Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer

by Ian Thomas Healy

  “Guess he can’t fly,” said the boy who’d shoved him, eliciting more laughter from the others. The one who’d trashed his bicycle kicked it until something broke loose.

  The sight of the piece whirling away into the street sent Harlan into a murderous rage. “I’ll kill you!” he shrieked, and struggled to get up.

  The four boys, done with their taunting, turned to outright brutality and commenced punching and kicking him in earnest, until all he could do was huddle and whimper and wait for the end.

  #

  “Thanks so much for lunch and for talking with me,” said Miranda. “I feel a lot better.”

  “You’re not going to go find something else to jump off of once I’m gone, are you?” asked Tommy.

  Miranda laughed. “No, I promise.” They strolled up the street towards his apartment.

  “I just hope you find some peace with yourself,” said Tommy. “You’ll meet someone else. It’s a big city.”

  “Even though I don’t want to,” said Miranda. “Any more than you want to look past John Stone.”

  “Touché,” said Tommy with a laugh. “Listen, do you want to come inside?” Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Not for that,” said Tommy quickly. “It’s just that, well, I don’t really know anyone who’s not a superhero, and it’s nice to talk to you.”

  “It’s nice to talk to you too, Tommy, and I’d love to.”

  Tommy led her up the flight of stairs and unlocked his apartment. She looked around at the high ceilings, the tasteful wall art, the track lighting. Quiet ceiling fans circulated the hot midday air enough to make the apartment’s temperature at least tolerable. Diaphanous white curtains billowed gently in the breeze.

  “It’s lovely,” said Miranda. “You live here alone?”

  “Yes.” Tommy saw the flashing light on his radio, which meant someone had tried to reach him. He picked it up from the table and told Miranda, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa.”

  “So cultured.” Miranda laughed.

  Tommy stepped into his bedroom and pulled the door shut. He called headquarters. “Tornado, checking in.”

  “Tommy,” said Bobby. “About time. Listen, I need you to go check on Javier. He’s not answering his radio and we’ve got the Feds here. Apparently there’s a rogue para loose here in town who killed a guy in Iowa.”

  “Oh shit,” said Tommy.

  “My thoughts exactly. This could blow up bigger than the Son of Sam.”

  “Javier was having an equipment malfunction,” said Tommy through clenched teeth.

  “His malfunction is in his goddamn head. One of these days we’re going to find him dead.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  Tommy pulled on a spare costume, still clean and fresh from the Chinese laundry he used. He walked out of his room, clasping his cape around his neck.

  Miranda was examining the photos and news clippings in Tommy’s small Just Cause shrine. “You must lead such a fascinating life,” she said as he approached her. “All these strange and wonderful people you’ve met, and the things you’ve done.”

  He shrugged. “I’m still just a regular guy. It’s just a job, like being a cop or an actor.”

  Miranda sighed. “Still a lot more interesting than what I do for a job.”

  An idea popped into Tommy’s head. “Listen, do you like baseball?”

  Miranda wrinkled up her nose. “Baseball? What has that got to do with anything?”

  “John Stone, Sundancer, and I are all going to the Mets game later. Would you like to join us?”

  “Are you serious?” Miranda’s jaw dropped in surprise. “You guys do that?”

  Tommy smiled. “It’s that or another party at Headquarters tonight, and as fun as they are, I could use the change of pace.”

  “I’d love to go to a game with you. If you’re sure it’s okay, that is.”

  “Positive. Do you want to meet us there?”

  “Sure. I live in Queens, so I’m not far away.” They worked out details of where and when to meet at the stadium, and then Tommy offered to call her a cab. “No thank you,” she said. “It’s such a lovely day, I couldn’t stand being in the back of a stuffy cab.”

  Tommy raised an eyebrow. “It’s hot and humid and you think it’s lovely?”

  She winked. “It’s a lovely day to be alive. You’re a real sweetheart, Tommy Tornado.” Miranda stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  #

  “So that’s how I wound up out here in the Big Apple,” said Shane. He’d spent most of the past half hour regaling Gretchen with the tale of his journey from Des Moines to New York City. It wasn’t a very interesting story, but she didn’t mind listening to his cheerful chatter. It kept her from thinking about her own problems. Besides, they’d needed something to do while sitting outside Gonsalvo’s repair shop, waiting for Harlan’s return.

  “Do you ever miss it?” asked Gretchen. “Small towns? Fields of corn and wheat? Clean air?”

  “Sure.” Shane stabbed out his cigarette. “I get back a couple of times a year to visit my folks, but this city has a way of getting in your blood. Once you call New York home, everyplace else you’re just visiting.”

  “I wonder if I’ll ever feel at home here.” Gretchen stared out the window without really seeing anything. She could feel Shane’s eyes on her as he appraised her from his seat.

  “I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” he said. “You got a strength about you. Plus you’re a para.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Yes, there’s that.” She’d thought a lot about telling him about her power. He didn’t seem the type to do anything threatening with information about her. She opened her mouth to divulge a little more about herself but the radio interrupted her.

  “Shane, come back.”

  “Go ahead,” said Shane.

  The dispatcher told him a police substation was suffering intermittent power failures and asked him to check it out.

  “Copy,” Shane said and turned to Gretchen. “I can’t stay here any longer. Duty calls. Do you want to wait for your friend?”

  “No, I’ll go with you,” she said. “Let me leave him a message here.” She slipped out of the truck and dashed into Gonsalvo’s where she borrowed a pen and wrote Harlan a quick note on a service request form. She asked him to leave the passes with Gonsalvo if he couldn’t wait for her and she’d stop by after Shane’s shift was done. She looked up and down the street once more but saw no sign of Harlan in any direction.

  “Okay, let’s go.” She climbed into the truck.

  Shane took the truck around the block and headed for the highway. “I’m not looking forward to this,” he grumbled. “That’s a really old station building. You should see what passes for wiring in some of these places.”

  “Maybe I should,” said Gretchen.

  “What?” Shane glanced sidelong at her as he nosed the truck up an on-ramp to merge with early afternoon traffic. Heat waves poured off the blacktop with almost audible force, making everything blurry.

  “I feel like such a jerk, riding around with you all day and wasting your time. Can I help you with your work somehow?”

  “Hmmm.” He steered the truck around a stalled taxicab, oblivious to the angry horns behind him. “It’s not really allowed in regulations. You have to be an apprentice first.”

  “So I’ll be your apprentice. I’ll hand you tools and put my finger on knots so you can tie them tighter.”

  He laughed. “We don’t use knots.”

  She poked him in the side. “You know what I mean. How about it, huh? Time I started earning my keep. Maybe I’ll go work for Con Ed.”

  “All right, I guess so. I think there’s a spare set of coveralls behind the seat, although I don’t know how clean they’ll be.”

  Gretchen turned around and rummaged through the accumulated junk and
trash behind the truck’s seat and crowed with success when she discovered the lightweight denim coveralls. They stank of stale cigarette smoke, but were otherwise tolerable. She kicked off her tennis shoes and slid her legs into the lower half. The legs and sleeves were too long, but she could roll them up. She zipped the coveralls halfway up her chest and then grabbed Shane’s hardhat from the seat beside him. She set it rakishly on her head. “How do I look?”

  “Like you should be on a calendar,” he said.

  Surprise washed over her like the heat boiling off the pavement. She couldn’t speak for a few minutes and just watched as Shane took the truck down an exit ramp into a different part of Harlem.

  He parked the truck and looked down with skepticism at Gretchen’s feet. “This is going to be pretty hard on your shoes,” he said. “Do you have any others to change into later?”

  “I’ve got some sandals in my bag,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ve got an extra hardhat and gloves in the back. Let me give you a quick rundown on tools.”

  Gretchen rolled up the pant cuffs and sleeves on the coveralls and then climbed out of the truck. Shane proceeded to show her clamps, voltage meters, screwdrivers and wrenches. “I know what those are,” she laughed. “I’m not a complete rube.”

  Shane smiled back at her and Gretchen realized in surprise that she was developing genuine feelings for him, that she wouldn’t mind going on a date with him or even letting him kiss her good night. But then she remembered the feel of Donny’s breath on her neck and she repressed a shudder.

  “Ready to go get dirty?” he asked.

  She smiled back at him. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Good, because we’re probably going to have to go into the sewer.”

  Gretchen’s smile faded.

  Chapter Seven

  July 13, 1977, 3:00 PM

  Lionheart was waiting at the elevator when the doors opened. “No Imp?” he asked as he sniffed the air. “She had to go meet her brother,” Faith said. “She’ll be along as soon as she’s done.”

  “Government suits,” growled Lionheart under his breath. “I hate the Feds. They reek of corruption and cheap bourbon.”

  “Is everyone else here?”

  “No. We can’t raise Javier on the radio. Bobby sent Tommy to track him down.” Lionheart looked angry enough to tear a building down with his teeth. “The man’s addictions make him a disgrace to this team. He thinks I don’t know, but I can smell every pill he takes, every line of blow, every woman leaching out of his pores.”

  “Easy, Rick.” Faith curbed her urge to scratch him on the back of his head to calm him. “First things first. Let’s listen to the Feds and do what we can to help them and then look to our own internal problems.”

  Lionheart sighed. “You’re right, of course. I may lead this motley bunch in name, but you’re far wiser than me. I’d be lost without you.”

  Suddenly Faith realized they stood very near each other. His natural musky scent filled the air and made her head spin. She loved her husband Bobby, and had for many years, but she felt an undeniable attraction toward Lionheart and had almost from the day they’d first met. She knew he felt a similar draw to her. So far they’d never acted on those feelings.

  Some days it was harder to resist than others.

  “No,” she murmured, more to convince herself than him.

  He backed away, not wanting to cause either of them further embarrassment, and the moment passed.

  Three empty seats in the conference room bore mute testimony to the fragmentation of the team. Sundancer toyed with a lock of her hair. Bobby sipped coffee. The Steel Soldier gave off regular ticks in the corner, sounding like oil dropping into the pan of a hot engine as he idled. John Stone sat at attention, looking at the two men in ill-fitting, off-the-rack suits at the far end of the conference room. They glanced up as Faith and Lionheart sat down.

  “Everyone who’s going to be here is here,” said Lionheart.

  “Good,” said one of the men. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Special Agent Stull and I’m Special Agent Simmons of the New York office of the FBI.” Stull handed him some folders from a briefcase and Simmons passed them out to the heroes. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re investigating a murder we believe was committed using parahuman powers, which is automatically a federal crime. Everything we know about this case is in these folders.”

  Stull stood up and brushed a hand across his clean-shaven scalp. “The victim, nineteen-year old Donald Milbrook, died of internal thoracic trauma consistent with violent, immediate change in air pressure. The lack of external injuries implies he was killed using parahuman abilities.”

  “We already know all this,” Faith pointed out. “It was in the initial police report from Dyersville.”

  Simmons ignored the interruption. “Our top suspect is Gretchen Gumm, also nineteen. A witness at the diner where she works confirmed she left with Milbrook at the end of her shift. They apparently drove to a secluded area to have intercourse.”

  Lionheart raised an eyebrow. “What led you to that conclusion, Agent Simmons?”

  Simmons tapped the folder with his finger. “Stains and residue found in the course of the autopsy.”

  “Was it consensual?” asked Sundancer.

  Simmons gave her a blank stare.

  “As opposed to rape,” she added. Stull winced at the term, as if hearing it brought him physical discomfort.

  “Look,” began Simmons. “We’re not here to discuss potential moral failings of an otherwise upstanding young citizen. Whatever happened, let’s not forget he’s the victim here, and his killer is on the loose.”

  Faith glanced over at Sundancer. Sparks of barely-restrained fury danced in the young woman’s eyes. “Let me propose a scenario, Agent Simmons. Suppose your all-American farmboy here decided to get a little drunk, which I see was included in the autopsy report, and got a little too free with his hands. He takes Gumm out to his secluded area and forces himself on her. But he doesn’t know she’s a parahuman, and she exacts fatal revenge on him for his act. Does that fit into your world view?”

  Simmons sniffed in disdain. “I’m not going to be lectured by a Playboy bunny. This is a Federal murder investigation and I won’t have you making a mockery of it.”

  “Be that as it may,” growled Lionheart, trying to restore order to the meeting. “She’s your primary suspect. Why is that, and what’s she doing in New York?”

  “I’ll take this one,” said Stull. “Her parents were concerned when she never came home after work two days ago, and called the police. By then, Milbrook’s body had been found and we were looking for suspects. We questioned several of Gumm’s friends, but none of them had any idea where she’d gone. We checked local bus and train schedules and found a potential match. Further questioning of the driver and ticket agent in Des Moines confirmed that she bought a one-way ticket to New York City.”

  “All right, it certainly sounds like she’s a good suspect,” said Faith. “But here’s the thing. Imp and I interviewed the driver of the bus she was on, and he said she had a bruised eye. Maybe she was acting in self defense.”

  Stull made a dismissive wave. “I don’t care. That doesn’t excuse the fact that she used parahuman powers to kill. That much is clear-cut. If she was defending herself, that’s something for the lawyers to determine.”

  “That’s why we’re enlisting your help,” said Simmons. “As parahumans yourselves, you may have insights about where she might have gone or who she might have talked to. And if we have to take her down, it would be good to have you for backup.”

  “Nobody’s taking anybody down until we know what’s going on,” said Lionheart.

  “Maybe if we talked to her friends,” said Sundancer.

  “We’ve already interviewed her friends,” grumbled Stull.

  “They may be protecting her. You guys do come across as pretty heavy-handed,” said Faith. “I think Sundancer’s right.”

  “I can f
ly you and Sundancer to Dyersville to continue the investigation as you are the two lightest team members currently present,” said the Steel Soldier.

  “I can fly myself,” Sundancer said.

  “At supersonic speeds, I can travel there in approximately ninety minutes, even burdened with two passengers.”

  Faith turned to Lionheart. “It would make sense for us to get some feet on the ground there. Maybe we can find out something that the kids won’t tell the Feds.”

  He nodded. “Do it.”

  The Steel Soldier whirred into a higher level of activity. “I possess two cases in which you will be protected from wind and friction. They will be cramped, but I understand humans can endure discomfort for certain amounts of time.”

  Faith sighed. “Steel, I’m sure glad you’re not a doctor, because if you were, you’d have a lousy bedside manner.”

  #

  Harlan trudged into Gonsalvo’s shop, pushing his bent bicycle. His stomach churned from the blood he’d swallowed and his ribs ached from repeated kicks.

  “Madre de dios! What happened to you?” A surprised Gonsalvo dropped the wrench he was holding when he saw Harlan.

  “I fell off my bike,” said Harlan. “And then it got hit by a car.”

  Gonsalvo looked from the twisted frame of the bike to the bruises on Harlan’s face and shook his head sadly. “The girl from Con Ed left you a note. They got another service call and had to leave.”

  Harlan sniffled a little and tasted blood. “I’d have come back sooner if I could.” He took the note and read through it twice to make sure he didn’t miss any hidden meaning. All it said was that Gretchen was sorry she’d missed him. If he’d leave her a pass and his phone number, she’d pick it up later from Gonsalvo and call Harlan to work out a time to visit Just Cause. That way he wouldn’t have to wait around for her.