserted his—”
“Great,” I said, facepalming. “Thanks, Dak.”
“You had sex with her?!” Netmaster gaped. “No…fucking…way!”
“Damn, Johnny,” Baldwin said, nodding in approval. “Taking a walk on the wild side, ain’t ya? What’d she do, stab you a few times to get in the mood?”
“Guys, as much as I’d like to discuss my sex life,” I said, “I’ve got work to do. What’ve you got for me, Netty?”
“Something big and juicy,” Netmaster said. “Sort of like Deathrain’s—”
“Stop,” I said.
“OK, Casanova,” Netmaster said. “Here’s the real scoop: I found out who traced me.”
“Who?” I said, leaning forward.
“Befouler,” he said. I thought I saw fear quickly flash across his face, but I wasn’t certain.
“Wait…are you sure?” I asked. “That would mean he’s working with the DOT, and with Damien Woodruff – right?”
“Looks that way,” Netmaster said. “This conspiracy or cover-up or whatever you want to call it runs deep, high, and low, all at the same time.”
“How do you know it was Befouler?” I asked.
“I created an AI,” Netmaster said, his pride unmistakable. “You remember I used to cobble those together back in the Alpha Guard days, right? Well, those were coloring book scribblings compared to this Sistine Chapel of an AI. I even gave it a badass name: Night Death Raven.”
“I just call it NDR,” Baldwin said. “Makes it easier.”
“Because you’re a killjoy,” Netmaster said, glaring at his partner. “Anyway, I sent this AI to break into the DOT systems again, fully expecting him to get traced. And he did, just like I did. However, I set up a disintegration protocol to trigger if this happened. As soon as Night Death Raven noticed the tracer bugs in his brain, he broke himself down into bytes and scattered himself to the four corners of the Net.
”
“Can you skip ahead to the stuff that makes sense?” I asked.
“Oh, come on!” Netmaster said, slapping a nearby workstation happily. “We’re just getting to the good part!”
“I’ve heard this story ten times already,” Baldwin said. “He won’t shut up about it, Johnny.”
“Victors are allowed to brag,” Netmaster said. “So, here’s the good part: I knew exactly where those scattered bytes were, since I, of course, programmed the protocol. I went sifting around the Net, found them, and reformed Night Death Raven – without the tracer bugs, of course. He’d disintegrated so quickly, they found themselves grabbing nothing but black space. Night Death Raven had a visual log of everything that happened to him, and I was able to study it at my leisure, unlike before, when I was trying to scrub everything out of my head ASAP.”
“Are you sure you weren’t tracked?” I said. “I mean, you were sure last time, and we know how that turned out.”
“Fool me once, shame on you,” Netmaster said. “Fool me twice, I’ll hang up my cranial jack for good. No one tracked me, Johnny. I’m sure of it.”
“So how do you know Befouler was the one behind this?” I asked.
“A certain signature of his,” he said. “The tracer bugs had a bluish tint to them. No one would notice it unless they knew what they were looking for.”
I thought about the specific shading of the null-raxite explosion; Befouler’s signature extended into the digital realm as well. But did it signify anything important, or was it just his favorite color?
“How do you know about this signature?” I asked.
“Spied on some supervillain chat rooms before,” Netmaster said. “Befouler rarely participated in these brag-fests, but the few times he did I was able to pick off some of the bugs, viruses, lolcats, and worms that made up his defense layer. They all had that bluish tint, if you zoomed in on ’em close enough.”
I rubbed my chin, feeling the rough stubble. I needed a shave, but there was too much to do. Here was yet another puzzle Netmaster had dropped into my lap.
