Dane Curse

by Matt Abraham

  “The flu?”

  “Yes sir,” I said, “I hear it’s spreading through the schools.”

  “How come nobody told me?”

  “About the flu, sir?” I asked.

  “No, about you.”

  “What about me, sir?”

  “Jesus,” he said. “About you taking over for Jeff.”

  “I don’t ask questions sir, I do what I’m told.” I kept looking at the old man. The distrust on his face was closer than it appeared.

  Humphries pulled out his phone, and started to dial. “Good.”

  No, not good, bad, very bad.

  There was no way I was letting him check on my story. We’d be neck deep in silver clad lawmen before cresting the next hill. I pulled to the side of the road, near a particularly treacherous drop, and jammed on the brakes.

  He stopped dialing and looked up. “What’re you doing?”

  I put my arm over the seat, and turned around with Rico in hand. “Drop it.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah, you’re someone who doesn’t ruffle easy. Now, do you know what this is?” I motioned toward my piece. “It’s the thing that’s going to punch a hole through your chest if you don’t drop the phone.”

  He did what I asked, but slower than I wanted.

  “Good,” I said. “Now I need to ask you a few questions. If you answer them then everything will be fine, and I’ll drive you to work as requested. Otherwise…”

  “Otherwise what?”

  “Otherwise I’ll make you answer. Now I don’t want to do that, but I’m the kind of guy who does a lot of things he doesn’t want to do. And since time is a factor, let’s get started. Where’s Pinnacle?”

  Humphries sat there glaring at me. I had to remember that this was the head of a paramilitary force of men who, despite having no special abilities themselves, dealt directly with the most dangerous powered criminals in the world. No surprise he was a tough nut.

  “You having tongue trouble?” I said. “Where’s our boy? What’s happened to Big Red?”

  A smirk joined the glare. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in. You must be the dumbest black cape this side of the Pacific. When my team hears about this there won’t be a place you can hide.”

  “Hey, if you’re going to beat your gums then why not answer the question?”

  “You want an answer?” He crossed his arms. “Go to hell.”

  “I need to know where Pinnacle is,” I said.

  He looked out the window. “Go to hell.”

  “You think I’m messing around here? Where. Is. Pinnacle?”

  He turned back to me. “Go. To. Hell.”

  I didn’t have time for this. I couldn’t say for certain, but Humphries seemed the type to keep a schedule so rigid that alarm bells would ring if he was more than five minutes late. And like I said, there’s only one road into town.

  “Always the hard way.” I reached back, grabbed a handful of his collar, and dragged him over the seat like a gym bag. Then I stepped out, shot a quick glance both ways to make sure there were no cars coming, and crossed the street with the director in tow. I holstered Rico, and with one hand dangled Humphries over the edge. He looked down. It was easily over a hundred-foot drop with nothing but jagged rocks between the ocean and us.

  All he did was whistle and nod. “Good choice, son.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Now start yapping before my hand gives.”

  The wind was kicking up, so he had to yell. “I won’t tell you squat, you’ll have to drop me.”

  “I will, pops. I don’t got all day.”

  He looked down, and took a deep breath. Then he turned back to me, and the bastard actually put his hands in his pockets. “Then let go and be done with it.”

  I dropped my weight, lowered him slightly, and threw Humphries into the air. He got ten feet of lift, which was high enough for the wind to push him an inch or two out to sea. I had to lean out to catch him, barely getting my hand around his collar, and ripping his shirt in the process.

  He yelped, and again I asked, “Where’s Pinnacle?”

  He was talking now, faster than before. “Who are you, why do you care?”

  “I ask, you answer. Where’s Big Red?”

  There was anger in his eyes. “He’s away on a mission.”

  “Liar.”

  “He told us he’d be back in a few days.”

  “Stop lying.”

  “I’m not.”

  I didn’t like what I was hearing, so I tossed him a second time.

  When I caught him the fabric ripped more, and a few buttons popped off his collar. “Last chance, where is he?”

  Humphries was talking even faster now. Sweat formed on his brow and upper lip. “Alrightalrightalright, I don’t know… we were supposed to meet a few days ago but he never showed.”

  “Keep going.”

  The threads holding his jacket seams began to pop. Humphries locked on to my arm. “That’s it, that’s all, I haven’t seen him since last week.”

  “Bull,” I said, “you know something piggy, now squeal.”

  “I don’t know anything more, I swear.”

  It was only a matter of seconds before some motorist stumbled on us, so I put some bite in my voice to go along with the bark. “I don’t believe you. You’ve been lying. He’s missing. Now we both know that nobody’s strong enough to hurt him, and nullifiers don’t work, so the only thing that could’ve happened is one of your chumps collared him.”

  “What?” Humphries eyes were the size of saucers. “We were close friends, who told you that?”

  I pulled out the letter I found at Waller’s, and shoved it in his face. “This told me. You want to become a federal department. Not a bad position, huh? Having a SPEC force for every city in the country would make you a powerful man. Richer, too. But Pinnacle wasn’t on board, and without his support you had no chance. I guess he didn’t see the value in giving you control of your own private army fully sanctioned by Washington. So you asked him nice, and you asked him hard, but no matter which way you asked the answer was no.

  “So you scheduled a sit down, and when his back was turned you tossed a collar on him. It was just as a lesson, right? You didn’t mean to hurt him. You just wanted to show him who really runs Gold Coast. Only maybe Pinnacle didn’t like the feel of metal on his neck. Did he fight back? Was it an accident? What happened, tell me!”

  I tossed the old man as I high as I dared. It took a good couple of seconds for him to come down, and again I caught him by his shirt. But this time he barely slowed down.

  This time all I had was a handful of cotton.

  Chapter 18

  “Bastard!” Director Humphries screamed as he fell backwards down the mountain towards the rocky shore below.

  I stepped off, and went after him.

  With your arms out, and flapping against the wind like Humphries’ were, a human body will fall at about 120 miles per hour, but pull them back at your sides like me and you can hit 200. I hoped it would be fast enough.

  Humphries twisted through the air as I followed him down. The wind roared in my ears. I strained to keep my eyes open. A jagged chunk of rock flew past, missing him by inches. It struck my shoulder. The stone exploded as I burst through. The impact slowed me, and my target pulled further away. The ocean’s mist was already wet on my face. I only had a few seconds left.

  I pulled in tighter, trying to get as streamlined as possible. Humphries twisted in the air, his coat flapping behind him. I reached out. The cloth from his jacket grazed my fingers. I clamped down with everything I had.

  Too late. My hand was empty. The ocean salt was now stinging my eyes. I stretched as far as I could. And I got a finger around his jacket. I grabbed, and pulled him to me. Slinging one arm under his shoulder, I thrust the other into the cliff, and my fingers dug into the oncoming rock like a plow through warm soil. We were still moving fast though. So I pushed in deeper. My hand caught like an
anchor, and we swung down into the rock face. I cradled Humphries as we hit.

  Together we slid down the mountain with a small army of pebbles in our wake. And we began to slow. I held him tight, and finally, thankfully, we came to a stop. I looked down. We were less than ten feet from the water, and a forest of sharp rocks that made a croc’s mouth look like soft serve.

  The director’s heart hammered through his suit. It was almost as fast as mine. Grabbing his shirt I spun him around so we were face-to-face. “Please don’t drop me… I didn’t do anything, I swear.” He was taking deep gulps of air. “It’s true … I was angry that Pinnacle wasn’t helping with the expansion, but I didn’t hurt him! I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’m just as upset about his disappearance as you.”

  “Then why have you been telling everyone that he’s on some covert assignment?”

  “It was all Glory’s idea.”

  “Glory’s idea? You mean Glory Anna?”

  “Yes… but it was smart… I agreed.”

  “Why?”

  “If people think Pinnacle vanished they’d panic. Overnight crime would double. It would be chaos. Neither I nor Team Supreme could stop it.” Humphries closed his eyes and swallowed. His breathing slowed. “However, if we told them he was sure to return soon everyone would remain calm, and it would buy us the time we needed to find him.”

  Damn. I believed that. “What about the collars, have any gone missing?”

  “A collar?” He looked unsure about the question. “Why would anyone use a collar? Even if you doubled them up they wouldn’t work on Pinnacle. He’s too strong, it-”

  I shook him and said, “Answer me, are any missing?”

  “No, none. All requests for collars go through me. They’re all accounted for.”

  I looked into his eyes. And damn it, I believed that too.

  Time to scratch the SPECs off of my list.

  “Alright then, let’s get moving.” I threw Humphries over my shoulder, and carried him up the cliff like a sack of potatoes. When we got to the top I tossed him in the back of the car, and headed towards town. I expected him to be a wreck for the rest of the ride, but less than a mile down the road he had straightened his hair, smoothed down his clothes, and looked calm.

  He may have cracked, but I couldn’t help still thinking that he was one tough nut.

  #

  I dropped Humphries off about four blocks from his office. He opened the door, but stopped before he got out. “So where’s Jeff?”

  “Nice to know you care,” I said. “He’s safe. Unconscious, but safe. I left him in his car back in the Foothills.” I turned around and looked at him. “And don’t go too hard on the kid. You’d be amazed at how sloppy people get when they haven’t done field work in a while.”

  The old man got out, and slammed the door. I pulled away looking through my rearview mirror. Humphries was jabbering on his cell phone, no doubt reporting Jane’s appearance, plate number, and location to his men. It wouldn’t do him any good. I turned the corner, flipped a switch, and in two blocks my license plate had a fresh face, while the body of the car shifted back to standard Jalopy, only now she was fire engine red. Looking like that I could double back, drive right by the director, and his sharp eagle eyes wouldn’t give me a second glance.

  I kissed my hand and slapped the dash.

  I knew my next logical step would be to look into the death threat, but with no earthly way to identify the author I was out of luck. Lynchpin might be disappointed, but there was a much better place to get information, and I pointed Jane in that direction.

  On my way there I got a call on the comms unit.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Widow. Is ‘hello’ not in your vocabulary?”

  “It is. But that’s two syllables I don’t have time for right now. Mrs. Freeman just called again. She’s worried about the Kapowitzer. Are you stopping by her place today?”

  “Don’t see why I would.” I weaved through some commuters and gave them a taste of my horn. “I figure tomorrow at the soonest. And even that’s a long shot.”

  “What’s going on? You’ve never turned down a client in need.”

  “I told you, I can’t talk about it.”

  I practically felt Widow’s sigh. “Well then, can you tell me where you’re going?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “To see about some ammo.”

  Chapter 19

  Nobody was better than Professor Varius when it came to energy and tech, but so far those areas had bore no fruit. I liked the Azures he showed me, but when I asked about other bullets he dismissed the idea out of hand. Some might mistake that for confidence, but I know a blind spot when I see one, so I decided to visit a guy who knew more about conventional weaponry.

  Twiddle was sort of a Gold Coast legend, though tragedy might be a better term. Back when cybernetics were all the rage he had his arms replaced with implants to increase their speed and strength, but the hacks that worked on him didn’t do either. Instead, the arms he got were barely as good as the ones he had before, only metal, except now they have a glitch that keeps them constantly moving which, if you were a sniper like Twiddle, can really harm your professional life. He’s tried having them switched out, but something about the connectors fused to the nerves so they can’t be replaced. Now all he does is run his shop, Gun Guys, but he’s still the best person when it comes to projectiles that got the most moxie.

  When I walked in he was sitting behind the counter. He wore light blue overalls, and both silver hands were resting on his growing stomach, thumbs moving over one another slow but steady.

  “Hey Twiddle,” I said.

  “Dane, how are you?” He smiled wide and shook my hand with both of his. “Glad to see you’re still out and about. You need some ammo for the Thumper?”

  “Nope, Rico’s gut is all filled up. Actually, I’m in the market for something new. Something with stopping power.”

  “Looking for a little kick-a-poo, huh?” Twiddle pointed at Lois. “Have you tried that mammoth swinging on your chest there?”

  “She’s a bit out of date. I’m thinking about a projectile,” I said. “You got anything like that?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, “but before we go on, why are you really asking?”

  “Like I said, I want something new.”

  “So you’re sticking with that?” Twiddle threw back his head and laughed. “As long as we’ve been friends you and the word new have never met in the same sentence.”

  “What, I can’t trade up?”

  Twiddle shrugged. “Some buy to collect, others to impress, but guys like you mate for life. When you finally check in at Hotel Ayers it’ll be with a Kapowitzer in one fist and a Thumper in the other. But if I’m wrong I’ll be happy to take Lois off your hands. Give you a good price too.”

  “You’d buy my Kapowitzer? I would think an assassin wouldn’t want a pistol that leaves a signature.”

  “Sniper is the preferred term. And since I’m not in that game anymore I don’t care. I’ve always wanted to own one. Are you selling?”

  I glanced around the store. “Maybe.”

  Twiddle bent over the counter with fire in his eyes. “Don’t mess with me, would you really?”

  “Never mind,” I waved him away. “It was a passing fancy.”

  Twiddle resumed his easy lean. “That wasn’t a nice thing to do to a friend. So you’re here about a case then? That’s fine too. I guess. But before we proceed the standard rules apply.”

  “Tell no one what I see.”

  “Don’t take that lightly. What I’m going to show you today, it’s tippy top secret. Understand?”

  “Have I ever spilled bean one?” I asked.

  “You have not.” He gave me a lingering look. “Ok then, let’s take a walk to the Harmory.”

  Twiddle hopped off his stool, and motioned for me to follow. We walked past the firing range, through the door in the back, down one long fli
ght of stairs, and into a room that was the size of a warehouse. It was cold, and filled from top to bottom and all parts between with piles of different sized crates, each one with a table in front of it displaying a weapon that represented its contents.

  I’ve always been impressed with how much mayhem he stores, and Twiddle led me through it all, talking over his shoulder the whole time. “So you want to know which mules kick the hardest these days. For that we’ll first visit nah.”

  “Nah?” I asked. “You change your mind?”

  “Funny,” Twiddle said. “No, N-A-H. New Army Hardware. This way.”

  “New Army? Never heard of them.”

  “It’s not really their name, just something I call them because I have to call them something. They’re an outfitter working in South America, and their wares are primo choice.”

  “Any of them stronger than an Azure?”

  “I’ll tell you, the Sindicate’s producing those, and I’m more than happy to carry them, but I’ve got a few that can outperform the blue beauties. Here’s one now.” Twiddle picked up a devious looking black rifle, and held it out. “This is the Barracuda. Two meters of rail gun that can put a hole in a rhino from nose to nuts, and I believe was responsible for that recent incident, the one that’s being kept hush-hush. I know you’ve heard about it.”

  Every muscle in my body locked tight. I took my eyes off the weapon, and put them on Twiddle. “What do you mean?”

  “That thing in Africa. The French lost a fighter jet over Somalia, but there was nobody up there with him, and no surface to air nothing. I’m willing to bet that one of these babies torqued him up nicely.”

  “Oh that.” I returned my attention to the gun. “Is it more powerful than an Azure?”

  “The bullet? No. But the way the rifle shoots it? Yeah.”

  “And it doesn’t need Blue Blood to-”

  “Trajectory my friend. When we’re talking punching power speed is king while the acid is flaccid.”

  “Check.” The Prof might not agree. “It’s pretty sweet, what else you got?”

  “Pretty sweet, what else you got?” Twiddle shook his head. “Yeah, ok. So the next bachelorette,” he led us to some other stock a few feet away, “is the TAY-80. It’s projectile-less. Only fires energy blasts, but they’re concentrated tight enough to burn through, well, almost anything. And by anything I mean metal, concrete, battleships, small moons… The capsules that provide the juice are a one and done deal so ammo is in short supply, and I mean very short supply. Kind of a hassle for now.”