The Wraith (Superhero by Night Book 1)

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  I nodded. “Where are we going?”

  “Downtown. Your friend, the one who helped you find me?”

  “Krisan Swahili? The reporter? She’s hardly a friend, I’ve only ever met her once.”

  “Regardless, she’s in trouble. We’re going to do a little field work, give you some practical experience, and help her at the same time.”

  Her articles on ISO-1 had only grown in intensity in the last few weeks. Last week she exposed a smuggling ring that was trafficking girls out of the city for the southern border and importing cocaine. She had to be on the top of their kill list.

  He led me out into the garage where there were two vehicles: a ubiquitous Chevy Impala from a few years before, and a red motorcycle. The last time I was in the garage it was empty. He has no external parking, so where did these vehicles come from. The red bike drew the lion’s share of my attention. A Ducati Panigale. A bike that cost as much as a full-sized car—or a small house.

  “You have a Ducati?” I asked him slightly flabbergasted.

  “Oh, is that what it is?” he asked back as he got into the Impala. I’d driven a motorbike before, but the Ducati was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I only knew what it was because of a photo-shoot from a few years back.

  I slid into the passenger seat, buckled up and closed the door. I noticed he didn’t wear his seatbelt as we pulled out. The garage opened, followed by the wrought iron gate moving aside. I glanced back behind me one more time, looking for any sign of where he kept all this extra equipment he seemed to be able to produce at will.

  Joseph didn’t speak as we drove. Traffic sucked, as it always did this time of day. Working class people struggled on the road, trying to get away from work as fast as possible to maximize their time at home. I used to love my job. Twelve hour days and all. I thought I could do it forever.

  Oh, how wrong I was.

  The late summer sun began its long descent to the west, casting the city in deep shadows as we drove south. Once we were on the freeway and traffic moved in a predictable pattern I asked him where we were going?

  “Her house.” Was his simple reply.

  “You know where she lives?”

  He nodded. “Information is power. Know yourself, know your allies, know your enemies. Who does the battle go to?” he asked as if we were I a class instead of a car.

  “The trained and informed,” I said automatically.

  “Good.”

  It was dark by the time we arrived in her neighborhood. She lived in a dump. The apartment complex was the kind that had doors opening onto external balconies and the occupants had to walk down staircases exposed to the elements. Lucky for us, it wasn’t raining. It wasn’t even cold yet.

  Joseph parked us across the street and half a block down. “She’s on the third floor at the end.” He pointed as if that helped. I counted up and found the apartment he meant. I looked around, taking in the neighborhood. Trash filled the street. While there were no burned out houses, only about half the living quarters I could see had lights on.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” I asked him.

  He looked over at me and gestured toward the street. “What would you do if you were them? You’ve been studying their tactics and methods. If you were ISO-1 and this reporter was printing stories about you, what would it take to shut her up?”

  I thought about it for a second. They couldn’t just kill her. It would add validity to everything she had printed about them. I closed my eyes for a second.

  Just like Mom and Dad. It needed to be an accident.

  “They need two things, as far as I can tell. They need her death to be an ‘accident’ and they need to cast doubt on her story,” I said. A city bus drove by, obscuring our view for a moment. “An accident won’t do,” I continued, my mind swirling with all the possibilities. Joseph looked at me as I spoke, a slow smile spreading on his face as I came to the only possible conclusion. “Suicide.”

  “Got it in one. If they can cast doubt on her mental stability, then it will throw all her recent work into doubt. Plus, she’ll be dead. Other reporters and people in the industry will know the truth. The horror of her forced suicide will ensure no one comes after them for a good long while.”

  The bus drove off and I saw her. Krisan, with her arms full of groceries, her laptop, and a bag full of books. She made her way to the metal staircase that was the only way up to the apartments above the ground floor. I reached for the door and he stopped me.

  “We need to warn her,” I told him.

  “No. Warning her won’t do any good. Put yourself in her shoes; she faces threats all the time. She’s confident in her status as a journalist to protect her. The irony here is, the only reason I know she’s in danger is because she’s a journalist.”

  “She’s right then?” I asked.

  “For the wrong reasons, but that’s for another day. For this to work, every single man they send has to disappear. Not just die, vanish. Leadership will order another hit, but they’ll have a tough time finding anyone willing to try it.”

  “Damn,” I whispered.

  “You can’t fight a shadow.”

  “I guess not. How do we do this?”

  “Follow me.” He exited the vehicle and walked around to the back, popping the trunk. “This is the first and only time I will ever do a mission with you, understood?”

  He seemed very certain of that fact. Admittedly, he’d never really told me why he quit. I had assumed it was because he was too old. Maybe there was another reason? Regardless, I nodded. “Yes.”

  He handed me what looked like an arm-sized harpoon gun attached to a line. “Go around back, use this to climb to the roof. Climb down to the floor above her front door and be ready.”

  I didn’t ask any questions because I was fairly certain I knew what he meant. After I took the gun, he also handed me an earpiece. “There’s a radio built into the jacket, this syncs with it automatically. You can whisper and I’ll hear you.”

  The chain-link fence that cordoned off the property was easy enough to climb—the wire at the top had long since gone missing. I was up and over in a few seconds without even breathing hard. I had to admit, I was impressed with myself. In just three months I had come so far.

  I had turned that pain and anger that permeated my heart and focused it into an iron will. I couldn’t be broken. Nor could I fail. Once I was over the fence I sprinted to the back of the buildings. The apartment complex was made of three buildings. One on either side attached to a central unit. From the air, I imagine it was shaped like a ‘U’. I decided to go up the very back and make my way across the roof to the right side wing where her apartment faced the courtyard. The building was five stories, so I would have to make my way down two stories without being seen.

  Piece of cake.

  I aimed the grappling gun and fired. It puffed as the compressed air canister sent the hook flying high into the air. Right past the roof and then back down toward me.

  Crap!

  I dodged backward as the lump of metal fell to the earth with a thump. I was sure I aimed it right.

  “What do I do if I miss?” I asked Joseph over the comms. While I waited for him to answer I tried rewinding the reel, but it was stuck—or locked. “Faulty piece of shi—” I muttered, stopping myself when I remembered he could hear everything I said. “Joseph,” I said slightly louder, “how do I reload this thing?”

  Nothing. Great. I tossed the gun down and started looking for an alternate way up. The walls were stone, uneven and oblong. Maybe I could scale it? I shook my head. No, that wouldn’t work. Even if I could, it would take me too long and I would be at my physical limit by the time I got up there.

  I slapped myself in the face. The answer was so obvious. I’d just go up the stairs and go past her apartment.

  I went around to the other side and back up the chain-link fence. As I dropped down a black Ford Econo-van screeched to a halt in the ‘no-parking’ lane in front of the b
uilding. Six men piled out and threw the sliding door open. They silently pulled gear out of the cargo area.

  Oh boy.

  Chapter 18

  It was well into evening; the sun was down and dark shadows stretched out from the building in the moonless night. Few lights on the block even worked. There were plenty of places to hide.

  Shadows… use the shadows… I could almost hear Joseph’s voice. A crazy plan leaped fully formed into my head. Just at the bottom of the stairwell that led to her apartment were the dumpsters. If I was fast enough…

  I checked what they were doing. All six were loading up on gear, all focused on the inside of the van. Two of them were putting together some bizarre contraption, for what purpose I had no idea.

  I sprinted as silently as I could around the front of the building, timing it so the men were looking into the van and not at the building. I tucked myself behind the dumpster and waited. They’d have to walk right by me to go upstairs. I opened my coat and pulled out the black H&K along with the suppressor that went with it. Carefully, as not to make a sound, I screwed on the suppressor. Once it was on, I slowly pulled the slide back until it wouldn’t go any further, then using my coat to muffle the sound, I let it jam forward, pushing a bullet into the barrel.

  And to think, three months ago I didn’t even know what a suppressor was.

  The men were done preparing and they started for the stairs. This probably wouldn’t have worked if it wasn’t a moonless night. Or if the owners of the slum Krisan lived in paid for proper lighting.

  I closed my eyes for a second, picturing Sara’s face as she died. While these men weren’t directly responsible, they certainly were guilty. I couldn’t spare any mercy for them. It was now or never.

  They walked by me, not speaking as they jogged up the stairs. The first two men were heavies, big men with coats and gloves. They were there to physically control their victim. The next two had the funky equipment that looked like some kind of giant motorized fishing wheel. The last two had their guns out. They were there if something went very wrong. From what Joseph had taught me I could tell they were a professional team. They just weren’t used to any opposition.

  As the last man stepped past, I slid out silently behind him. They were all so focused on the stairs up, they didn’t spare a glance backward. I put a bullet in his lungs, grabbed his coat and pulled him backward and put another round in his heart. They were banging up the stairs in heavy boots like a bunch of soldiers on the way to a strip club. When number five didn’t notice I jumped up and got right in line behind him. I’d come back when I was done and dump all the bodies in the dumpster. Trash collection was in a few hours; with any luck, it would look like they just disappeared.

  Just like Joseph had taught me.

  We rounded the first landing, then the second and as we passed right above the dumpster, I stuck the gun up to the side of five’s head and pulled the trigger. With a push, he went right over the railing to fall squarely in the dumpster with a crash. The four ahead of me froze, all of them leaning over the side of the railing to see what happened.

  I couldn’t have asked for a better position. I took one step back and fired. The first one slumped as the bullet took him in the back of the head. Number three had just started to turn around when my next shot impacted with his head, splitting his skull open and killing him instantly.

  Number two dropped the contraption and was jerking his gun out when I shot him in the chest. I had to waste a second bullet on him because my first one didn’t kill him.

  That’s when three hundred pounds of Italian mobster slammed into me, swatting the gun out of my hand like it wasn’t even there. I rocked backward avoiding his follow up blow which just swished in the air in front of me. I needed space. I lunge kicked him, knocking him back a foot. I reached behind me and pulled out the K-bar I’d spent countless hours training with. I didn’t let him see it, though, I hid the black blade in the shadows of my right arm. To him, it would just look like I had my fists up and was ready to fight.

  Thinking he had the advantage, he charged, arms out wide, confident he could take any blow I landed. He was right. No punch or kick would stop that charge. I dropped down, spinning around his leg like a can opener and stabbed the inside of his leg just below the groin. The blade bit hard, its razor sharp edge cutting through flesh and tendons. He grunted, not even howling in pain. Damn he was tough. He stumbled forward a few feet before he composed himself. He didn’t realize the fight was over.

  He shook his head trying to steady himself as he swayed.

  “What… what did…” then he dropped to his knees, his face going ashen white before he hit the metal staircase with a thump. The only sound I could hear was his blood dripping down the stairs to the next floor as his femoral artery did its level best to drain all his blood.

  I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Number four was slumped against the railing. Using it as leverage I toppled him over. My aim was true and another shuddering crash came from the dumpster. I quickly sent his three friends after him. Only the last one missed—by then my arms were shaking with strain. Moving carefully so I didn’t slip and knock myself senseless, I went back downstairs.

  “Joseph,” I said again on the radio when I reached the bottom. Nothing.

  I mustered the last of my strength and hefted the last two bodies into the dumpster, along with the device. Whoever came up with it was a sadist. From what I could tell, it was designed to hang someone on a timer, tightening the rope around their neck until they died. When removed it would just look like she choked to death on the rope. Bastards.

  I climbed in the dumpster and searched all six, taking their wallets and removing the batteries from their cell phones. I then arranged the trash to sufficiently obscure their bodies, climbed back out, and closed the lid and slid the bar across so only the garbage truck could dump it. I didn’t want anyone discovering them. Joseph was right; they just needed to disappear. It would be all the more terrifying for their compatriots if the bodies were never found.

  I risked a second to look for Joseph’s Impala, it was gone. At first, I thought something had happened to him. But driving the Ford van to the lake, I thought I figured it out. He had left me to fail. Anger erupted in me. How could he? After everything I had done, all I had suffered, he just left me to die and…

  Oh. It was a test.

  By the time the van was sinking to the bottom of Lake St. Clair, along with phones and wallets, I had a big smile on my face. I took my time walking back to Joseph’s house. I felt no reason to hurry, considering I was flying high on my success.

  Yeah Madi, completely ignore the fact you just murdered six people.

  No. It wasn’t murder. I did kill them, but it wasn’t murder. It was justice. I consoled myself with the life I had just saved—and blamed my shaking hands on the cold. Yeah, that was it.

  Chapter 19

  The Ghost tried desperately not to shake as his follow-up man reported. “Are you telling me she’s still alive?” he asked Topher.

  “Yeah, not only that, but the boys aren’t answering their phones, the van isn’t here, and I can’t find them. I had Alan run their GPS and the tracker shows them arriving there, but then the signal dies.” Ghost could tell the man was holding something back, something he was hesitant to tell his boss.

  “Topher, what are you not telling me?” Ghost asked the man. He’d just met this team; they were supposed to be the best the Outlaw Racer Gang had to offer.

  They were eager to resolve this issue as Ghost was. Swahili’s article exposed their operation to the cops and the heat was on.

  “Uh… there’s a lot of blood here. I mean a lot. More than a single person could bleed out.”

  Ghost hung up the phone and threw it against the wall. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to come back here. He knew, somehow, that The Wraith knew what was going down. It was his MO. People just disappeared—no screams, no corpses. They were just never heard from again and most certa
inly dead. No one could make a group of armed men disappear like that, no one but The Wraith.

  “Dammit,” he said to himself. “I’m not getting paid enough for this.”

  He picked up the phone to call Vaas and tell him to shove the job where the sun don’t shine, when an idea hit him. The Wraith knew the reporter was in danger. Had to know—otherwise, she’d be swinging from the rafters with a very tearful suicide note pinned to her chest. A perfect example for anyone else who knew how to think.

  For his idea to work, though, he was going to have to spend a little of his own money, something he didn’t like doing. His savings was building to a nice beach house in Belize where no one would question when people went missing. Not with its stupid high murder rate.

  He shook his head, refocusing his thoughts. Okay, nighttime suicide didn’t work—what about a daylight hit? A senseless drunk driver… no that wouldn’t work. It would only give credibility to her articles. If only the Detroit gangs had access to a telepath, it would make this so much easier. Of course, after what happened with the head of Cat-7, telepaths might as well be second-class citizens. Any of them caught using their gifts for personal gain, or to violate the rights of others, got neutered in the form of a lobotomy. That kind of punishment made it hard to find one willing to work this side of the law.

  An idea sprang into his head—one he wouldn’t have thought of before. Fear had a funny way of screwing with the mind. He wouldn’t face The Wraith directly if he could help it, but if he went after the reporter again, forced the man to show himself, he could lay a trap for him.

  Of course, he had to convince the locals to spare more men, something they wouldn’t want to do. He snapped his hand out and the blade he always carried materialized. He could convince people pretty good when he needed too.