Desperate Times

by Tom Andry

  "Sooo..."

  "Oh nothing. Nothing happened. He paid me to watch him every night for a month. Guy snored like a bulldozer. An animal could have mauled him in his sleep and he probably wouldn't have woken up."

  "But what about the tights?" Nissa demanded.

  "Oh, there was never anything to that. I knew all about it. In fact, I suspect Mitas Man was the only one who didn't. I mean, come on, the guy peed gold paint all over his victims. If he really didn't like them, he'd dance around them yelling, 'Now who's the king? That's right, I'm the king!' He was an adrenaline junkie. Always looking for a fight. And it didn't take much to get on his shit list. I'd heard stories that he'd beat up heroes, and I mean real heroes, for saying his name right. Well, wrong to him, but you know what I mean. Guy was a douche. Had it coming."

  "But how did..."

  "Come on now, think about it," I prompted.

  Nissa's head slowly arched back, eyes searching the ceiling for answers. "Okay. So the bladders have to be special made. By a genius you said."

  I nodded, "Natch, as you kids say."

  "Whoever the genius was would know what could puncture the bags. You met with him and..."

  I shook my head slowly.

  "No, okay. Let me think. So how does an indestructible material get shredded over and over? Some sort of animal-transforming super arch-enemy..."

  "No, you were closer before."

  She looked at me now. "Okay, so the genius had something to do with it." I nodded almost imperceptibly, "Which means maybe he knew his nemesis..."

  I interrupted, "Not bad for an amateur. Just remember, in this job, things are almost always simpler than you think. It's like when you walk into a room full of people and they all laugh. It isn't some nefarious plot, you just walked in at the wrong time."

  "So, it's simpler?"

  "Definitely." I started organizing the papers on my desk, "Who do you know in town who could build those sorts of tights?"

  She shrugged, "The only freelance genius I know is Tinkerer and I only know of him 'cause of you."

  "Yeah, well there are a few others that have the skills and they are cheaper. Thing is, they aren't as good as Ted. This Mitas twit was hard on his pants and he'd already burned through the other geniuses' attempts. Finally he decided to pony up for Ted, but he made one mistake." I stopped shuffling my papers and looked directly in Nissa's brown eyes, "He threatened Ted."

  Nissa's left eyebrow raised while the other dipped, "But I hear you threaten him all the time."

  I waved the comment off, "That's different. Ted and I have a relationship. Plus, I don't really threaten him. Mitas dude told Ted he'd pound him to a pulp if the pants ripped during a fight. Ted promised they wouldn't. And, honestly, they never did."

  "So the animal..."

  "Ted built that into the pants. He could remotely self-destruct them whenever he wanted. Every time Mitas brought them back for repairs, he'd build in a different destruct effect. Then he put the word out that he'd let anyone looking for a little revenge on Mitas Man press the button. For a fee, of course."

  "And the times you were there, watching?"

  "I split half the money with Ted and he didn't take commissions for a month. By the end of the month, Mitas was broke and let me go. Ted set up cameras in Mitas' apartment and threw a pants party. I was told it was the social event of the year. Cost a fortune to get in."

  "Did you go?"

  "Naw. That many supers in one place? That's just asking for trouble. Someone's bound to get tipsy and remember something about me they don't like."

  "Something about you not to like? Shocking!"

  "I know. And here I am, all altruistic."

  Nissa shook the smile off her face, "So, Tinkerer gets paid both ways. Paid to blow up the pants and paid to fix them."

  "And paid not to blow them up when I was on the job. Yeah, he made out pretty well."

  She shook her head, "Still, I sort of feel bad for the guy. Must have driven him crazy."

  I shrugged as I finished up piling all the loose papers onto the corner of my desk, "Guy was a tool. After the party, he left town. Or so I heard. Now he's someone else's problem."

  "From what you've told me of Tinkerer, I didn't think he'd be able to pull something that organized off."

  "Don't underestimate Ted. Sure, he's mostly too busy playing with his toys and clubbing to work on saving or dominating the world, but when he puts his mind to it...well, it can be impressive." I stood, "So, you hungry?"

  She looked up at me, her brow furrowed, "That is pretty messed up, though."

  "What?"

  "That guy, Mitas - what Ted did was cruel."

  "Listen, Nissa, you spend some time with them, you'll see. They do it to each other all the time. It's like a crazy hazing ritual that never ends. I'll be honest, if I were a super, I'm not sure I'd let anyone know. A few pranks like that and I'd end up on the wrong side of The Bulwark."

  "Yeah, no doubt," Nissa nodded.

  "Come on, let's eat." I walked to the door, Nissa close behind. I stopped, holding the edge of the door with my hand, forcing Nissa to walk under my arm. "Thing is, that Mitas guy is the reason I had to reinforce the chair. He wanted his money back because I hadn't found anything. When I refused, he threw the chair, my desk, and most of my office through the window. Since then, I've had pretty much everything in my office reinforced and bolted down. I don't even think I broke even in the deal."

  "That sucks."

  "Well, you should have seen the look on his face. Plus, this was after the party so he was wearing gold dancing tights with a gold speedo."

  "Dancing tights? Like leggings?"

  "Yeah. Hey, the guy painted his whole body gold, but couldn't find a pair of gold pants to match. Since he couldn't afford for Ted to fix his, he had to shop at the mall. It was all he could find. You could see his leg hair though them, plus they had a run up the back. It was hilarious."

  "Bob, you've got a strange sense of humor."

  # # #

  Chapter 6

  As soon as we had taken the first bites of the sandwiches I managed to scrape together from leftovers in the fridge, the intercom buzzed again. Nissa and I looked at each other, our mouths full, waiting for the other to make a move. When it became apparent that neither was going to budge, I nodded toward the intercom on the wall next to the kitchen counter. Nissa puffed up her cheeks and made a show of chewing. I rolled my eyes, managed to swallow, and pressed the button.

  "Yeah?"

  "Mr. Moore?" a man's voice.

  "Yeah, listen buddy, we're all done with deliveries for today. Come back tomorrow or, at the very least, after I finish lunch." I squinted at Nissa, "Better yet, when my assistant finishes lunch."

  "No, Mr. Moore, we're not delivery drivers."

  "Not..." I pressed the button to activate the closed circuit camera built into the intercom panel by the downstairs door. All I could see was a huge, black and white ear and eye deformed by the fish-eye lens.

  "You're gonna have to back up."

  The figure came into focus and I was treated to a picture of three men standing uncomfortably close to one another. They were wearing identical outfits with matching badges, oversized watches, and holding their hats. The picture was in black and white, but I didn't need color to know their uniforms were blue with gold trim.

  "Damn. Cops."

  "The fuzz? What do they want?"

  I shook my head, "To ruin my day." I pressed the button again, "No thanks, I already gave this month."

  One of the officers stepped up to the intercom, "Mr. Moore, we really need to talk to you."

  "No thanks."

  The three shifted in unison, trading looks. Finally the leader, an older gentleman of larger stature, moved to the intercom, "Moore. No more bullshit. You know you'll let us up. Stop the games."

  I leaned back from the intercom, Nissa's eyes on me. I rubbed around my mouth, stroking my chin. Normally, with my well-known connection to many of the
world’s supers, I could tell them to buzz off with very little fear of reprisal. But these were uncertain times. Now, I didn't know who was left. But that wasn't really the point. They were cops. If they really wanted to, they could make my life difficult even during the best of times. I didn't really want to make any enemies right now. At least, not if I didn't have to. On the monitor, the two younger, slimmer cops shifted and traded glances. The leader stood stoically still.

  "Damn." I took a breath and pressed the button. The monitor cut out as the police entered. I looked at Nissa, her sandwich still held to her mouth, "Take that to your desk. Stall them for a minute. I need to think."

  We walked quickly down the hall and I entered my office leaving the police to Nissa. It's one thing to stare down a super that likes to run around looking like death personified, but it is another to deal with real authority. While supers had more real power in just about every sense, there was something about the badge. It still meant something. Cops these days may be little more than the public relations arm for the supers, but they still had authority. On TV and in books, the police always represented power. It was like we were all programmed to respect them. When you talked to the police, you were afraid.

  Well, if you were a tippy. Supers were a different story.

  My intercom buzzed, followed by Nissa's voice on the speaker. I scanned my office. I quickly closed the door on the still-white terminal screen. I shook my head. Should I unplug it? Back when it was Gale's, she always warned not to unplug it no matter what. No time to think about that now. I reached down to the intercom.

  "Okay, send them back."

  The double doors to my office opened slowly as the two younger cops pushed them in. Between them, the older officer locked eyes with me and stepped in. He was portly, but not so much that he wheezed. There was the hint of long ago developed muscle, and the set of his jaw and perpetual frown said that he wasn't afraid to use them. This man was old school.

  "Mr. Moore," the older cop walked around the guest chair, his hand outstretched, "I've heard a lot about you."

  "Nothing good, I suppose," I gripped his hand firmly. He seemed dead set on crushing mine. I tried to keep the pain from my face. In the background I heard the intercom buzz again.

  "To the contrary," satisfied he'd made his point, he released my hand, "mostly good. Which, of course, is all crap. See, I know your type, Moore. You play the angles."

  I rubbed my hand, "With a mind like that, I can see why they put you behind a desk."

  He scowled and leaned in, "I don't like anglers."

  I sat, steepling my fingertips, "Really? What have you got against fishermen? Salt of the earth, or so I hear." From the other office, I could hear Nissa arguing with someone over the intercom.

  The two cops behind the leader glanced at each other. This wasn't going the way they'd expected. No, the way they'd been told. No one talked to this officer this way. They didn't know how to react.

  "Cut the crap, PI. You wanna play an angle? How about this? I'm going to personally make your life a living hell if you don't give me what I want."

  "Ah..." I leaned back, "and what you want is..."

  "Everyone."

  I waited. He didn't elaborate. "Everyone?"

  "Everyone. I want every contact you have. Every number, every name, everything."

  I bit off a laugh, "You're out of your mind."

  "Am I? How about I send the building inspector up here? You current with all your codes and licenses?" He made a show of looking around the office. He placed a hand on the guest chair and pushed. Of course it didn't move, "Some of this stuff doesn't look standard. I'm sure they'd be interested..."

  I pursed my lips, my pulse quickening. I had pushed around supers who could melt steel and freeze lava. I sure wasn't going to let this cop walk into my home and try to squeeze me for info. Tippy or no, I had to put this guy in his place.

  "Okay, pig," the two younger officers gasped and the fat cop turned red, "this is how this is going to go. You're going to get the hell out of my office. You're never going to come back. You're never going to bother me again. And if you do, I'll make it my life's work to make yours a living hell."

  "What. Did. You. Call. Me?"

  I snorted. Twice. Again, the intercom buzzed. Again, Nissa answered.

  His face slowly turned purple. He reached down to his belt for his revolver - a weapon that had probably been purely for show for the last 20 years. As he pulled it free of its holster, I reached down and flipped on my Inertial Dampener. I didn't really think he'd shoot, but I certainly wasn't going to take any chances.

  Turned out I didn't have anything to worry about. The two younger cops reacted as one and grabbed their boss's arms. His rage was so intense that he actually pulled one of them to the ground. The other managed to use the guest chair as leverage and got the gun away from him.

  "I'll kill you, you son-of-a-bitch!"

  "No, you won't, Officer Pork. You want to talk about angles? Here's yours. You're afraid. For the first time in years, that little watch of yours doesn't work. When you use it to tune into the Super Band radio, you don't hear chatter. When you talk into it, you don't get responses. And you don't know what to do. You thought you could walk in here and I'd just give you my files on all the supers? What if I told you those files also contain information on half the tippy politicians in the city? You want to take a shot? Go ahead. Won't do you much good. And this time next week, you'll be out of the force without a pension."

  His struggles against his fellow officers slowly subsided. Finally, he jerked his arms free. He looked back at the officer who had taken his gun and held out his hand. Hesitantly, the officer placed the gun in the outstretched palm. He turned slowly toward me, his eyes still on his gun.

  "You've made a powerful enemy today," his voice was soft and menacing, but I could still hear the doubt.

  I nodded, "I think you have that backwards."

  He turned quickly, and left, the officer that he had thrown to the ground following. The other, the one that had gotten the gun, stayed behind. Nissa answered yet another call on the intercom.

  "I warned him," the young officer's voice was strong and clear, belying his years.

  "Hmm?"

  "My uncle was the last mayor."

  "Uhh...Sandy Mitchell?"

  He nodded, "No one calls him Sandy. But I guess you knew that. He talked about you once."

  "He wasn't supposed to do that."

  The cop put up his hands, "Oh, he didn't say much. He only said not to cross you."

  "Good advice."

  "We do need your help. We're flying blind out there."

  I shook my head, "You're a bit young to remember, but your boss out there should. We didn't always need supers to do everything for us. There was a time when you guys actually did the policing. Even after the supers came on the scene."

  "I know."

  I stood and walked around my desk to face the cop. He was young, but his eyes were bright. His uniform was perfectly pressed and probably professionally tailored. "Listen, you don't have the luxury of being afraid. Sure, you are, but you can't show it. You walk out there and show fear, you'll have this city in a panic. You walk out there like everything is going to be okay, and people will believe you. Break up a few fights, throw a few troublemakers in jail, and this place will settle down in no time."

  He nodded slowly in response, staring intently into my eyes. I tried to keep my gaze strong and steady. I think I pulled it off.

  "Are they all dead?"

  I shook my head, "I don't know. I know that Gale and Force are still out there. I'm sure there are others."

  "Gale and Force? Really?"

  "Talked to her myself."

  He frowned, "They need to make an appearance. Let people know they're doing something."

  "They are."

  "But if they could just stop by. Do a flyover even. It'd make a huge difference."

  "Listen, what happened yesterday, it's big. Probably
bigger than any of us yet realize. They are out there, fighting it. I'm not sure how, or where, but they are. I can't tell you when, or if, they'll be back in town. For now, you guys are on your own."

  He nodded slowly and turned. "If you hear from any more supers, if any contact you, we could really use their help."

  "Maybe it's time you guys stopped looking for the supers and stand on your own? "

  He, paused, mouth open to response, but instead turned and walked out and I returned to my desk. By the time I sat, Nissa was back in my office.

  "You're not going to believe this crap."

  I scowled at her, "Listen, kid, I'm not sure I'm in the mood for guessing games. Just give it to me."

  "Gee, cranky much? Fine. There are three different installers here."

  "Installers?"

  "Yep. Only, they don't know what they're installing."

  "Come again?"

  "That's what I said, but they said they couldn't."

  "Huh. Wait...what?"

  "Forget it." A buzz from the other room, "Yeesh, there it is again!" She stood up.

  "Wait," I stopped her, "what do you mean they don't know what they are installing?"

  "Just that. So far, they show up, look through all those boxes, grab the ones they want, and install it."

  "Where?"

  She shrugged, "In the walls mostly. One in the door. I'm taking notes, like you said, but honestly, it all looks weird to me."

  I shook my head. Damn you, Ted. I told you I didn't want upgrades. But part of me was a little relieved.

  I turned and opened the closet door that hid the terminal. It still showed nothing but a blank, white screen. I hated looking at it, but I couldn't help it. I kept hoping it would reconnect, that I was wrong and that somehow Mind, and the Network, would still be functional. Without it, much of my information, the stuff the cops wanted, was lost.

  "What are you gonna do about that?"

  Nissa was standing beside me, the insistent buzzing momentarily forgotten.

  "Nothing."

  "Really? Why not unplug it since it won't turn off?"

  I took the last bite of my sandwich and rubbed the crumbs from my hands, "I considered it, but no. If knowing Ted has taught me anything, it is not to mess with something that's not exploding." I turned to her, "You remember that. These geniuses put together these devices, but half the time, even they don't know why it works. If it isn't smoking, ticking, or counting down, don't mess with it. At least, that's my policy."