Superhero Detective Series (Book 4): Hunted

by Brasher, Darius

  “Terrified,” Shadow said. She was leaning on the wall near Gunslinger. Her eyes were veiled, and she looked like she was half asleep. I knew she was not.

  Brass’ face flushed, making it darker than it already was. He started to stand up, controlled himself with a visible effort, and then sat back down.

  “I’m a legitimate businessman running a legitimate business,” he repeated. “I’ve asked you to leave, and you’ve refused. Hero or no Hero, you’re trespassing on private property. I’ll have the cops throw you out. Maybe they’ll throw you in jail to. You can practice running your smart mouth on the guys in lockup.” Brass picked up the receiver of the telephone on his desk and started dialing. I did not want to involve the cops in this. Brass was right: I was on his property, and he had every right to tell me to leave. I was not ready to leave yet. I knew no more about why Brass had the Sentinels’ mansion under surveillance than I did when I first walked into Spread Legs. I did not want the police involved as they would tell me and Shadow to leave.

  “You’re calling the cops? Really?” I said, putting extra incredulity into my voice. “You must be getting old and feeble. What will your enemies think when I tell them you had to run and tell Daddy on me to make me leave?” A crime boss like Brass ran his organization mainly on fear. Fear was to him what an axe was to a lumberjack: it was the main tool of his trade. If people stopped being afraid of him, they would start stealing from him, start disobeying his orders, and eventually screw up the courage to make a move against him and take his place.

  Brass’ face clouded over in anger and frustration. Though not an educated man, he no doubt knew instinctively that if people knew he ran to the cops when there was trouble, people would stop being afraid of him. And, if he lost that fear, he was through. He slammed the phone down.

  “Throw these two out,” he growled to Stretch and Gunslinger. “And don’t be too gentle about it.” Before I could move a muscle, Stretch had thrown an arm around my neck. It tightened around me, squeezing me like an anaconda chokes a rodent. I reached up and dug my fingers into his arm. I pulled, to no effect. It was like trying to pull hardened chewing gum off your shoe.

  “If you come quietly Truman, I promise to not hurt you too bad,” Stretch said in my ear. I had to act quickly; it only took a few seconds to choke a man unconscious if you knew what you were doing.

  I drove my head back into Stretch’s face. I hit something hard. His nose probably. Stretch’s body was pliable only when he willed it to be so. An unexpected head-butt would hurt him as much as the next guy. Stretch cried out in pain and surprise. The tightness of his arm wrapped around my neck relaxed a bit. I stepped to the right, dipped my head, and stepped back while simultaneously pushing Stretch in front of me with my left hand. My head popped out of Stretch’s chokehold like an egg that had been stuck in the mouth of a jar. It was a sloppy chokehold anyway, otherwise it was unlikely I would have gotten out. The problem with a lot of Metas was they relied on their powers so much, they neglected fight fundamentals. Extensive fight training was but one of the things that separated licensed Heroes from a random Meta who could bench press a semi-truck.

  While pushing Stretch in front of me, I drew my gun from my waistband with my right hand. I wrapped my left arm around Stretch’s neck. The reversal of where things were just seconds before was complete. Now I was the one who had Stretch in a chokehold. Stretch would be able to escape readily enough with his powers of pliability, though, unless I stopped him. I shoved my gun into the base of his skull, just under the hairline, hard enough for him to feel what it was.

  “If you do so much as to stretch your imagination, I’ll blow your head off,” I said into Stretch’s ear. “Not even you would survive a point blank shot. A bullet can make quite a hole in a rubber ball.”

  “Who’re you foolin’,” Stretch said. His voice was muffled. I felt blood from his nose beginning to soak the sleeve of my shirt. Perhaps I had broken it. “You’re a Hero. Ain’t no way you’re going to shoot me in the back of the head.” Well, he certainly had me there. Another thing that separated Heroes from your average Meta was we did not kill people unless is was absolutely necessary. Well, there was more than one way to skin a Metahuman cat.

  Stretch’s body was not primarily water-based. The bodies of a lot of Metas were not, especially the ones who could transform their bodies in some fashion. So, I could not incapacitate Stretch directly by knocking him out with my powers as I had planned to do to Shadow downstairs. I would have to stop Stretch with my powers indirectly. I activated my powers, pulling the water out of the bottle Stretch had been drinking from when we walked in. I made it shoot from the table to Stretch’s nose and mouth, completely blocking his ability to breathe.

  Panicked, Stretch flattened his head. He slipped out of my grasp. But it was already too late. I kept the water around and in his nose and mouth, muzzling him like a dog. I drove the water deeper into his body. Stretch’s face twisted and shifted and elongated like the body of an ameba as he struggled to change his shape enough to take a breath. I kept the water on him like a handkerchief full of chloroform. Stretch struggling was actually playing into my hands; the more he struggled, the more quickly he would deplete his body of oxygen and pass out.

  Gunslinger rose from his seat as Stretch struggled. I saw him and turned, raising my gun all while keeping part of my attention on Stretch to make sure he was incapacitated. As if it was happening in slow motion, I saw Gunslinger draw the gun from his right holster, raising it towards me. He was faster than I, and would get off a shot before I did.

  Fortunately, Shadow was there. She stepped up to Gunslinger almost faster than my eye could follow. She grabbing his arm holding the gun. Gunslinger still got a shot off. Shadow had gotten to Gunslinger in time. The glowing bullet impaled itself into the floor inches away from me. I jumped, almost losing my hold on the water I was using on Stretch. There was the slight but unmistakable crunch of breaking bones. Gunslinger cried out in pain. He went for his other gun with his left hand. Ambidextrous. Shadow pivoting sharply to the left while still holding Gunslinger’s broken arm. She spun him around, and then let go. Gunslinger became briefly airborne, hitting the wall under the television like a thrown ball. He bounced off the wall with a groan, and collapsed into a heap. He did not move.

  By this time, Stretch also collapsed in front of me, unconscious. I removed the water in and surrounding his nose and mouth before I suffocated him to death. Like he had said, Heroes were not killers.

  The entire fight has lasted less than a minute. That was often the case when the people doing the fighting knew what they were doing. Shadow and I both did. Brass stood. He was a big man sitting down, and he was even bigger standing up. He was over six feet seven inches if he was an inch, and was a mountain of a man. Brass looked down at his men with a combination of anger and disgust.

  “Mighty hard to find good henchmen these days, isn’t it?” I said to him. I was breathing hard, though I tried to not show it. The blood roared through my veins. Like Winston Churchill said, there was nothing in life so exhilarating as being shot at without result. I tried to act casual and not seem excited, like I got shot at and choked by Metas every day. If you were going to fight Metas, it was best to try to make it seem effortless. It tended to intimidate the hell out of them, making it easier to avoid further fighting.

  There was a loud clanging sound, like a hammer repeatedly hitting a metal bar. Suddenly Brass’ fists were covered in a shiny yellowish-brown metal. With a roar, Brass leapt over his big desk at me as easily as a man jumps over a puddle of water. He sailed through the air at me like a cannonball. His huge fists were over his head, ready to pound me to a pulp.

  So much for Brass being intimidated into submission.

  I dove to the right. It was in the nick of time. Brass landed, his fists coming down right where I had been an instant before. There was a loud crash. The floor cratered where Brass’ fists hit it. Better the floor than me. I was on the floor on my b
ack, scurrying with my elbows and feet like a crab to get out of the range of Brass’s fists. Too late. Brass’ size belied his speed. He struck like a snake, his hand rocketing out to grab my left ankle. I winced in pain. Brass’ grip strength when he manifested his brass fists was super strong. If he squeezed it, he would turn my ankle into jelly. My ankle was the least of my problems. Brass pulled me towards him like a fisherman hauling in a net. The closed fist of Brass’ free hand loomed over me like a jackhammer. I was about to be pounded into the floor like a nail.

  Thankfully I had not dropped my gun. I still clutched it in my right hand. I swung it around, aiming it at Brass’ big belly. Brass reacted, letting go of my ankle. He brought his metal coated fists to his midsection right as I fired. His fists glowed slightly. The blast of the gun was deafening. My bullets hit Brass’ fists instead of the part of his body I was aiming at, attracted to his fists by Brass’ Metahuman power. He could deflect both projectiles and energy weapons with those fists. My bullets bounced off of Brass’ fists. One ricocheted, grazing my left ear. It felt like someone had stabbed me there. The pain penetrated my adrenaline soaked mind and made me realize me continuing to shoot was not hurting Brass and might hurt me. I had just wanted to get Brass to let go of me, anyway. If that ricochet had been a little more to the right, it would likely have been bye-bye Truman Lord.

  I again tried to scamper back out of the range of Brass’ grasp. Brass’ fists stopped glowing, and he moved to grab me again. Before he touched me, Shadow sailed through the air, landing on Brass’ shoulders. She wrapped her legs around his neck like she was assuming the lotus position in yoga. She slammed her closed fists against the sides of Brass’ head like she was driving nails into it. Brass staggered but, amazingly, did not fall. He reached up and grabbed one of Shadow’s legs, again surprising me with the speed at which such a large man could move. He bent at the waist and flung Shadow off of him. She flew through the air towards the far wall. For a terrifying instant I thought I was about to watch my friend go splat against the wall like a thrown tomato. I should have known better. Shadow spun in mid-air, hitting the wall feet-first. Her knees bent and her butt almost touched the wall, making her look like a coiled spring. Shadow launched herself off the wall, hurtling back towards Brass like a guided missile. She hit Brass in the stomach, sending both of them crashing backwards into a row of metal file cabinets. One of them exploded open, sending papers flying. Another hit the floor with a loud smash.

  Brass was now off his feet, his back up against the cabinets. Shadow was on her feet near him. Brass shook his head groggily. He staggered to his feet. He was a tough bastard all right.

  I was not idle during all this. Thanks to my water sensing abilities, I had already felt the men outside of the office moving about in agitation. Our fight was not exactly quiet. Two of the men had moved towards Brass’ office door, no doubt the big ones who were armed. I sprang to the door and locked it. For good measure, I grabbed a nearby chair. I shoved it under the doorknob at an angle. The men on the other side of the door pounded on it. The door would hopefully hold out long enough for me and Shadow to take care of Brass. Getting shot in the back by a couple of automatic rifles was the last thing we needed.

  I turned my full attention back to Brass and Shadow. They were circling each other warily. By now, there was a cut over Shadow’s left eye where Brass must have tagged her with his metallic fists. Blood was flowing into her eye. Brass’ right hand shot out, jabbing towards the left side of her head. Due to her bleeding, Shadow must have been partially blinded. She did not completely dodge the punch. Brass landed a glancing blow on the side of her face. She was rocked backwards.

  I had to end this before Shadow was seriously hurt and before Brass’ men could get inside. Brass was a handful all by himself. I had already started the process of keeping oxygen from dissolving into the water content of his blood. Fortunately for both me and Shadow, his biochemistry was not like Stretch’s, so this tactic should work on him. It was a delicate process, one that if done too hastily would kill Brass. Unfortunately for us, Brass had no similar qualms about killing either me or Shadow.

  What I was doing to Brass’ body started to show an effect. He moved slower and slower. He looked both puzzled and frustrated by what was happening to him. He staggered drunkenly. His arms fell, as if they were too heavy to hold up any longer. He dropped to one knee, shaking his head groggily.

  It was the opening Shadow needed. Her foot shot out in a wheel kick. Her heel clipped Brass’ chin with a loud sickening smack. Brass’ head was thrown to the side like a weathervane hit by a sudden gust of wind. Brass’ body swayed for a moment, like a freshly sawed tree that could not decide which direction it would fall. Then, Brass toppled to the floor face-first, hitting it like a dropped bag of dirt. He twitched a bit, not fully unconscious. I released my powers, not wanting to kill him.

  Using both hands, Shadow grabbed Brass by the nape of his neck. She picked him partially up, with his legs dragging on the floor. Brass’ eyes rolled in his head. He groaned loudly. The fact he was not out cold was a testament to the fact he was as tough as a rhinoceros.

  Shadow shook Brass a bit, like a dog shaking a chew toy.

  “Tell us what we wanna know muthafucka!” she said, sounding like someone in a rap video. She looked over at me. Blood covered the left side of her face. She winked at me with her still clear eye while she grinned like a maniac. She looked like she was having the time of her life.

  I took a long, deep breath. I really needed to find some less sociopathic friends.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Now that we have your attention, I’ll ask again: Why are you having people followed out of Sentinels mansion?” I asked Brass.

  It was just a couple of minutes after Shadow and I had fought Brass and his men. I was sitting behind Brass’ desk. Brass’ own considerable girth strained a chair we had positioned right in front of Brass’ desk. His wrists were bound together behind him with the pink tie that had been around his neck. He could break free readily enough if he manifested his brass hands again, but not before Shadow knocked his block off if he made a wrong move. She was standing menacingly slightly behind him, like a guardian angel that no one wanted. Her face was still bloody and slightly puffy from where Brass had socked her.

  We had already made Brass call off his men outside the office. I had tied Gunslinger up to another office chair using ripped pieces from his own shirt. He glared at me and Shadow. Though he was mute, his eyes spoke volumes. It was not love poems they were reciting. I had not tied Stretch up since his powers made doing so pointless. He was still unconscious, lying on the floor close to where Brass sat. I was keeping an eye on him. It occurred to me that the last few times Shadow and I had worked together, we had wound up tying Metas up. Coincidence, maybe. Or, maybe we shared some sort of latent bondage fetish. It was certainly better than sharing a scat fetish.

  My gun was in my right hand, which rested on the desk. I was not pointing it at Brass or Stretch directly, but that could change in a millisecond. I was sitting behind the desk in the hopes of gaining a psychological advantage over Brass.

  Brass just looked at me sullenly in response to my question about the Sentinels. Though he was still groggy from what my powers had done to him, he was conscious enough to understand me. I sighed. My bleeding ear hurt.

  “Look Brass, we fought, you lost, we won. To the victor goes the spoils. Answer my question.”

  Brass continued to stare at me. “Fuck you and your cunt friend,” he said slowly, relishing the words. “When I get through with you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.” You would have thought he was behind the desk holding a gun on me rather than vice versa. So much for gaining a psychological advantage. I could threaten to shoot him, but he knew I would not kill him in cold blood, as tempting as that prospect might have been. There was more than one way to threaten a man, though.

  “I don’t like you Brass,” I said to him. “I never have. In addition to you cal
ling your betters like my friend here names, you exploit the weak and the vulnerable to line your pockets. The only reason why I and people like me haven’t acted to take you out of the picture is because you bring to flesh peddling some measure of stability. With you controlling most of the city’s prostitution trade, you’ve largely eliminated the turf wars that would go on if you did not hold the near monopoly you do. Nature abhors a vacuum, and so does the street. If something happened to you, the vultures would immediately swoop in and start fighting over what you had left behind.” I took a breath. I was sick of being in this room, in this club, and in this neighborhood. I wanted to go home and wash the stink of Brass off me. I was rapidly losing patience.

  “I’m starting to revise my thinking. How can the devils I don’t know who are waiting in the wings be worse than the devil I’m sitting across from? So here’s what I’m going to do. If you don’t tell me right now why you are having people followed from the Sentinels’ mansion, I am going to put an end to your business. From this moment forward I am going to devote every waking moment to disrupting prostitution in Astor City. I will be a one-man moral crusader. Wherever your streetwalkers prowl, that’s where I’ll be. Wherever a John reaches for his wallet, that’s where I’ll be. Wherever your high-end madams are ready to swipe a credit card, that’s where I’ll be. I’ll slap the dicks out of the mouths of every hooker from here to the Golden Horseshoe Casino. You’ve known me a long time Brass. You know I’m stubborn, especially when someone’s pissed me off like you have. I’m really quite effective when I put my mind to something. The next trick this city will see will be during Halloween. I’ll cripple your business. You’ll have to move back to Peru. And good riddance to you, I say. We’ve got enough native scumbags without having to ship in talent from overseas. Maybe you can take up potato-digging down there. Your mitts are big enough for it. I hear potatoes are the country’s biggest cash crop. Not as lucrative as hookers, maybe, but better for the soul.”