Dane Curse

by Matt Abraham

  Twiddle pulled it out to give me a closer look. It was a beautiful weapon, shoulder mounted and silver with rounded edges and that heavy feel that belies quality craftsmanship, but there were no burn marks on Pinnacle’s body. “Pass. Intriguing, but not my style. Anything else?”

  He shook his head “You know, you don’t impress easy. I’m showing you stuff that any US Marine would give a night with their mother for, and all I’m getting is yawns.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry, I guess I’m particular.”

  Twiddle nodded, and stroked his chin. “I do have one more, and I got a feeling it’ll interest you, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Ok, the thing is these last two, I don’t like the thought of you chatting to your Agent buddy about them, but this one, you can’t mention it to anyone. Only a handful of people in the world even know it exists.”

  “Come on, we’ve gone this far.”

  He smiled. “You know, I do want to talk to someone about it, the thing’s amazing.” He looked at the back wall. “Ok, come on, let’s throw caution to the wind.”

  Twiddle led me to a small room in the back. The only thing inside was a plain wooden crate. It was already open, and filled to the top with straw. He walked to it, reached in, and pulled out a bright red rifle. “I present to you the Kaos.” It was very thin, and longer than any I’d seen before. Maybe it was the festive color, or maybe it was because the gun was so slim, but it didn’t look as impressive as the last two, yet he cradled it like a bundled baby. “This is the most powerful, most lethal hero killing machine I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what mad genius built it, but this thing’s got more power than you can safely hold in your hand.”

  “Ok,” I said, “but before we go on tell me, how does it stack up to the Sky Hammer?”

  Twiddle’s face dropped. “Varius’s old canon? They’re not in the same category.”

  “What are you talking about? That thing’s knocked Pinnacle out of the sky.”

  “Yeah, but he got back up, didn’t he? Listen, I’m not putting down the Prof, he was the best. The best. But that was back in the day, and that day’s not this day, understand? You could probably handle an energy cannon like The Hammer without dying. I’m sure it’d be months until you lost the sunburn, but the Kaos here slings slugs at a velocity that would break your skin easy. No muss or fuss, just a clean hole right through you.” He made an ‘O’ with his hand.

  “It’s that good, huh?”

  “Affirmative,” Twiddle said. “This thing could perforate Glory Anna, its bullets are faster than Doctor Velocity. I’m telling you this gun could even put a hole in Pinnacle. Whenever he gets back.”

  “What?” My jaw went slack. I stared at Twiddle, but all I could see was the rifle he held. I reached towards it. “How’s that possible?”

  Twiddle pushed my hand away. “With these, MAGMAs.” He cleared the rifle’s chamber, and a red bullet flew out at me.

  I snatched it from the air and studied its design. The MAGMA was unlike any other bullet I’ve seen. It was very long and very thin, and had tiny stripes running from end to end. “How does it work?” I asked.

  Twiddle smiled. “Brace yourself because it’s next level cool. So projectiles get blasted out of a barrel due to propellant, or the force exerted behind them. They travel around three thousand feet per second, give or take depending on the explosion and the bullet’s shape and size and weight.”

  “Got it,” I said, remembering the Prof’s tutorial, “but increasing the speed would mean more explosives which would destroy the gun.”

  Twiddle smiled. “May I continue?”

  “By all means.”

  “Thanks. So the thing is there’s muzzle velocity, the speed the bullet moves rights as it leaves the barrel, and there’s the speed after. Once the bullet’s out and free it starts to slow because of air pressure and gravity and what not. Oxygen has mass, even though we don’t feel it, but something moving so fast can’t help but experience it differently than we do.”

  I nodded. “Like when you jump into a pool off the high dive instead of the edge.”

  “Exactly. Well, all that slows the bullet, limiting its effective range resulting in the inevitable stop. Every projectile has that problem. Every one. Except-”

  “Except these,” I said, looking at the MAGMAs with new eyes.

  “Except these. MAGMAS. Multi-Accelerant Generating Momentum Ammunition. The only bullet that gains strength with distance. See those stripes? They’re explosive propellants stacked up behind the slug so when you shoot it fires off with normal speed, just like a normal bullet, but once it’s out of the barrel the next charge goes off, and fires it forward, faster than before. Then another one goes off. Then another, and another, and soon the thing is speeding at… well I don’t know the official top speed but it’s been tested on objects that match the tensile strength of Glory Anna, and it’s blown straight through them. That’s why I say it could punch through Pinnacle.”

  “Definitely?”

  “Well, maybe not all the way through him, but it would definitely break skin. The real trick would be getting him to stand still long enough for the bullet to reach him though. But even if you could do that it would still take a better marksman than I ever was because the distance required to get it up to the necessary speed would be something like,” Twiddle looked down at his hands where the fingers danced a jig. “Over two miles. And at that distance you’re dealing not just with gravity and atmosphere, but with the curve of the earth and its rotation.”

  I took the rifle from Twiddle’s hands and studied it. This had to be the murder weapon. “How much do they cost?”

  “More scratch than a litter of Hemingway cats.”

  “Has anybody bought one?”

  “One? No. My buyer purchased them all. They picked up one last week, and must’ve loved how it performed because they bought the whole lot. I’m actually thinking about retiring down in sunny Saint Luthor’s.” The man was all smiles.

  “You did that well, huh?” I said. “Not a lot of people could afford that kind of loot. Must be someone well heeled.”

  “Dane,” Twiddle said, “you itching to ask me something?”

  I had never pushed him to answer outright questions about his clients, but if there was a time to overturn precedent now was it. “Who bought them?”

  Twiddle shook his head. “I can’t say.”

  I felt the weight of the gun. I could bend it in half, easy. And if I destroyed this rifle, then threatened to do the whole box, Twiddle would probably tell me everything I wanted to know. But then he and I wouldn’t be friends anymore, and I could never ask him for a favor again. “You’ll have to.”

  “I can’t.”

  My palms got wet as their grip tightened. “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Can’t. The courier who picked it up was masked. And the purchase was made through one of my regular client codes. I have no idea who the real buyer is, only that I can trust them.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Twiddle took a deep breath. “I’ll only tell you because I can’t really tell you, got it? Most of my usual customers are small time so we do sales face-to-face, but others, like large organizations that have more to lose, they use shell companies and codes. That way I know it’s kosher, but can’t testify against an individual directly if I’m caught.”

  “Whose code was used for these rifles?”

  “Dane, it’s-”

  “It’s never been this important. You have to tell me.”

  He stared at me, meditating for bit. Finally he said, “The Sindicate. The buyer’s someone on their board, but I don’t know who.”

  The Sindicate. Client codes. That was helpful, but nowhere near good enough. “I need to know who’s behind that payment. Call me when they come to pick the rest of the shipment up.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Come on.”

  “No. I’m not diming a customer.

  �
��Then I’ll set up across the street, and wait for them to retrieve the rest.”

  “Sure, you can do that, but only if you’ve got at least a week to kill.”

  “A week, huh?” My heart took a header down into my guts.

  “Maybe two. That not soon enough?”

  “No,” I said, “it’s swell.”

  #

  I left Gun Guys in an interesting mood. The MAGMAs had to be involved with Pinnacle’s death, and the buyer was on the Sindicate Board. I needed to know who they where. But even if they showed up on time, one week was too long to wait.

  And that wasn’t the only thing on my mind. If a MAGMA was the murder weapon then why was there no slug at the scene? How did they get Pinnacle to stand still for that impossible shot? And none of those answers explained the street clothes he was found in.

  There were still too many unknowns.

  I looked at my watch. A few hours stood between me and Lynchpin’s party so I decided to follow up on one more lead. I call it a lead, but it was just a possibility that I had to eliminate before I could be absolutely certain about the MAGMAs.

  Chapter 20

  Black Bleach was an old power enhancer that could boost any cape’s juice sky high, maybe even putting them on par with Pinnacle. The problem was it killed anyone who took it. Still, I wanted to be sure there was none floating around. The Prof said it was impossible to find, but the funny thing about that term is it doesn’t apply to everyone equally. Somewhere in the city there might be a loose dose, but the thing is I’ve made a conscious effort to stay away from the recreational pharmaceutical branch of black cape culture, so I’d need to locate a purveyor that specialized in the exotic. While there are a lot of guys like that around town, Despot was the only one who’d talk to me.

  He ran a speakeasy on the east side called The Sugar Plum. Its entrance was at the end of an alley, hidden behind a blue dumpster. It was still too early for visitors so I had to bang on the door a dozen times and wait for over a minute before the eye slot finally slid open revealing Despot’s red gaze.

  “Afternoon,” I said.

  “Awfully early, Dane.”

  “Well now that I got you, how about you let me in.”

  The metal door swung open. I stepped inside and found myself in a narrow hallway illuminated by red light from above. Despot stood a few inches away. He was bald, and an albino, which would normally be a person’s most distinguishing characteristics, but both weren’t nearly so striking as the thick, black capital D tattoo that covered his face, and while a candy man like him usually wears head-to-toe leather, today he had on enough body armor to cover a SWAT team. “What do you want?”

  “I got a question about some hard-to-find feel good making the rounds,” I said.

  “Why do I care?”

  “Cause you still owe me. You forget about Mary Lin?”

  Despot’s tongue took a quick tour around the inside of his cheek. “Fine. But after this we’re jake.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said, “let’s chat.”

  Despot led me down the corridor and into his office. The walls were covered with glowing graffiti lit up by a blue lamp in the corner. He closed the door behind us and we took a seat on either side of his desk. On top of it sat a Boomstick, a cattle prod so potent that full-grown longhorns don’t survive its kiss.

  “So what’s up Despot, you seem more paranoid than usual.”

  “I’ve had some complaints lately.”

  “That’s not normal?”

  “Complaints? Yeah. But these are more like lethal threats.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” He picked up the Boomstick and swung it around the office. “I had my walls and doors reinforced with sheets of Trumite to be safe. This place is like Fort Knox.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “And I’m glad that you’re glad, but can we get to it, what do you need?”

  “I’m looking to source some Black Bleach.”

  Despot looked like I slapped him. “Did you say Black Bleach?”

  “Yes I did. I’m wondering if you got any, and if not can you tell me where I could get some.”

  “Who said I was holding?” He pointed the Boomstick at me. “Who sent you here?”

  “Nobody D, you’re the only pipe puffer I know that’ll talk to me. Really talk to me, I mean.”

  Despot’s eyes turned to slits, and he gazed through them a good long while. “Alright, yeah, I do happen to have some.”

  “Really? I thought it was impossible to find.”

  “Not for me.” Despot dropped his weapon on the desk. Then he opened a drawer, retrieved a small vial, and tapped its contents into his open palm. “Here you go.”

  I leaned in and looked at the small pile of dark powder. “That’s Black Bleach?”

  “Amazing, right? We have to synthesize it, and make it liquid, but once used it jumps your grade sky high. Can you smell that?”

  I inhaled lightly. “No.”

  “Don’t be shy, it’s harmless in this state.” He moved his hand closer to my face.

  I breathed in again. There was nothing.

  “Here, one second.” Despot leaned in until we were almost touching foreheads. Then he blew into his palm.

  The powder kicked up like a dust cloud, right into my eyes. I jerked my head back. It felt like I was weeping lava. “What the hell?”

  Despot crammed his Boomstick into my forehead, and dynamite exploded in my skull. I scrambled backwards, hitting the wall.

  “Feel that, buddy? That’s Head Trip. Uncut.”

  “Head Trip? You said it was Black Bleach.” I rubbed my eyes as hard as I could. It felt like I had a handful of broken glass behind my lids. All I could see were vivid blobs and pointed shapes. “Why are you doing this?”

  Despot laughed. “Why? You must be kidding, to get in good with the Sindicate, of course.”

  “What?” I pushed my way into the corner. My eyes stopped throbbing, and I opened them. No longer was I just seeing shapes. Now they took form. I wasn’t in the office anymore. I was alone in a green field that undulated like deep ocean waves. I couldn’t see Despot, but I lashed out around me. I hit nothing. “How long does this last?”

  Despot’s voice came from the far left. “A regular dose designed for a cognitive wears off in about three hours, but the uncut stuff, like what you have an eyeful of?” He let out a long whistle. “You’re going to see some crazy things, but only for a few minutes, because after that you’ll be blind. Now it’s time for me to jet. I’ll slide Lynchpin your regards.”

  “Lynchpin?”

  “That’s right, he’ll want to hear about this firsthand.”

  Then I heard Despot’s new Trumite door shut. Which wasn’t half as scary as the sound of it locking.

  Chapter 21

  I rushed to where I heard Despot leave. It looked like a wide-open field, but midstride I hit something hard, and fell back. Getting up, I shook my head. I was standing in front of a stone wall. White water ran down the cracks, and pooled at my feet. I knew that was the Head Trip, but it looked as real as could be. I threw a punch into it that would wreck a truck. The Trumite held its ground. I gave it a couple more swats with a shoulder thrown in before realizing there was no way I could smash through it.

  But I had to get out. Despot never lies about his product. I had only minutes before my lights cut off permanently. I ran my hands over the wall looking for the knob. Seconds passed like hours. Finally my hand wrapped around it. I gave it a twist. The thing moved about as much as the door.

  How long did I have? I looked at my watch. It didn’t help. With one hand still on the knob I pulled the pick from my pocket, knelt down, and jammed it in the slot. I’ve jimmied a lot of locks before, but never like this. The thin metal twisted in my hand like a snake. I stared at it, willing my pick to stop moving. It didn’t work. So I closed my eyes, and proceeded on touch alone.

  Moving gently I felt the lock’s first
tumbler. A small twist and it fell into place. Another twist and the second followed suit. Only a few more and it would unlock. I opened my eyes and watched the rock face shift like a whirlpool as the thin metal pick slipped out.

  Not good.

  I shut my eyes, jammed it back in, and got the first two right away. Then the third joined them. And once the last two fell into place the knob twisted with ease. The door swung open, and I spilled into the hallway face first. Getting to my knees I looked both ways. I was back in Lynchpin’s office. Around me was a panoramic of the Gold Coast City skyline.

  “What the hell?” It was Despot, somewhere on my left.

  I jumped up as fast as I could. Big mistake. The horizon pitched back and forth and I stumbled to my knees. Despot laughed. I pulled out Rico, aimed at where the voice was coming from, and squeezed off a shot.

  More laughter. “Nice try, blind-o.”

  I got to my feet, slower this time. There was movement on my right. I spun towards it. My hand collided with a wall, knocking the gun to the ground. I bent over, and pawed the carpet. Now it was covered with water, the brackish kind in Bittenbach Bay. Stones and starfish were everywhere. I ran my hands over each until I found my pistol. I had what, thirty seconds left?

  Maybe less.

  I turned to where I was aiming last. The cityscape was back, only now it was red. No, not red, on fire. Gold Coast was burning. I shut my eyelids so tight a crowbar couldn’t get between them, but the vision remained. I knocked off another shot.

  Despot laughed some more. “You’re getting colder.”

  I focused, trying to banish the hallucinations. But they were too thick, too real. I couldn’t see through them. Then I realized I didn’t have to. I raised Rico up, and fired off a ricochet round. It hit the far wall and bounced past me. There was more laughter. I fired another. This time there was silence.