by Matt Cowper
“Uh…I am ecstatic to receive such a gift,” I managed. “Tell Mr. Woodruff I will enjoy each and every piece of fruit.”
“I’ll inform him of your satisfaction,” the woman said. She gave a little bow, a fluttering wave, and skipped back to wherever she came from.
Burt and I exchanged looks. I walked over to a wooden table – it was probably made out of something expensive, like teak – and set the fruit basket down.
“What are you doing?” Burt whispered as I walked away from the colorful gift.
“You expect me to take this thing?” I replied. “It came from Damien Woodruff. The fruit could be poisoned, or he could’ve put some sort of listening device in there.”
“I examined it myself, Johnny,” Burt said. “It’s just a fruit basket. No one’s tampered with it.”
“Oh, and I’m just supposed to believe you?” I said.
Burt looked genuinely hurt. “I thought we had an understanding. I thought there was some trust in this…secret working relationship of ours.”
“There is,” I said, “but I still have to be careful. And you could’ve missed something in your inspection.” I turned away so I wouldn’t have to look at his pathetic quivering lips. “C’mon, I want to talk to Homer and get out of here.”
After passing by several more cleavage-possessing young women, a few imposing paintings of former chief prosecutors, and a water fountain that played classical music, we reached the interview rooms. The guard and the tech guys monitoring the rooms again tossed some “sirs” my way, and I had to smile diplomatically and make chit-chat about the weather and how the Z City Swashbucklers will dominate their division once they get through this “rebuilding” year.
Finally I was outside Interview Room 2. The door whisked open; Homer was sitting at the table, beaming.
I turned to Burt. “Thanks, Mr. Harrison.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Wagner,” Burt snapped. He was still peeved about my lack of fruit basket trust. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
I gave him what was surely an awkward smile and stepped inside, and the door shut behind me.
I sat down across from Homer, who was looking at me like I was a conquering hero.
“No nullifier manacles?” I said, noticing his hands were free.
“Nope,” he said, wiggling his hands. “Thanks to you, they’re treating me like a king.”
The last time I’d talked to him, Homer had been dejected and meek. Now he was almost exuberant. I guess that’s what happened when you actually paid attention to society’s so-called losers.
“I could’ve brought you some fruit,” I said, “but I didn’t want you to end up convulsing on the floor.”
Homer frowned. “Huh?”
“Forget it,” I said. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Uh…if you say so, Mr. Wagner.”
“So, let’s get down to it: I’ve made a lot of headway on your case. I think Befouler is the one behind all this. After I’m done here, I’m going to pay him a visit. He’ll talk, don’t worry.”
“Yes, he shall,” Dak rumbled. “Know this, Squirrel of Grayness: I, Dakroth’gannith’formaz, have beaten all adversaries in this quest to find out who deceived you. You should place yourself eternally in my debt for the assistance I have rendered.”
“What…what was that?” Homer said. “It sounded like…like…I don’t know, thunder in the form of a voice.”
“Close enough,” I said. I’d forgotten that Dak had been busy building and destroying monuments in his realm the last time I was here, and hadn’t uttered a word in Homer’s presence. “That’s my God Arm. Here, it’s better if you actually see it.”
I removed my jacket and glove, and Homer stared at my right arm, which was swirling brown and orange.
“Yes, I knew you had that…thing,” Homer said. “Some of the inmates have ways to get information from the outside. I’ve heard all about your exploits. But it still startled me.”
“A bellowing god that’s taken the form of a human arm is pretty startling,” I said. “He comes in handy, though. I wouldn’t have gotten very far on this case without his help.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Dak rumbled, “for you are weighted down with childish emotions and absurd morals, while I am unrestrained destruction.”
I shook my head. Give the god a compliment, and he slings it back at me as an insult.
“You say you’ve heard about my exploits, as you call them, but I’m sure you’re missing plenty of details,” I said. “Let me tell you what’s really happened these past few days.”
“Alright,” Homer said.
I didn’t tell him what had really happened, of course; I gave him the abridged version, omitting my partnership with Deathrain, my “enhanced interrogation” of Gale Force, and several other details that made me look like a bloodthirsty mercenary. I’d been battered, sliced, seen my robotic secretary crushed, and had my office trashed multiple times; I wasn’t going to sit here justifying my every action, not after everything I’d been through.
When I was done, Homer stood up and started clapping.
“Uh…what are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m applauding you,” Homer said. “You deserve it, after all you’ve done for me and Julia.”
This spectacle was making me uncomfortable as hell, but I plastered a smile on my face and let Homer clap away. His admiration seemed to be genuine; stopping him would be rude.
Finally he sat down and stopped clapping, but he kept looking at me like I was the second coming of Christ.
“So, that’s my story, Homer,” I said. “Now that you’ve heard everything, I was hoping maybe you’d remember some clues, something to help me nail the prick who manipulated you.”
“Well….” Homer began, frowning. “I don’t mean to doubt you, Mr. Wagner, but after thinking about all this, I really don’t believe Befouler was the one who gave me that bomb.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“For one, the man I met at the hotdog factory didn’t look like Befouler. This guy stood straight as an arrow. Befouler’s been sick, right? I mean, I haven’t seen him in a while, but he’s supposed to be pretty bad off.”
“Befouler could’ve used a henchman for the exchange, couldn’t he?”
“It’s possible, yes,” Homer said. “But there’s another thing, something that only came to me after a lot of thought.” He smiled thinly. “That’s all you do in prison, you know: think.”
“Yeah, that’s what they say,” I said. “Sorry, Homer – I know it’s tough.”
“Oh, it’s not too bad – though I wish the food was better, especially the chicken nuggets. They always give me the runs.”
I chuckled. “Supposedly, they aren’t made from chicken at all – but we’re going off on a tangent. What’s this other thing?”
“Well, you know I met up with this Man in Black at the hot dog factory, right?”
“Right.”
“I don’t think Befouler would use that as a meeting place. That was where he suffered his greatest defeat.”
I recalled vague details about some epic battle. “Yes…Captain Neptune fought him there, didn’t he? Something about poisoning the hot dogs.”
“That’s right,” Homer said. “Befouler was going to inject something into the meat so that anyone who ate a hot dog would turn into a ravenous zombie. That’s why they shut the factory down – though Neptune stopped him, their battle ruined everything, what with Neptune punching everything and Befouler spraying everything with chemicals.”
“And that’s his greatest defeat?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem like a supervillain would be that upset over a failed hot dog plot.”
“Maybe not under normal circumstances…er, normal supervillain circumstances, I mean. But for this, Befouler had worked for months perfecting this zombie toxin – and Neptune destroyed all of it.”
I mulled this over. “OK, but he might have used the factory as a meeting place for exactl
y that reason. A symbolic thing – Neptune beat him there, and now he was giving you that bomb, the thing that ultimately killed Neptune. It was coming full circle.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Homer blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry – I didn’t think of that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I could be wrong, anyway. It’s still a clue, and I need all of them I can get.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Homer said, his smile returning.
“Anything else?” I asked. “Any theories, things you’ve just remembered – anything at all?”
“No, that’s it,” Homer said. “I’ve turned this over and over in my head, and, well, sometimes I just get more confused. You know what you’re doing, though. What was it you told me? You’ll follow this trail wherever it leads?”
“Yeah, I did say that,” I said, though I regretted it. Seeing Homer so buoyant was touching – a little bit – but I didn’t need to make a habit of promising someone I’d do something that might well be impossible.
“OK, I’m gonna get back on that trail,” I said, standing. “Hang in there, Homer.”
Homer stood up as well. “You know, I’ve lost weight since I got in here. I think I’m looking pretty slim – don’t you think?”
I didn’t; he looked just as pudgy as he had before. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Yeah, I can tell you’ve dropped a few pounds.”
“Maybe I’ll start weightlifting,” he said. “Get ripped. Strong. Maybe then the other inmates won’t laugh at me.”
“That is not likely, you inconsequential—” Dak rumbled.
“Alrighty then, time to go,” I said, while I walked to the door and tried to mentally shush Dak. “I guess we’ll talk again later, since Damien Woodruff is now being so obliging.”
“OK, Johnny,” Homer said, giving me a goofy little wave. “Thanks again. Oh, I saw that interview on KOOW – I know Mrs. Anderson hired you. Tell her thanks for believing in me. Once she heard what I’d planned, the mind-swapping thing, you know, I figured she would just let me rot in here – but she didn’t.”
“Julia is a…special person,” I said carefully. I didn’t want him to infer I had feelings for her, since I totally did not. “I’ll tell her what you said.”
The door swished open, and I stepped out into the hallway. Homer continued waving, then the door shut.
Burt was instantly at my side.
“How did it go, Mr. Wagner?” he asked as we walked back into the ostentatious corridors. “Was it a productive meeting for all involved?”
“Indeed it was, Mr. Harrison,” I said. “Your boss is to be commended for letting me move so freely through your headquarters.”
“I’m sure he will be thrilled to hear you praise him so sincerely,” Burt said. “I’m glad we can all put our differences aside and work together for the common good.”
We babbled in this manner to satisfy any curious ears until we’d exited the building. I heaved a sigh of relief. I’d made it in and out without Woodruff springing any traps on me, and without Dak attempting to murder one of the guards. The air smelled sweet, and the Midtown buildings, usually so arrogant in their shining sleekness, seemed to be smiling down at me.
I looked back to Burt and noticed he was munching on something.
“What’re you eating?” I asked.
“A strawberry,” Burt said. As he spoke, red juice trickled from his mouth, and he wiped it away quickly. “From the fruit basket. The one you thought was poisoned.”
“Are you still sobbing over that?” I said, throwing out my arms in exasperation. “I have to be distrustful, Burt. It’s part of the job.”
“Whatever.” He grabbed another strawberry from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. “So, what’s next on the Johnny Wagner daily planner?”
“I’m going to find Befouler.”
Burt spit out the strawberry. Pink and red juice and pulp landed on the sidewalk. A few passersby, clearly the Midtown yuppie elite, gave us cold looks.
“Befouler?” Burt said. “Off to another battle, huh? You think you’re hot shit, now that you’ve beaten up Gale Force. You think you can take on every supervillain in the city, don’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Lemme tell ya something, Johnny boy: that sixteenth-rate god on your arm ain’t gonna be much help when—”
“Retract that statement,” Dak rumbled, “or I will boil you alive in the blood of a thousand slain cute animals.”
“Shut up, Dak,” Burt snapped. “You’re just as overconfident as Johnny. You know we interrogated Gale Force once we threw him into the detention center, don’t you? He said he beat you from pillar to post, and you only won through sheer luck.”
“No, we won because he was overconfident, just like you’re accusing me of being,” I said. “Believe me, Burt, I feel like I’ve been shoved through a meat grinder. I want to finish this case and then sleep for seventy-two hours. I’m not going to do anything rash – well, comparatively speaking.”
“You need backup. I’ll—”
“I’ve got help,” I said.
“Who?”
“A…person.”
“Oh, that’s specific,” Burt scoffed. “Male or female? Do they have any superpowers? Are they experienced battling insane supervillains?”
“First you were pissed off about the fruit basket, now you’re begging me not to get into another brawl,” I said. “I expect this sort of behavior from the women I date, not from you.” I grinned maliciously. “Or maybe you want to date me….”
“I’m straight as an arrow,” Burt snarled. “I just…forget it. Get outta here, do what you want.”
He swiveled on his heel, but the dramatic “fuck you” gesture failed, since he nearly fell, and was only able to save himself by grabbing onto a power-walking executive-looking woman who’d been walking by. She knocked him aside, hissed something icily condemning, judging from Burt’s reaction, and marched away.
Burt looked at me sheepishly. I threw him a cheesy grin and a sarcastic wave. His demeanor changed from sheep-like to wolf-like – well, a baby wolf – and he heel-swiveled again, this time doing it relatively smoothly, and reentered the building.
I watched him for a few seconds, wondering if I should stop him and apologize. Nah, I decided – Burt was happy when he was unhappy.
I headed towards Bootheel, being careful not to brush against the professional office workers strolling self-importantly down the sidewalk. Didn’t want them to accuse me of sexual assault or pickpocketing….
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and answered.
“Hey, Johnny,” Julia’s voice said before I could get out a greeting.
“Oh, hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing. Just trying to manage my media presence. I’ve gotten five interview requests since the KOOW interview – one of them was from the Z City Times!”
I laughed. “You’re a superstar now, aren’t you?”
“I guess,” she said, a little bashfulness coming through the line. “It’s all thanks to you, though.”
So many people thanking me, so many people using “sir” to address me – these were rare experiences for a PI from Bootheel.
“Maybe I was the director, but you were the star actress,” I said. “And let’s not get too carried away. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”
“That’s true,” Julia said. “I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to call to let you know something – since you’re basically a member of the family now.”
I gulped. Wedding bells chimed, I kissed the bride, a churchful of people cheered, and little Molly called me “Daddy” and ran into my arms.
I guessed I sort of liked Julia in an abstract way, but her words just now got rid of abstraction real quick.
“Uh…OK,” I said.
“Well, Molly baked a cake today!” Julia gushed. “I mean, I helped her, of course, since she’s a child, but she did a lot of it all by herself! She mea
sured out the ingredients like a born baker. She even knew the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon, and even Patrick never figured that out!”
“That’s…that’s fantastic,” I said, grasping for words. “Sounds like she’s a prodigy.”
“I think so,” Julia. “Maybe she’ll open a restaurant one day, one of those trendy ones people write about in the newspapers.”
“Oh yeah, it’s totally possible.”
“OK, I’ll let you go,” she said. “Just thought you should know how she’s progressing.”
“Thanks for, uh, informing me. Bye, Julia.”
“Goodbye, Johnny.”
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and gazed up at the Midtown skyscrapers. A few minutes ago, they were my earnest friends; now they seemed to be hurling cruel laughter down at me.
Part of the family now. I shuddered.
“I must reiterate that our destiny lies with Deathrain, not Julia Anderson,” Dak rumbled. “Someone else will have to take on the role of husband and father. You would be terrible at it anyway.”
I sighed and shoved my hands into my pockets. “These women….”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Xexon Chemical Plant #3 used to produce chemicals for the Xexon HomeLifeCare line of cleaning products. It employed thousands of Z City residents, who enjoyed high union wages as well as a sense of pride from working at one of the country’s largest and oldest companies.
Of course, then came outsourcing, and those jobs disappeared, just like germs that had been sprayed with Xexon’s Lemon-Infused Multi-Purpose TrueClean cleaner. The jobs had gone to Mexico, China, Africa, or whatever low-wage, zero-regulation country had struck Xexon’s fancy.
Deathrain and I walked down the railroad tracks that ran through the heart of the once-teeming plant. Now the tracks were weed-covered, and no railroad cars or locomotives of any sort could be seen. The chemical tanks and the catwalks were rusted, and the warehouses held nothing but rats, dust, and graffiti.
“Good place to hide out,” I said. “Befouler probably enjoyed scraping chemicals out of these tanks.”
