Blood of the Masked God (Book 1): Red Wrath

by Gehrke, Gerhard

  The truck had been turned onto its side. I scanned left to right with both eyes open. Jill was on the move. So was someone else. Black outfit, cape, tall with muscles. He was flying low to the street and chasing Jill.

  My breath caught.

  He moved before I could get a bead on him. Jill was no slouch in the dexterity department and she dodged while releasing a steady spray of frozen fire that went everywhere. Car glass shattered. At least one bystander got nailed by a blue bolt and went down to the ground, shivering and covered in a coating of ice.

  But the hero in black didn’t pause to help. He pushed a white SUV aside, trying to catch Jill. Her pop guns froze just about anything but they weren’t lethal. Two tons of flying car, however, would crush anyone. Why the police weren’t trying to shoot him down was beyond me. But I still couldn’t get him in my sights, and now they were partially obscured by traffic as they moved further down the street. My angle was no good. This was all a waste of time if I just stayed in place.

  Backing out of my firing position, I climbed over the center console and out the door. I pulled the rifle along with me.

  The hero in black picked up a motor scooter. He paused, the vehicle held above his head. This would be a perfect shot. If I fired now, even if I got caught at least I would take him out. I would have killed Chronos the Star Son and rid the planet of the most dangerous man who ever lived.

  The scope caught on the driver’s-side headrest. It took a second to get the rifle free and brace it on the top of the car door. In that moment, Chronos threw the scooter. I couldn’t see Jill Frost anymore. Was she down? The hero in black moved just out of sight. I craned my neck. It looked like he was kneeling.

  Reporters and gawkers emerged from all around as if materializing from thin air. They crowded around him. He stood up, but even when I climbed on top of the car he wasn’t tall enough to see clearly. Too many people. I raised the rifle and looked through the scope. Even if I were a perfect shot, there was no possible way to hit him without nailing any one of a score of innocents.

  My finger twitched but I didn’t touch the trigger.

  There were innocents that didn’t deserve to be harmed—I’d decided that a long time ago. They were all as awed as I used to be, when I’d first learned there was a man who could fly and that he was defending the world against criminal scum like Jill Frost. But there was a trade-off for having a defender like Chronos living in the world, and the price was too great.

  As Chronos soaked up the attention, I knew it was time to go. A woman in a charcoal business suit near the doorway to a Starbucks was staring at me and her eyes widened when we made eye contact. As calmly as possible, I dropped down off the car and put my rifle back inside.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I said out loud to myself as I drove away.

  Chapter Three

  I slammed the steering wheel a few times while driving. Screamed at the top of my lungs. It was anger at having failed again, sure, but it was also the dump truck of adrenaline finding its way out of my body, leaving me nauseous and irritable. I jerked on the steering wheel and willed the traffic in front of me out of the way. But the cars weren’t moving.

  It only took me a minute to see I had a tail.

  A plain white Ford van was doing its best to stick to my bumper. It was one of millions, but the guy behind the wheel was actually wearing an honest-to-god ski mask. As I impatiently changed lanes, he did too. Horns were blaring at both of us. I scooched in front of a bus. He made it over too, winding up a couple of cars behind the bus. Things were finally starting to unbind on the street ahead.

  At an intersection where I was supposed to make a left, I went straight, cutting in front of a Tesla next to me. I felt the g’s of the Camry’s pitiful engine, but the Tesla didn’t want to get sideswiped by my hunk of junk so he let me move over.

  It earned me the finger.

  But the van changed lanes too and caught a break in the traffic. Soon he was almost behind me again.

  It was either lose him or dump the car. With the traffic complicated by the police action a few blocks away, there was no way I could evade this guy.

  At least the Camry and its registration weren’t in my name, but it wouldn’t take anyone long to find me if they connected the dots and did a little digging. That might mean trouble for my client.

  I led the van down a side street and turned into the lot of an oil change franchise. Its layout was familiar. You could pull in one end of the lot and out the other side. All I had to do was find something to drop in the van’s path so he couldn’t follow.

  I slammed on the brakes.

  All three service bays had cars in them and a blue-and-yellow van was parked in the pull-through with its back doors open, blocking the way.

  Trapped.

  I laid on the horn. A parts delivery guy in a uniform showed up out of the office and waved at me. But there was no hurry to his movements.

  Then the white van pulled in behind me. Its doors opened. Two guys got out, both wearing hoodies and masks, one holding a crowbar and the other clearly confident with his massive meaty hands. The delivery guy was taking his sweet time, punching something in on an electric device. I didn’t want to wait in the car for whatever was going to happen, so I got out.

  A tall woman emerged from the back of the van. She was wearing an orange leather bodysuit with high-heeled boots and leather opera gloves that went to her elbows. Her matching mask covered her entire face and hid everything but her eyes. She sported a mane of reddish-blond hair. In one hand she held a spear with a shiny blue steel blade at the end.

  Princess Pike.

  “You’re quite the troublemaker,” she said. “But now I’m glad I was running late for my meet-up with Jill.”

  “I didn’t know the two of you were working together,” I said. The guy with the crowbar was closing in. His yellowed teeth showed between sneering lips. This wasn’t a kidnapping. This was going to be a beatdown.

  “Trial run,” Princess Pike said. “Playdate, really. I missed the show. Would have loved to tangle with Slingshot and to try my new weapon with Chronos. But I’ll settle for getting you off the scene for good.”

  The guy with the crowbar tried to grab me. As if I’d wait for that to happen. I stepped inside his reach and drove the heel of my hand up into his jaw, then sent an elbow into the side of his head. Before he could fall away I followed it up with a quick knee to the midsection, and then another. He gasped and the crowbar fell to the ground with a clang.

  The second guy came closer but he was wary. His hands were raised protectively and were already balled into fists. He’d fought before, or had at least watched enough MMA on TV to make a good show. Judging by his frame, he had seventy pounds on me, at least. One good hit and it would be over. But even if I somehow managed to beat him I’d still have to deal with Pike. Her weapon could cut through most things and also fired some sort of energy blast that could knock a person silly. And she’d mentioned an upgrade.

  I got ready to use my own superpower. It was time to run.

  But then I heard the whoop of a police siren. The man with the fists froze and did a shoulder check. With a wave, Princess Pike signaled him.

  “Another time, sweetheart,” Princess Pike said.

  She climbed back in the van and slammed the sliding door shut. Her goon got behind the steering wheel and backed quickly out of the driveway. They left Goon Number One lying where he fell.

  The cop car pulled up on the opposite side of the service bays. Two officers got out and headed my way, parting a group of gawking employees. One of the cops was beefy, more muscle than fat, and could have been a powerlifter, while the second one was slim and had graying hair.

  “Ma’am, you okay?” the beefy cop asked.

  I turned on the waterworks. “I accidentally bumped their van. They chased me!”

  The gray-haired cop sighed and moved past me to check the goon sprawled on the asphalt. While cuffing him and patting him down, he asked, “What
happened to him?”

  “I got lucky and kicked him in the groin like my self-defense instructor told me.”

  “Stopping to fight was stupid,” the beefy cop said with a genuine note of concern. “You should have stayed in your vehicle.”

  “My car stalled. I thought I was going to have to run.”

  “Well, you’re safe now. We’ll get your information. Wait here.”

  After putting the goon in the cruiser, they walked past my car. If one of them looked through the windows carefully he’d see the rifle. I hadn’t stowed it away properly, as I had been in a hurry. They headed down to the alley where the princess’s van had departed. As the gray-haired cop moved out of sight and the beefy cop spoke on his radio, I got into my car. Neither noticed when I started the engine. The exit was still blocked by the parts van, but one of the oil change bays had just been vacated. I drove slowly past the row of watching employees and winced when the driveway bell dinged. But no one did anything as I rolled over the hydraulic lift, through the station, and out the exit.

  Cool as a cucumber and I could lie like a snake. Maybe that was my metahuman ability.

  It took twenty-six minutes to get back to the garage. Traffic had gotten worse. I wiped down all the interior car surfaces for fingerprints and collected my things. It was too risky to leave the rifle, so I detached the barrel and put it away into its hardcase. This I tied to the back of my scooter with bungee cords. Big, bulky, but it could be anything and it didn’t scream high-powered rifle.

  Before driving off I checked the app. The situation near the diamond exchange was over, and nothing else was brewing. And no one was looking for me or my car. Not yet, at least.

  Then I saw I had a text message. Landlord. Rent was past due. Even as I was riding back home across the Brooklyn Bridge, I wondered if I’d be placing that rifle supply order after all.

  Chapter Four

  No matter how I ran the numbers of my current checking account balance, rent wasn’t going to happen. I had missed too many client appointments. If I didn’t show, I didn’t get paid. It had been a busy month with Chronos and I had gotten so close so many times. But that meant handing off classes and clients to other trainers. The money from my previous night’s outing might take a week to show.

  Even as I stared into the fridge and wondered what I could make with pickle brine, mustard, soy sauce, and freeze-dried parmesan, I knew I would have to go out.

  It was time to find another date, one that might have cash or something nice I could fence.

  I picked a dating app I hadn’t used in six months and set up a profile and picture under a new account. In minutes I was swiping though prospects. I sifted out the ones who were trying too hard to look good and zeroed in on the ones who might have money. It was all there, in their dress, their bio, their education, their age. I ignored the ones who looked forty but said they were thirty. If they’d lie about that, they’d lie about other things. Takes a cheat to know another. I also swiped away anyone who looked like they were in perfect shape. Gym rats might not drink. Besides, I wanted someone I could rob with as little fuss and fight as possible.

  My tummy growled.

  If I didn’t mention it before, I was ravenous, so I was also planning on getting a meal out of my date with extra in a doggy bag to go.

  With visions of leftovers clear in my mind, I found my match.

  Carter was his name. In his profile picture, he wore a tweed sports coat with a burgundy sweater vest, had his hair neatly combed to one side, and sported the awkward smile of someone who’s less than comfortable with online dating. A few pounds overweight. Kinda cute, not handsome.

  Carter worked as an enrolled agent at an accounting firm. Liked movies and books. There was no filler on his bio or any bragging. He was perfect. Maybe too perfect. With his wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly face, he was probably a serial killer.

  His dislikes caught my eye. Cold weather, warm beer, and superheroes. I had never seen that last item listed before. Maybe he’s my soulmate, I thought sarcastically.

  I tapped contact and sent him a message through the app to see if he was free for an early dinner. On his end, he’d see a picture of me with zinc oxide on my nose, a homey smile, and my hand holding a fishing hat on my head while standing somewhere sunny and breezy. I would be Jade tonight, the aspiring dancer who manages a coffeehouse. I really needed to make a spreadsheet with my pseudonyms. If I didn’t hear back in the next hour I’d pick someone else, but he was my best bet at making rent in the next forty-eight hours.

  But I was no good at waiting.

  I paced for a bit and second-guessed the day’s events. Maybe I’d actually had a shot but had gotten cold feet. A couple of ounces of pressure on the trigger and I would be free to get a life, to never miss on clients, to go out on a date and find a man and do whatever it is that people do on second and third dates. Go to the movies and plan their lives, I guessed.

  I laid out a pair of my best jeans, a frilly top that showed a little but not too much, and an embroidered red jacket with enough pockets to hide a collapsible club and a flask. Clean, attractive clothes, but nothing too memorable if things went pear-shaped and cops got involved. I tied my red hair back into a short ponytail. It was probably time to change color, especially with someone like Princess Pike looking to settle some mystery score with me.

  With my clothes for the evening squared away, I still had time, so I unpacked the rifle and checked over each component. They were clean.

  I knew I needed more range time. That meant bullets and fees and time off the schedule. An updated model of my rifle that took a magazine rather than one bullet at a time would be ideal, but the rifle I had shot well enough. For now a replacement barrel was a priority. The fancy tungsten carbide rounds chewed my barrel up. Using cheaper bullets was tempting, but I wanted to make sure my fancy loads made with my target in mind were performing to spec. And although I didn’t dare hope, one shot might be all it would take. The right bullet delivered at the right time.

  Perhaps if I had a camper or a high-top van, I could have nailed Chronos. The list of things to buy kept getting longer.

  I went to the small gun safe mounted underneath my desk. The rifle, of course, didn’t fit, and it wasn’t much of a security measure, as a burglar delivering a solid kick would break the pressboard furniture to bits and steal the tiny safe. But at least it would keep my pistol out of anyone’s hands for a short amount of time.

  The weapon was part of my plan, but I didn’t carry it around much. I removed and examined it. It had a four-inch barrel and a clean, dark, blued finish. It sat snug inside a black nylon holster.

  The safe also held a box of .357 Teflon bullets. Those things could tear through most body armor but might do nothing to Chronos, at least according to the online forums that dissected his past encounters. Several gang members had said as much during interviews, having shot him with little effect. The difference was that my bullets were 158-grain magnum loads, a lot bigger than the 9mm rounds that had supposedly hit him. There were larger rounds than a .357, but more guns meant more money. I would have loved to take a .500 magnum out for a spin and see what Chronos thought about it. But big guns also meant less control, at least for a shooter with small hands like mine.

  The last item in the safe was an old flip phone. The power was almost out. I opened it and stared for a moment at the wallpaper picture. It was a close-up of a middle-aged Asian man wearing a wool peacoat with his arms around a white woman of about the same age. She had a pixie cut and was caught mid-laugh, her white teeth contrasting with her pink lipstick. He looked at her with a dimpled grin and love in his eyes. I looked at the image for a minute before closing it and plugging it into its charger.

  My own phone pinged. It was the dating app. Carter had texted back.

  Hi, Jade. This is Carter Cunningham. I am happy you responded. I liked your profile. I too enjoy movies. I am also free this evening. Would you like to meet for a drink?

  His stilted res
ponse reminded me of me in the third grade writing a fan letter to whatever boy band I was following. What kind of tongue-tied guy was this?

  Let’s do dinner, I texted back. Urban Spoon?

  This was a newer Brooklyn restaurant. Not too expensive, busy enough, and far away from my place. Plus their Yelp page said they made great fish tacos. I could devour a dozen of them.

  Okay, he replied. That sounds good. But only if you’re sure. Could just meet for coffee.

  I didn’t feel like I was being too pushy, but sheesh, come on Carter.

  Let’s meet at 6, I texted.

  He acknowledged with a smiling emoticon and a thumbs-up and we agreed to meet at the front of the place so we wouldn’t have to go searching for each other. I gave my pits a sniff test. They failed. I went to throw on some deodorant. Always best not to smell like I had been in a fight.

  He was everything I had hoped for in a mark and so much more. Could it all be an act, the self-conscious bumbling guy who struggled to finish a sentence without stammering, could only make sheepish eye contact, and kept pushing his sliding eyeglasses back up the bridge of his nose as we waited for a table?

  Sure.

  And it had the effect of putting me at ease, which of course made me especially worried I was being played. We ordered drinks. I got an ice tea and started dumping sugar in and stirring. He pored over the list of beers before settling on a limited-edition brown made at one of the local breweries. I noticed he handled the menus by the edges and squared them with the side of the table once he was finished.

  “Been here before?” he asked.

  “Some of my workmates suggested the place.”

  “What’s good?”

  I browsed the menu. Some usual pub grub: burgers, pulled pork sandwich, nachos. And some things off the beaten path, including a cold asparagus soup, duck confit, and pigeon with nuts.