The Doomsday Brunette

by John Zakour

  “That can’t be right.”

  “Sorry, Zach. I ran the tests twice. You can check the data if you like. There’s no poison.”

  “Randy, this wine killed Foraa Thompson.”

  “It what?” His eyes went wide like a bug in a vacuum.

  “That’s top secret,” I said. “Gates, I hope this line is secure. You’re alone, right?”

  “Zach, when have you ever known me not to be alone.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  “Foraa Thompson’s dead?”

  I nodded. “Murdered last night.”

  “Was she the super hero?”

  “No, that’s Twoa. Foraa was the anarchist.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Aw, I liked her. How did she die?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. All I can tell you is that she died immediately after drinking that wine.”

  “So the fact that there is no poison in the wine...”

  “Makes absolutely no sense at all,” I said. “Oh and a nymph drank the wine and died as well.”

  “What’s a nymph?”

  “A small fairy-ish kind of thing. Very annoying.”

  “Those little creatures that follow Threa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I always thought those were cgi effects.”

  “No, they’re real.” I said. “One fell into a glass of the wine and we found it dead. So you see, it has to be the wine.”

  “Interesting…”

  Randy’s brow furrowed up like an accordion at rest and I could almost see his mind starting to race. It’s kind of scary to watch a genius at work because you never know how many steps ahead of you they currently are. I waited a few awkward nanos but finally felt that I had to nudge the conversation along.

  “Randy?”

  He waved me away dismissively.

  “Not now, Zach. Let me run some more tests on the wine. I’ll call you later.”

  He hit the disconnect button and his image vanished from my screen.

  Call #3: Electra at the New Frisco General Children’s Free Clinic.

  “Hola, mi amor. Que tal?”

  Electra Gevada, as I may have mentioned earlier, is my girlfriend (fiancée actually, we just haven’t made it official yet). She’s the most beautiful woman I know and I’m not just talking about her good looks, which are considerable. She has hair like a moonless summer night, skin like a creamy, warm cup of coffee and eyes that when reflecting your image, make you look better than you ever thought possible. More curves than the Pacific Coast Hoverway and more spice than a chili cook-off, you’ll find her image in the 3-D, interactive dictionary beside the words “dame,” “babe,” “hot tamale,” and “the-love-of-Zach-Johnson’s-life”. She’s also a doctor, a surgeon actually, who spends her time running a free clinic for children.

  Perfect, right? Yeah, pretty much. But she’s not a big sports fan and her temper is only slightly less fiery than the famed flaming oil-slicks of New Galveston Bay (but nobody’s perfect, right?).

  “Muy bien, Chica. How’s by you?”

  “Busy day,” she said. “By the way, I don’t have to worry about you and Ona Thompson, do I?”

  “You’ve been watching the news again haven’t you?” I asked.

  “Only the parts pertaining to my boyfriend,” she answered. “We’ve been down this skyway before. Haven’t we?”

  “I’m working a case. It’s top secret but there are going to be some leaks to the press. There’s nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

  “The last time you told me that, the news reports said you were having an affair with an ex-stripper and an android nearly wiped out all human life on earth.”

  “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “I have a long memory, chico,” she said with a smile. “You sure you’re up for another big case right now?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked.

  “Because you haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I don’t sleep as soundly as you think,” she said. “I know when you’re not sleeping. I know when you’re not sleeping well. Lately you’ve been turning more than a pig at a luau. Frankly, I’m a little worried.”

  “I’m okay. I guess I’ve had some stuff on my mind.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

  “Well, let me know when it becomes more than that,” she said. “So you’ll be home late tonight?”

  “I think so. Don’t wait up. But I’m going to want my half of the covers when I get home.”

  “You’re welcome to come and get them,” she said with a smile that made me nearly fall out of my seat. “Te quiero.”

  “You too,” I said.

  The day went downhill from that point forward.

  Call #4: HARV (I know, it’s not really a call but let’s not break the rhythm here. Okay?)

  “I’ll never understand what she sees in you,” HARV said, as Electra’s image faded from the screen.

  “Me neither,” I replied. “But I’m not complaining. Do you have anything for me?”

  “I have some background information for you on Twoa and Threa Thompson that you might find interesting.”

  “Let me have it.”

  “Well, for starters, they work for Ona.”

  “They what?”

  “Twoa’s crime-fighting adventures on Entercorp HV are underwritten by a nameless third party corporation.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that Entercorp is netcasting the adventures but they’re not the ones paying the licensing fee.”

  “And Ona is?”

  “The trail is convoluted and very well hidden but yes, it’s Ona. She pays ninety-eight percent of the licensing fee to Entercorp which in turn pays Twoa’s production company. In exchange Ona’s company gets all subsidiary rights to Twoa’s show but there are no subsidiary rights, at least none that have ever been exercised.”

  “And Threa’s show?”

  “Similarly underwritten by another third party corporation.”

  “Again run by Ona.”

  HARV nodded.

  “Why would she fund her sisters’ careers when they’re suing her?”

  “Perhaps out of kindness and a sense of familial responsibility?” HARV asked.

  We stared at each other for a long nano before bursting into laughter.

  “Good one,” I said.

  “I’ve been practicing my deadpan.”

  “You have anything else?”

  “I’ve learned that Twoa currently has seventy-four civil suits pending against her.”

  “From who?”

  “Mostly patrons and residents of buildings she has damaged while chasing criminals…I’m sorry ‘evil doers.’”

  “Between those cases and her suit against Ona, I bet she has some hefty legal bills to pay.”

  “Might that be her motive for murder?”

  “Could be.”

  “Well, you can ask her yourself tonight,” HARV said. “I’ve managed to book you some face time with her.”

  “Great, when?”

  “Ten.”

  “That’s kind of late isn’t it?”

  “It was the only time she offered.”

  “Fine. Am I going to her place?”

  “Not exactly. You’ll be meeting her on the rooftop of the Excercel warehouse on the west side.”

  “The what?”

  “Apparently, Ms. Twoa has some previously scheduled business to take care of around that time.”

  “She’s not going to be playing super hero, is she?”

  “I think she’d object to your use of the word ‘playing,’” HARV said. “I’m assuming that she’ll speak more freely with you if she’s in her ‘truth and justice’ mode.”

  “What am I supposed to do if she actually comes across a crime?”

  HARV looked away and
fidgeted with his virtual shirt collar.

  “Yes, well…that’s the interesting part,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that, you’d look really good in a mask?”

  23

  “I am not wearing a mask!”

  It was five minutes after ten and a damp, chilly wind was blowing through the west side like the cold, French kiss of danger. I, of course, was standing on the roof of a warehouse, overlooking a shadowy, abandoned parking lot and loading dock.

  “It’s your choice, Zach,” Twoa replied with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But unless you’re nigh-invulnerable like me, it’s a good idea to protect your secret identity when you’re fighting crime.”

  Twoa was beside me on the rooftop, her feet hovering a half meter above the surface (so she could look down on me, I surmised). Her long cape caught the breeze and billowed impressively, its edges snapping in the air like the crackling embers of a righteous bonfire.

  “I don’t have a secret identity.”

  “You would if you wore a mask,” she replied. “You could be Justice Lad.”

  “Gates, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  The night breeze was hitting me as well, only not as dramatically. I was cold and wet and my trenchcoat was getting sticky. Thankfully, Twoa’s camera bots weren’t recording her for netcast. Electra would have never let me forget it.

  “I suppose that your wearing spandex is out of the question then, huh?” she asked.

  “You got that right.”

  “Fine. But you’re not a very interesting sidekick.”

  “I’m not a sidekick,” I said.

  “Can I call you the Dour Detective then?”

  “No.”

  “How about the Damp Trenchcoat?”

  “How about you call me Zach? I’ll answer to Super Zach if you like.”

  She turned her attention away from me, more disappointed than before, and went back to gazing at the empty loading dock.

  “Have it your way then,” she said. “It just won’t be as fun.”

  “Sorry, Twoa, but right now, fun isn’t exactly at the top of my list. Now can we talk about your sister’s murder?”

  She lowered herself from the air and for the first time since I’d been there, set foot on the roof of the warehouse. Then she crouched low and slid into the shadows, or at least as much into the shadows as a super powered supermodel can.

  “Did Foraa have any enemies?”

  “She hated the world, Zach. I’m sure some portions of the world hated her right back.”

  “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Not really. We shared the same DNA but, as you know, she and I weren’t close.”

  The sound of a hovercraft on the nearby skyway caught her attention. She stiffened and turned her gaze toward it for a nano. She seemed disappointed when it passed without stopping.

  “Before last night, when was the last time you saw her?”

  “A year ago, I think. Threa and I made a trip out to that casino in Vegas where she was preaching. We tried to talk some sense into her.”

  “What kind of sense?”

  Another hover passed on the skyway, this one slower than the first, and Twoa again turned her eyes toward it.

  “Are we waiting for someone?”

  She nodded and continued scanning the loading dock. “One of my informants tipped me off this afternoon. The Belgian crime syndicate is trying to establish itself here in New Frisco.”

  “There’s a Belgian crime syndicate? Do they smuggle waffles or something?”

  “They’re making a weapons buy from a local arms merchant here tonight. We’re going to bust up the party.”

  “We’re here to what? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  She shook her head. “I want to talk to these lowlifes first. We’ll let the police mop up afterward.”

  “Why don’t we let the police do the mopping first,” I said. “Then we can get the information we need from Captain Rickey.”

  “This vermin won’t tell the police anything. They don’t fear the police. But they fear me.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said. “You didn’t answer my earlier question. What kind of sense were you and Threa trying to talk into Foraa?”

  “It’s a family matter.”

  “You wanted her to join your lawsuit against Ona, didn’t you?”

  At that nano two very nondescript black hovercrafts entered the lot. Twoa grabbed my arm in her manicured vise of a hand and pulled me deeper into the shadows. We watched as the hovercrafts killed their lights and slowly made their way toward the loading dock, like sharks swimming to a favorite feeding area.

  “One group of maggots has entered the spider’s web,” she said.

  “Actually, I don’t think spiders eat maggots. Am I right about your wanting Foraa to join your lawsuit?”

  “Zach, do you know how much money Ona spends every year on shoes?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Neither do I, actually. We currently have a motion before the New California Supreme Court for full disclosure of footwear and accessory expenses, but the point is that it’s a lot. It’s more than any sane person should spend on shoes. Do you know what I could do with her shoe money alone?”

  “Um, a lot?”

  “You’re darn right. That much wealth buys a lot of justice. Daddy left Ona an unimaginable fortune. She could easily use it to make this world a better place but Ona chooses instead to spend it on herself.”

  She turned back to the loading dock just as another hover exited the skyway and floated into the lot. This one was long and a deep shade of green.

  “Maggot number two,” she said. “We’ll wait until they actually make the switch before hitting them. I’ll take the ones with the weapons. You handle the ones taking the payment.”

  I turned away from Twoa and spoke softly to HARV. “Net with the police and let them know about this so-called arms buy.”

  “It’s already in the works, boss.”

  I smiled and turned back to Twoa, who was still watching the hovers at the loading dock. Six men had emerged from the various vehicles and were huddled together, conversing in hushed, urgent tones.

  “Ona gives some of her wealth to charity, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh that speech of hers?” Twoa whispered, “‘after all the good that I’ve created with my wealth; aiding under-privileged children, funding disease research driving programs for environmental renewal and reinvention, blah, blah, blah.’ It’s drop in the bucket. I’m sure her charitable contributions pale when compared to her shoe purchases. Trust me, this is not what Daddy would have wanted.”

  “What about Threa?”

  “Gates, she’s worse than Ona. At least Ona lives on this planet. Threa’s head is stuck somewhere between Avalon and the twilight zone.”

  On the dock below, one of the men pulled a pocket-port from his coat and turned the small computer screen to the others, flashing his untraceable, electronic cash. The men nodded approvingly.

  “I’m no psychiatrist, Twoa, but it sounds to me as though you have some anger toward your sisters.”

  “There’s anger, I admit. But it’s anger born from love and shaped by disappointment. They are capable of so much yet they’re wasting their lives. One by being a fairy princess, the other by playing celebrity.”

  Two of the men on the dock below walked back to their hover and lifted large suitcases from the trunk. Twoa stiffened and licked her lips as the men brought the cases back to the others and put them on the hood of the hovers.

  “Quite honestly, I pity Ona more than anything now. How can a being so evolved be so shallow?”

  The men opened the first suitcase revealing four laser rifles inside. Twoa’s face lit up like a bat-signal.

  “There’s the buy,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “You mean now?”

  She grabbed my arms and wrapped them around her
neck from behind then stood up.

  “Hang on tight and stay behind me. They’re probably armed.”

  “It’s a weapons buy,” I said as she pulled me into the air. “Of course they’re armed!”

  She rose ten feet above the rooftop and paused there for a nano, letting the moonlight strike her glorious form and the wind billow her cape. Admittedly, she would have been a lot more striking if I hadn’t been hanging on to her back but the hoodlums below were certainly very impressed because when they turned their collective gazes to the sky, their jaws dropped at the sight. (I realized afterward that, from that angle, they were looking up her skirt, which could also explain the jaw thing, but that’s beside the point).

  “The party’s over boys,” she announced like a prom-queen/drill sergeant. “You’re about to meet the morning-after of justice.”

  “The morning what?”

  “I’m following the ‘party’s over’ metaphor,” she whispered. “Criminals are an illiterate, cowardly lot. So my metaphors must be unflinchingly consistent to strike terror into their hearts.” She turned her attention back to the hoodlums. “Put your hands behind your heads, lay down on the ground and no one will get hurt.”

  The men below stared at us for a long, tense nano then slowly put their hands behind their heads.

  “They don’t actually just give up like that, do they?” I asked.

  “No,” Twoa replied. “But I feel obligated to ask anyway.”

  As one, the six men grabbed their weapons. Four pulled hand blasters from their coats. The other two grabbed laser rifles from the suitcase.

  “Better keep your head down, Justice Lad.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  She dropped me just as the hoodlums opened fire. I hit the ground hard with my armor taking most of the impact and rolled for cover behind one of the loading bay half-walls.

  The blasts from the weapons hit Twoa full-on in a dazzling display of energy. She deflected the blasts from the laser rifles with the palm of her gloved hand while the energy bursts from the blasters simply bounced off her clearly nigh-invulnerable skin. She quickly spun clear of the barrage, swooped low to the ground and came up, fists first into the face of the nearest thug with a rifle. I heard the sound of cartilage cracking as her gloves hit his nose and I knew that the guy would be making a quick stop at the infirmary before being placed in his cell at the city jail.