Dane Curse

by Matt Abraham

  I sprayed the hall, filling it up with fast moving slugs from floor to ceiling. The sounds of ricocheting bullets were everywhere. They were bouncing past me all around. Two hit my chest. A third clipped my back. Then Despot screamed. I lunged to that spot. In mid-jump everything went black. I couldn’t see a thing. But I landed on something soft, and my hands scrambled over it. Despot was yelling louder now. It helped me find his neck. With one hand I squeezed while the other pushed the barrel of my piece into his face.

  “Don’t shoot me,” he said.

  “Fix my eyes.”

  “I can’t.”

  “How much time do I have left?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I whipped my pistol into what felt like his jaw. “No reason to keep you around then. Pity I won’t see what this does to your gullet.”

  “Ok, ok,” Despot said. “I’ll help.”

  I picked him up, and with my gun tight against his forehead he led us into his office. We made it to the desk. There was some milling about.

  “What are you doing?” I said. “Hurry up.”

  “I’m getting the stuff you need.”

  I pulled back Rico, aimed for his mouth, and thrust the gun forward. The barrel shattered his teeth. He screamed around cold steel.

  “Play me and I’ll spread your brains across the carpet.”

  Some grunting.

  More milling.

  Finally Despot garbled, “Now open your eyes.”

  First I clicked my gun’s hammer. Then I did what he asked.

  He grabbed my chin and tilted my head back. Two cold drops hit my left eye, and then the right. I tensed my grip. “It’s still black,” I said.

  Despot said something like “It takes time.”

  “You better hope,” I said, and shoved the gun in deeper. He wretched. I blinked in rapid fire. Slowly Despot’s pale face came back into view. There was terror in his eyes and blood on his lips. I pulled my gun free, and tossed him into his chair. It took a whole lot of control not to kill him right then. “What’s the idea, D?”

  Despot wiped his mouth clear of blood and spit. “What do you think?”

  I swung the butt of my pistol into his nose. A crimson spray covered the carpet, and flowed freely over his chin.

  Despot grabbed his face. “What the hell?” he said through wet fingers.

  “That was an amuse bouche. Now start yapping or I’m going to serve you the full seven courses, why all the hullabaloo over a power enhancer?”

  “Power enhancer?” Despot gave me a dirty look. “Damn, you’re further from the pill popping in-the-know than I thought. Black Bleach doesn’t enhance powers-”

  “Yes it does.”

  “No, that’s the result. What it does is rewire DNA to make you stronger.”

  “Yeah? So far it doesn’t sound half bad.”

  “No, not so far. But the Bleach doesn’t let off the brakes, and then reapply them later, it pulls off the brakes, cuts the line, and then mashes down the gas. Your powers just keep growing and growing, eventually eating you up from the inside out. Speedsters vibrate apart. Thinker’s brains melt. The mighty sneeze and snap their own spines. It kills everyone.”

  “In every case?”

  “Yeah, in every case.”

  Just like the Prof said. “And how long have they got?”

  “Sometimes hours, sometimes days, but dosers dance the reaper sooner or later with the smart money on sooner.” Despot wiped more blood from his face. “Jesus, I think you broke my nose.”

  “So you get super charged and then the big goodbye?”

  “No, not just any goodbye, pop.”

  “Are you saying they explode?”

  “Come on, I’ve told you enough.” Despot stood up. “I’m going to the hospital.”

  I pushed Rico hard into his forehead and planted him back in the seat. “You’re going to the morgue if you don’t answer the question, do they explode?”

  “Ok, ok. Sort of. Not really. Sometimes.”

  “Make sense.” I lifted my gun like I was going to hit him again.

  “Easy.” Despot raised his hands. “Certain power levels don’t react as well as others. People with super strength, like major strength mixed with high invulnerability, they detox better because of something with their livers. That’s why they can drink so much booze without feeling it. So if they take Black Bleach the organ kicks into overdrive. Until it explodes.”

  “Out the lower torso,” I said, “right hand side.”

  Despot looked perplexed. “Yeah, that’s right, front and back. Jackson Pollack everywhere. But that’s rarely a problem because Black Bleach needs to be injected directly into the muscle, and, you know, they’re already invulnerable to begin with.” Despot sighed. “Now tell me, why are you asking? Sindicate goons put the kibosh on it years ago. Scooped up every bit of Bleach off the street, and killed a lot of guys doing it. Since then it’s a death sentence for any scag slinger who’s holding.”

  “So that’s why you pulled this stunt. To cover your own ass?”

  “Yeah, of course. You’ve been seen around their people lately, I figured this was a sting or something.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Great. Now tell me, do they still have any?”

  “Who? The Sindicate? How would I know? Probably,” Despot said. “It would be a real waste if they didn’t hang on to at least a vial or two to see if they couldn’t work out the kinks.”

  “Ok. Thanks.” I turned towards the exit. “And just to be clear you still owe me.”

  Despot resigned himself with a nod. “Forget about the Bleach Dane, it’s too hard to find. And there are a lot easier ways to make a corpse.”

  “Maybe,” I said as I closed the door behind me.

  But that all depends on the corpse.

  Chapter 22

  Lynchpin lived in a landed house to the southeast way past the Foothills, and finding my way there at night wasn’t the easiest task. When I pulled up to the gate a team of very serious security guards surrounded Jane. One asked for my name and checked my credentials, while the others swept my ride for explosives.

  Once I was confirmed legit they waved me through, and I cruised to the end of the driveway where a group of valets waited. I hopped out of my sled, tossed the nearest one my keys, and took in the house and grounds. Lynchpin’s stately white mansion was three stories high and about as wide as a football field. The steps leading up to it looked imported from ancient Greece, as did the four mighty columns at the top. To my left sat a garden filled with statues, well-trimmed bushes, and two tennis courts. To the right was a field of green grass that kept going until it disappeared into the darkness. I don’t know how much Lynchpin had to lie, steal, and kill to afford a place like this, but it had to be a lot. Fortunes aren’t seized by men of conscience.

  I walked to the top of the steps where a butler greeted me. “Welcome Mr. Curse. May I take your coat?”

  “Sure thing.” I slipped it off, and handed it over along with my hat.

  “If you’d like me to hold anything else I’d be happy to, sir,” he said, glancing down at my chest.

  “I’m good with what I got.”

  “Very well then, may I offer you a refreshment?” He motioned to a pretty young tomato with a tray of pink champagne, and I took a glass. “Now sir, if you’ll follow me?”

  He led me through the foyer, underneath twin staircases, and into an atrium so large you’d have to catch a bus to make it to the far end by morning. It had palm tree lined walls, a floor made of marble, and on the high vaulted ceiling there was a chandelier that looked like it was more than I could lift. Beneath it the subtle smell of fresh cut roses, and beautiful music from a full piece band, filled the air around the hundred plus people in attendance. Each man wore a tux as precise as Hong Kong math, and the ladies had rocks on their necks and wrists as big as their smiles, except those weren’t fake.

  Though the throng was made up of mostly regs every fifth person was clearly a bla
ck cape, which was a strange thing to see. Watching a ten foot man with ape DNA spliced into his body rip a bank vault off its hinges is more natural than seeing him in black tie, sipping a martini from a glass the size of a fish bowl.

  Off to the side, with the Deputy Mayor, was my pal Gravel. I threw him a nod, and Old Stony gave me one of his own before whispering something to his date, a cute blond doxy who was no doubt in for a rocky time later tonight.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Curse. If there’s anything you require please don’t hesitate to ask.” The butler bowed, turned on his heels, and left.

  I lifted the flute of champagne, but before I could get a sip I was interrupted by a soft, light voice that said, “Mr. Curse?”

  I spun around. “Hey Skip.”

  He was wearing a tux that made it look like he stepped out of a wedding magazine. “I was instructed to bring you to Lynchpin the moment you arrived.”

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  Skip took me around the fringe of the party. “May I ask about your head?”

  “Still there. How’s the pinky?”

  He lifted up his right hand. “Only half there. But just so I know, your concussion, it hasn’t returned?”

  “Nope, all clear.”

  “And there’s been no blindness, or depth perception problems? No reliving of painful childhood traumas?”

  I stopped dead. “Should there be?”

  “No.” He waved his hand, motioning me to follow. “Not usually. But occasionally after I accelerate a person through time there can be some residual effects. I’m glad you’re feeling well.”

  “I was.” I finished my champagne, and grabbed another off a passing tray.

  “That’s fortunate. Here we are.” We arrived at a door where a single dapper thug about half my size stood guard. Skip said, “Church Mouse, make sure it stays silent.”

  He nodded, then stepped aside.

  “Thanks Skip. I’m sure I’ll see you later.” I said, and walked in.

  “I hope so.” Skip closed the door behind me.

  The office was similar to the one in the Mountains, save for the lack of windows on my left, which were replaced by more bookcases. Lynchpin was in a tuxedo, sitting on the couch, engrossed in a file on his lap. He looked up and said, “Good evening Dane. How did it go today?”

  I studied him. Everything I learned had me believing that someone on the Sindicate Board was behind Pinnacle’s murder. Maybe even the old man himself. In fact, I found it hard to accept that he didn’t know a lot more than he was letting on. But I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything outright, so I’d have to play this smart. Especially if I was going to get more information than I gave.

  “I’m surprised you don’t know.” I took a seat on the couch, put my feet on the coffee table, and spread my arms out real wide. “Yesterday you could’ve made a better report about my moves than me.”

  “Yes, well things don’t always go according to plan. But there’s always tomorrow.”

  “Stick a bug on me again, and I’ll pluck it again.”

  “Only if you’re aware of it,” Lynchpin said.

  “I will be. Most people aren’t as subtle as they think. And everyone makes mistakes. Even guys like you.”

  He closed the folder, and put it aside. “Is that blood?”

  I looked down at my collar. “Tears, probably.”

  “Anything I should be concerned with?”

  “No.”

  “Then make your report.”

  “You sure it’s safe to talk?” I looked over my shoulder. “There are a few people out there with a gift for hearing.”

  “Yes, of course. Church Mouse can absorb vibrations. So long as he touches the door no sounds will penetrate. Speak freely.”

  “Well then,” I said, preparing to lie, “I didn’t find much.”

  “That’s frustrating. I was expecting more.”

  “But,” I said, preparing to tell the truth, “I’ve whittled down the suspects, and I’m getting closer.” I put my feet on the floor, and leaned in. “A lot closer. To getting the weapon, and the killer. But I’m still short on motive.” I looked for a response in Lynchpin’s eyes, but nothing changed.

  “Really?” he said, matching my angle, his face a foot from mine. “Fill me in.”

  And fill him in I did. Mostly I focused on the meeting with Humphries, and how he convinced me that he was clean. Then I talked about the Kaos rifle, and how it was the possible murder weapon. Lynchpin listened patiently, consuming each word politely, but clearly wanting me to increase my speed. I didn’t. I took my time.

  When I finished he said, “So Humphries isn’t involved. It pleases me you think that, and it simplifies things. But you really believe you’ve discovered the murder weapon, these Kaos rifles you called them?” Lynchpin nodded slowly. “Who was the seller?”

  “I’d rather not say just yet. But he’s someone I trust.”

  “Well, that’s… good news. I didn’t imagine it would be so soon. Did your man tell you who the purchaser was?”

  “No. But there aren’t too many men in Gold Coast City who have the money and the connections to do it.”

  “You have someone in mind?”

  I stared right at him. “No one specific.”

  Lynchpin nodded. “And you’re sure it’s this weapon that killed Pinnacle?”

  “No,” not the only weapon. “There wasn’t a bullet hole in the wall behind the body, and the wounds tell a slightly different story, but my gut tells me I’m on the right track. When I’m certain I’ll move.”

  Lynchpin returned my gaze. “On who, precisely?”

  “No one I want to reveal yet. But I think you know him.”

  “Really? It’s a him, and you clearly think he’s on the Sindicate Board.” He inhaled sharply. “The men in my circle aren’t easily harmed. Do you really want to keep his identity to yourself? Being the sole possessor of this information could expose you. I can arrange assistance-”

  “Don’t need it,” I said. “Don’t want it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded. Slow.

  He leaned back, and passed his gaze over the bookshelves to the right. “I’ll admit I’m surprised you think this killer’s still in Gold Coast. I’ve heard from other avenues that he may have already fled.”

  “Whoever told you that’s wrong. The killer’s still here. It’s the one thing I’m sure of.”

  Lynchpin’s attention snapped back to me. “Why?”

  “This wasn’t a crime of passion, it was a surgical strike, meticulously planned. The body and room were cleaned on the cellular level. People who kill accidentally, they run, and leave a trail, but the person who did what I saw, he wouldn’t have fled. He’d know it would make him look suspicious, so he’d have stayed right here.”

  “You can’t be positive about that Dane. I mean I would’ve run. Had it been me.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not the average person.”

  “Neither is the killer. But that won’t stop me. I don’t care what they’re packing or who they got protecting them, all I need is a few more days.”

  “A few more days? You’re certain?” Lynchpin crossed his legs.

  My throat went tight, like someone slipped a noose around it. I wasn’t sure if it was real or my imagination. I swallowed hard and said, “Count on it.”

  Lynchpin finished his drink in a single tug, and motioned toward the door. “Thank you for the report.”

  Chapter 23

  When I rejoined the party the number of guests had grown. I grabbed another drink and walked the room, thinking about the reactions I had just seen, or more accurately the lack of them. There are marble busts that change expressions more than Lynchpin, which meant he could be innocent, but more likely it’s because he’s a great liar.

  I was in the center of the party looking around when someone tapped my shoulder, and with a voice that had a pinch of static said, “Ha
ving a good time?”

  I turned to see Sledge’s red cybernetic eye staring back at me. He was wrapped in a tailored tux that hid the fact he was more machine than man. From the neck down at least.

  “I’ve had worse,” I said. “You?”

  “Saw you leave Lynchpin’s office, making your report to the boss then?”

  “He’s your boss, not mine.”

  “Doesn’t look that way.”

  “Looks can deceive. How you doing on your end?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’ve got some suspicions.”

  “Tell any of it to Frosty?”

  “Not a chance. She’s not the most experienced detective I’ve met.”

  “How’d she land the gig, then?”

  “Fresh eyes are always good,” he said, “that or someone on the board wants to see her icebox.”

  I laughed, and so did Sledge. We both put the cape on around the same time, and though our paths didn’t cross in overly friendly ways, we never butted heads directly. Nowadays he was doing the thing for the company, and I was doing the thing on my own, and that was that.

  I grabbed the nearest guy with a tray of champagne. “Hey, can I get two double whiskeys on the rocks?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Great,” I said. “Put them in the same glass.”

  He gave me a queer look, and walked off.

  “Does it help?” Sledge asked.

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “I meant with the loss.”

  “You mean,” I looked around. “Of our crimson caped friend?”

  “Yeah, I’m more touched over it than I let on. I owed that guy. He saved my pa a few years back.”

  “Yeah, everyone in Gold Coast has a story like that.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t like owing people, and now I can’t pay it back.”

  “You can catch the mug who did it.”

  “For that I think I’ll need some help.”

  “And here I thought you worked alone.”

  “I did. I do. But that was before I saw who was under the sheet. Now a little help wouldn’t kill me.”

  “You flirting with me, Sledge?”

  The tin man shrugged.