Superhero Detective Series (Book 4): Hunted

by Brasher, Darius

  All of that flashed through my mind faster than it takes to talk about it. I had to get out of here, regroup, and figure out my next move. Plan A to getting out of here was to walk out the front door and make a run for it. Since the cops were out there, I would have to fight it out with them while I was outnumbered by at least twenty to one, avoid getting captured or killed, avoid killing any of them—they were just doing their jobs, after all—and make my escape. Right.

  Plan A sucked. Plan B it was, then.

  The SMART team was almost at my door. I ran to the reproduction of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks hanging on my wall near one of the eastern facing windows. I tapped the corner of the large painting three times. It slid upwards, revealing a large cubby-hole. I did not have a secret lair like Avatar and some other Heroes, but I did have some secrets. I grabbed the duffel bag inside. I slung its strap diagonally over my chest. It was one of my bug-out bags. Inside was cash, several prepaid credit cards and burner cell phones, two fake IDs and matching passports, light clothing, a .38 pistol, and ammunition. The essentials.

  Also inside the cubby-hole was a flexible and strong cable coiled around a special mechanism I had designed myself and then had someone else build to my specifications. The loose end of the cable split into a Y, with two metal ankle bracelets on each end. I snapped the two bracelets to my ankles.

  “Astor City Police!” came a cry from the other side of the door, followed by a tremendous thump. The work of a battering ram, no doubt. My door was steel-reinforced, so it would take them a moment or two to get through.

  I hit a button in the cubby-hole. With a loud popping sound, the nearby window flew from the wall forcefully, flying across the room to smash into the wall. Wind rushed into my face, making me squint. Another loud thump from the front door, accompanied by a loud cracking sound. I tensed my leg muscles. I would need to do a running jump to move far enough from the building so I would not hit a ledge with my big fat head as I fell. I had not practiced this. Sometimes you have to practice by doing.

  The front door flew open right as I took my running start. I saw red and black blurs out of my peripheral vision. “Freeze!” came several loud cries. I dove out the window head first, like an Olympic high diver diving into an empty swimming pool. The last thing I heard as I dropped was the sound of multiple gun blasts hitting the wall and the window frame. Apparently, the cops had shoot-to-kill authorization.

  Fantastic.

  Then again, maybe they need not have bothered. Maybe the fall would kill me.

  CHAPTER 25

  I dropped like a stone from my window. The wind whistled past my ears. There were people on the street below me. On the plus side, maybe the cops would not shoot at me out of fear of hitting a bystander. On the negative side, if this did not go right, I would hit someone and SPLAT—Truman and bystander jelly sandwich.

  I rocketed toward the sidewalk headfirst at an alarming speed. Some people looked up and screamed, moving out of the way. I was about to slam into the sidewalk. I thought something had gone wrong. Right as I had that panicked thought, I jerked to a sudden halt, immediately bouncing back up into the air again like a returning yo-yo. My head jerked violently. My insides felt like they were flung into my throat. I got lightheaded. I fought to stay conscious.

  After briefly rising, I fell again. When I was at the cable’s lowest point again, it snapped off near my feet, just as it was designed to do. I was ready for it. I twisted, hitting the sidewalk with the meaty part of my right trap muscle, tucking into a roll to absorb the impact. I rolled like a tumbleweed. I might have hit someone, but I was not sure. The fall and the roll hurt like hell, but nowhere nearly like the busted skull I had just risked.

  I finally came to a stop on my back. My chest heaved with fear, relief, and adrenaline. I wanted a drink and a nap, in that order. I had time for neither. The police would be after me any second now.

  I staggered to my feet. I felt like I had taken a ride in a washing machine. I nearly lost my balance and fell on my face when I bent over to release the metal shackles from my feet. I straightened up. Through slightly blurred vision, I realized I was surrounded by a throng of people. They looked at me like I was an angel descended from heaven. They started to applaud, first one person, and then they all were.

  “Dude, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” one goateed young man said. “Are you making a movie or something?”

  “Something like that,” I said. My throat was raspy. I heard sirens approaching. That was my cue. “Sorry folks, I’ve got to be going,” I said, pushing through the people around me. Once through them, I walked north on Hampton Avenue. I mingling with the other people on the sidewalk. I resisted the urge to break into a run. That would merely serve to draw attention. I turned my face away from the street and towards the buildings on my left as if I was looking for an address when Astor City Police cars roared past, their sirens wailing.

  I turned left onto McAffery Street. I still heard sirens, but they were receding into the distance. I pulled my regular cell phone out of my pocket, opened the back casing, pulled out its battery, and dumped both the cell and the battery into a trash can. Even I was technologically savvy enough to know cell phones could be tracked.

  I thought hard as I walked. I needed to get as far away from the cops as possible and preferably, off the street. Going back to my building to get my car was obviously out of the question. In addition to the fact I would be walking back into a hornet’s nest, if they had any brains at all, the cops would have my car under watch. I knew some stupid cops, but most were not. I could not bank on the unlikely possibility they had sent only the stupid ones to apprehend me. Besides, SMART was an elite unit. Stupid cops did not get to be members. The fact they were smart was right there in the bloody unit’s name. No, my car was inaccessible to me right now as the far side of the Moon was.

  Astor City was a big city though, with lots of transportation options. A lot of people who lived here did not even have cars. I could take a cab, hop on a bus, or get onto the subway. For that matter, I could hop a plane. Astor City had two airports. The question was, where to go? Maybe Aruba was nice this time of year. It had been a while since I had gone on vacation. Being wanted for a crime you did not commit was as good a time as any to take a break and go see the world.

  No. I did not want to leave the city. Lobb was here, as was perhaps the proof he was the one who was responsible for Avatar’s death. But if the cops really believed I had something to do with Avatar’s death, they would swarm the city looking for me like ants at a picnic. I needed to hole up somewhere in or near the city and figure out my next move.

  Going to my office was out of the question. It was the first place the police would look for me.

  I thought of Ginny. She had a townhouse in the city. She would of course take me in. The problem was it was no secret she and I were dating. If the police knew that, they would have her under surveillance, waiting for me to contact her. If I showed my face around Ginny, the police would undoubtedly be lurking nearby to scoop me up. Besides, Ginny was studying to be a lawyer. The last thing she needed was to have to put on her bar exam application, “I harbored a fugitive from justice once. Fun times.” Bar examiners tend to frown on such things. No, I did not want to get Ginny mixed up in this.

  I thought of a few other people, dismissing them for one reason or another. One person was left. The person I should call was obvious: Shadow. She had a place in the city, though I had no idea where it was. Shadow was as secretive as an international spy. In fact, I had little doubt she had done some work as an international spy at one point or another. Not only was she a Meta, but she had no problem breaking the law when it suited her. Much of her professional life was spent breaking the law. She would have no qualms about helping me.

  As I continued to walk, I pulled one of the burner cells out of my bag. I dialed Shadow’s cell phone number, one of the few numbers I had memorized. I also knew the number of a pizza place. That bit of knowledg
e was less than helpful right now.

  Shadow answered on the second ring.

  “What?” she said. When this thing was all over, I would have to have a chat with Shadow about her telephone etiquette.

  “It’s Truman,” I said, keeping my voice low so the people around would not overhear me. “The police are after me. I need somewhere to hide.”

  “Where are you now?”

  I glanced around. “The four hundred block of McAffery, approaching Shelby Street.”

  “I’ll pick you up on the corner of Shelby and Lexington in twenty minutes,” she said. She hung up. There were no questions about why the police were after me, what I had done, or why Shadow should get herself involved. Just that she would pick me up in twenty minutes. I could have kissed her. A friend in need was a friend indeed.

  Though I did not see any police car yet, I heard the approach of a police siren. There was a lot of crime in the city and a lot of cops out on calls. Maybe this particular car was not looking for me, but why take a chance? Besides, I had no doubt the SMART team members who had burst into my condo had radioed a description of me, including what I was wearing, to their fellow lawmen. I ducked inside a bar. The deliberately aged wooden sign hanging outside the door said it was Ray’s Tavern. I had passed by it before, but had never been inside.

  The lights were low inside. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the brightness outside. Two televisions, both tuned to network sitcoms, were mounted on the far wall over the head of the bald bartender. The sound on the televisions was muted. The crowd inside the bar was sparse. Business would probably pick up as it got later. Most of the few people who were here were glassy-eyed. They looked like they had been here for a while. The early bird gets the tequila worm.

  I went to the back of the bar where I saw a sign for the bathrooms. I went into the men’s room. It was empty. I went into a stall, shutting it behind me. I stripped off my clothes, replacing them with clothes from my bag. Instead of the khakis and long-sleeve red fitted shirt the SMART cops had seen me in, I now had on blue jeans and a short sleeved beige shirt. I put on an Astor City Rockets baseball cap. It made me think of my encounter with Buzz in the alley that had started this big ball of a hot mess. That encounter seemed like an eternity ago. I heard a couple of people come in and leave while I was changing.

  I left the stall and check myself out in the mirror over the sink. The change of clothes was hardly a disguise, but if the cops had it in their minds to be on the lookout for a man in a red shirt and khakis, hopefully their eyes would pass right over me.

  I was tempted to stay in the bathroom until it was time to meet Shadow. I figured it looked more suspicious to linger here than it would be to leave, though. Besides, I was shaken up a bit from what I had just been through. I really needed to sit down and take a rest.

  I left the bathroom. I walked up to the bartender standing behind the bar. I wanted to order all the scotch I could drink. However, I needed to keep my wits about me. I thought about a Coke, but I did not need the caffeine. I was charged up enough as it was. My heart did not need the added strain. I ordered a Sprite. What desperate criminal on the run ordered a Sprite? It was the perfect disguise. Without a word, the bartender put the Sprite in a glass and handed it to me. He barely even looked at me. Disgusted by the fact I was only ordering a Sprite, maybe. I paid him in cash, leaving a tip that was neither too much nor too little. I did not want to give the bald guy any reason to pay special attention to or remember me.

  I took my Sprite to a small circular table in the far corner and sat. The table was in the shadows. I could see the entrance of the bar and everyone in it from here. It felt good to sit and catch my breath. Though only a little while had passed since I first sensed the SMART officers heading towards my apartment, it felt like hours. I took a sip of my Sprite. It was no Scotch, but it was cold. Better than nothing.

  I had just started to calm down a little when the scenes displayed on the televisions changed. The televisions went from the sitcoms to showing a breaking news alert. Suddenly the screens were filled with a picture of me, the one on file with the Heroes’ Guild. The caption of one of the screens read: “Astor City Hero Wanted In Murder Of Avatar.” I casually reached up to pull my ball cap down lower over my face. It was times like this I really wished I wore a mask.

  The low hum of the conversations going in in the bar grew quiet as people noticed what was being shown on television. “Hey Greg, turn that shit up!” someone cried. It certainly was not I. I was too busy willing myself to be invisible. The bartender reached under the counter of the bar, lifted a remote control, and pointed it at one of the televisions. The sound of it suddenly filled the bar.

  “This just in,” came the urgent sounding voice of a male newscaster. “We have just been informed that Avatar, licensed Hero and Sentinel, has been murdered. Authorities have not yet disclosed the exact time and date of his death, nor the means used to kill the man widely considered to be the Earth’s greatest Hero. However, the police have named a person of interest, namely Astor City resident Truman Lord. Mr. Lord is both a licensed Hero and a private detective, with an office here in Astor City. A warrant has been issued for his arrest. Members of the Special Metahuman Attack and Retrieval Team were mobilized at Mr. Lord’s home to bring the suspect into custody. The suspect managed to escape. He was last seen by the police at approximately 6:49 p.m. fleeing from his residence located at 716 Aragon Court on foot, heading north on Hampton Avenue. He is armed and considered to be extremely dangerous. Authorities ask that all citizens be on the lookout for this dangerous fugitive. Furthermore, they ask if you see him, do not engage him. Rather, call 911 immediately. Both the police and the Heroes’ Guild are searching for him.” There was a slight pause. “We now take you to a news conference by Astor City State’s Attorney Willard Flushing that is currently in progress.”

  My picture faded from the screen. It was replaced by Willard Flushing standing in front of the granite facade of the Astor City Judicial Center. Willard was behind a lectern. A bunch of microphones sprouted from the top of it like quills on a porcupine. As State’s Attorney, Willard was the city’s chief prosecutor. He was also a closeted gay man who was married to a woman. Her maiden name was not Beard, but it should have been. Willard was an ambitious politician who regularly spouted homophobic remarks in an attempt to pander to the public, all while having more gay sex than San Francisco saw in the 1970s. In addition to being a hypocrite, Willard was a blowhard and crooked. I was not a fan. The feeling was quite mutual, as shown by how Willard was talking about me.

  “I have been warning the city for years Mr. Lord is a menace to the community,” he was saying on television with ill-disguised glee. He was a tall, lean man with elaborately styled hair. He wore a blue suit and a red tie I longed to choke him with. Willard’s eyes looked smug behind his glasses. “Not too long ago, the Heroes’ Guild publicly reprimanded him for his role in the death of one of the pillars of Astor City’s business community. I had asked the Guild to lift his Hero’s license rather than merely reprimanding him, but the Guild denied my request. I am just sorry it took the murder of a great man and great Hero like Avatar to exposed Mr. Lord for the criminal that he is. I swear to the good citizens of this great city that when Mr. Lord is apprehended, he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. His crimes will not go unpunished.”

  So much for innocent until proven guilty. It warmed my heart to watch the fair and unbiased wheels of justice in motion. And to think I had once sent Willard a Christmas card featuring a picture of me wearing two six-shooters, and dressed in leather chaps and nothing else. Granted, I had been making fun of Willard at the time, but still. Willard talking about me the way he was doing at his news conference was no way to show gratitude. I mentally struck Willard from my future Christmas card list. Ungrateful bastard.

  The rest of what Willard was saying was drowned out by the people in the bar talking excitedly. “Can you believe Avatar is dead?” one
woman said. “He saved my mother and brother from a burning building once,” a man said. “I saw Avatar get under a jumbo jet whose engines had failed and fly it down to the ground to safety. It was the damnedest thing I ever saw. A great man, gone too soon,” yet another said. “If I ever get my hands on that Truman Lord asshole, I’ll show him what we do to Hero killers around here,” a man said, twisting his hat in his hands like it was my neck. Part of me wanted to sink under the table. Another part of me wanted to rush out of there and get back out onto the street. Granted the police were out there, but maybe the people on the street had not seen my mug on television. I feared that at any moment someone in the bar would recognize me, point his finger at me, and cry “J’Accuse!” I would have a lynch mob on my hands. I could probably fight my way out, but not without seriously hurting or killing people.

  I neither sunk under the table nor ran out of the bar. Either would be too conspicuous. Instead, I calmly finished my drink. I did not chug it, but I did not linger over it either. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly time to rendezvous with Shadow.

  I stood, slinging my bag over my chest again. With my hat still low on my head with the bill partially covering my face, I made my way towards the exit. None of the bar patrons, still talking to each other excitedly, seemed to pay any attention to me. I guessed no one had recognized me.

  I opened the door and stepped out. I lifted my head. A semi-circle of SMART cops was in front of me. They staring daggers at me through their translucent helmets. Their assault rifles were leveled at my chest. I swallowed hard. None of the cops spoke. Their rifles said all that needed to be said. I lifted my hands slowly over my head.