“What about you?” I asked. “Though you did not have an active hand in Garnet’s murder, you did break into his house with your friends for the purpose of stealing from him. Though you personally did not kill Garnet, the fact you were involved in an attempted burglary that led to his death should expose you to a felony murder charge.” My tongue felt thick and my thoughts felt sluggish. I congratulated myself on working that out with a belly full of scotch. Maybe I should have hung up my metaphorical cape and gone to law school.
Eugene nodded.
“That’s why I talked this all out at length with my wife before I went to the cops. I knew there was a very good chance I would wind up going back to prison myself. But, because I was not involved in the murder directly, I had come forward voluntarily, and I have kept my nose clean since I stopped being a supervillain, the prosecuting attorney decided to only charge me with burglary. In exchange for me pleading guilty to that charge and testifying against the Felonious Five, the prosecutor has agreed to recommend to the sentencing judge that I get probation. No prison time. My attorney assures me the judge will go for it.”
I nodded in understanding. In light of the fact Eugene was going to testify against his former friends, it did not take Sherlock Holmes to figure out why Eugene’s life had been threatened. I figured it out even though I was buzzed.
“I take it the three remaining members of the Felonious Five have taken a contract out on you to prevent you from testifying against them,” I said.
Eugene nodded.
“That is what I’ve heard,” he said. “I still have some people in the supervillain world who are friendly towards me. The rumor they passed along to me is that my former colleagues have hired a heavy-hitting Metahuman assassin to take me out before the trial. The prosecutor tells me that if something happens to me, she will not have nearly enough evidence to successfully prosecute the Felonious Five.”
“You know who they hired?” I asked.
“No idea, just that there is a contract on my head,” Eugene said. He shrugged. “Maybe they did not really hire anyone to take me out. Maybe the rumor is just that, a rumor. Maybe there is no truth to it at all. Or, maybe the Felonious Five started the rumor in the hopes of scaring me into not testifying against them and they did not hire anyone to do anything.”
“Do you believe that?”
Eugene smiled grimly.
“Not for a minute. I ran with those guys for quite a while. I know what they are capable of. They would not hesitate to kill me if they could. They would likely do it themselves if they were not in jail. Both the police and the prosecutor agree it is likely my life is in real danger. Though I’m a Metahuman, I have not used my powers in years. My fighting skills and instincts are rusty, not that they were any great shakes to begin with.” Eugene smiled ruefully. “As I’m sure you remember in light of how easily you dealt with me outside of that bank all those years ago. I’m not confident I can handle a professional assassin on my own. Plus, not being licensed, I’m not supposed to use my powers anyway. That is why I came to you. I want to talk to you about hiring you to protect me until the trial is over. I’ve already sent my wife and stepdaughter Sabrina out of town until this whole thing is over. I’ve been dealing with Glenn Pearson, a homicide detective with the Astor City Police Department. He recommended you to me. He said you were tough, resourceful, smart, and would do what you say you will do. I’ve asked around about you, and many other people say much the same. Since I had dealings with you before, you seemed like the perfect person to talk to about this thing.”
I smiled happily at the testimonial from Detective Pearson.
“Glenn is a shrewd judge of character,” I said. “He’s a pretty good detective, too. I taught him everything he knows.”
Eugene laughed. His teeth gleamed white in his tanned face.
“Pearson really is a shrewd judge of character. When I told him I was coming to see you, he said—and I quote—‘That lying bastard will probably tell you he taught me everything I know even though I was solving crimes when that smug asshole was still in diapers.’”
I took another sip of my drink.
“Glenn should add ‘predictable’ to the list of my virtues, then,” I said.
Eugene watched me drink. He suddenly looked serious. He looked at the drink in my hand, and then leaned slightly to the side to peer at the empty bottles of whiskey in the trash bin next to my desk. He straightened up and looked me in the eye.
“What Detective Pearson did not say was that you are a heavy drinker. No one else mentioned that, either. I am not going to entrust my life to someone who has a problem with alcohol. I know better than most how alcohol and other substances slow your reaction time and dull your senses and reflexes.”
“I don’t have a problem with alcohol,” I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered if they were true. I had awoken in an alley, after all.
“Good,” Eugene said. “If I hire you to protect me, I want your word that you’ll stay away from the sauce until the trial is over and I’m out of danger.”
I had not worked since Clara had died. For the first few days after it happened, I holed myself up in my condominium and searched for solace at the bottom of a bottle. Several bottles, actually. After a few days of that I started to feel like a filthy and lazy degenerate. So, I had started doing my drinking at bars like a proper gentleman. I had given up on drinking in public after that incident in the alley the week before. It had scared me. I had superpowers. I did not want to accidentally hurt myself or someone else while drunk.
So, for the past week, I had done my drinking at the office. I had felt like a character out of Mad Men as I drank behind my desk, looking out of the window and thinking long thoughts about what was and what might have been.
After Clara died and I started drinking, I had turned away all the potential clients who had approached me. Frankly, I had not been in the mood to go back to work for anyone. I had still been in mourning for Clara. Plus, I simply had not felt up to the work they had wanted me to do. I had failed to protect Clara. I was not used to failing. As much as I hated to admit it, failing Clara had rattled my confidence. If I failed once, I could fail again. What kind of Hero was I if people could not rely on me? Perhaps more to the point, what kind of Hero was I if I could not rely on myself?
But, as Eugene sat across from me expectantly, I realized I needed to go back to work. I was not a wealthy man. I could not live indefinitely with no new income. Plus, I was largely defined by my work. I did not have any family and few friends. I was a Hero and a detective. Those words did not merely describe my occupation. They described who I was at my core. At least who I thought I was. If I did not work, who was I? What was I?
It came to me in a flash. The answer was I was a guy who sat in his office in the morning drinking scotch, feeling sorry for himself, and mourning a young woman who was not coming back to life no matter how much liquor I drank.
All that went through my mind as Eugene looked at me. Finally, I put my glass down. If you were a cowboy, at some point you had to climb back onto your horse, even if you were afraid you would get bucked off again. Especially then, maybe.
“You have my word,” I said. “I won’t drink while I’m working for you. But, you have not officially hired me yet. I wonder if you even need to. Why not just join your wife and stepdaughter out of town? Then you wouldn’t need a bodyguard.”
Eugene shook his head.
“I fear whoever the Felonious Five hired might locate me even if I leave town. I don’t want to put Gloria and Sabrina in danger.” He smiled grimly. “Besides, I’m stubborn and proud enough to not run and hide, or to have it thought that I’m running and hiding.” Eugene paused. He glanced around my office again.
“I wanted to ask if you had anyone who worked for you. I want twenty-four hour protection. That’s probably more than one man can handle on his own.”
I thought of my Metahuman friend Shadow. She had helped me deal wit
h Clara’s situation, and had done so pretty much for free. I felt I owed it to her to throw some paid work her way.
“Though I will have to check with her to see if she is available, I’ve got someone who can maybe assist me with your protection,” I said.
“She any good?” Eugene asked.
“She’s the second best person for this type of work.”
“Second best? Who’s the best?”
I smiled broadly. I was aiming for self-effacing modesty.
“Oh,” Eugene said.
Honestly, I was exhibiting a confidence I did not feel. As they say, fake it until you make it.
Eugene and I talked about what I charged for a bit, and quickly came to an understanding. Eugene would be the source of a much needed cash infusion. I would not have to start skipping meals or rationing ammunition.
I was back in the saddle again.
Giddyap.
CHAPTER 4
After Eugene left my office, to help me sober up I drank so much water I thought I would burst. I had calls to make, and I did not want to slur my words when I made them.
After sobering up a bit, I made a few calls to the State’s Attorney’s office to try to confirm what Eugene had told me. After all, the last time I had seen him, Eugene had been a supervillain on trial for having robbed a bank. I was not so wet behind the ears that I would just take a supervillain at his word as to what was going on. I was born at night, but not last night.
The State’s Attorney was the locally elected criminal prosecutor. Each Maryland county had one except for some of the smaller rural counties. Astor City was the largest city in Maryland, so we had our own State’s Attorney. His name was Willard Flushing. Willard was more interested in looking good to voters and climbing the political ladder than in catching and prosecuting criminals. He made no secret of his ambition to become the governor of Maryland and eventually, the President of the United States. God save us all if he managed to pull it off. I had known cats in heat that were smarter and less shameless. Though he portrayed himself as a faithful husband, devoted father, and devout Christian, he was a closeted homosexual and had more gay sex with random men than the Village People. While I had no problem with someone’s sexual orientation, I despised hypocrisy.
Years ago I had gotten a key piece of evidence from a man by dangling him by his ankles from the roof of a twelve-story building. Though the man ran a chain of dry cleaners, he did more than simply launder clothes. Those businesses were used to launder money from several criminal enterprises. In addition to being something of a criminal kingpin, the man was also one of Willard’s top campaign donors, which was the main reason why the authorities had never taken a hard look at the man’s criminal activities. After the incident on the roof, Willard had said in a television interview I was a “superpowered cowboy with an over-inflated sense of self-righteousness and an under-inflated respect for due process.” Shortly thereafter, I had sent Willard a Christmas card featuring a picture of me wearing two six-shooters and dressed in leather chaps and nothing else. The note I wrote inside the card read, “My self-righteousness is not the only thing that is over-inflated.”
Though I suspected Willard saved the card and looked at it from time to time—hard in pursuit of evidence of a crime, probably—I did not get a Christmas card in return. Some people just did not get into the spirit of the holidays. Bah humbug.
Fortunately for me, Willard had several deputies who felt more charitably toward me than he did. One of them I spoke to after Eugene left my office confirmed what Eugene had told me. Some of my contacts in the business community confirmed Eugene was a respected stockbroker and business owner, and had been for years. I also spoke to Detective Glenn Pearson at the Astor City Police Department who further confirmed what Eugene had said. I did not remind Glenn of the flattering things he had said about me to Eugene. He would probably tell me he had been high on angel dust he had confiscated from a suspect and had not been in his right mind.
I finally got off the phone, having fully confirmed the things Eugene had told me. I had believed what Eugene had said, but it was good to have outside verification. Trust, but verify.
After I made sure Eugene’s story was on the up and up, I picked up my office phone again. I was going to call Shadow. Shadow was a Metahuman mercenary. She was invisible to electronics, had heightened reflexes and speed, and was super strong, super tough, and super scary. Though I knew she did things that were not strictly legal—including killing bad guys—the illegal jobs she did I tended to approve of. So, though she was an unregistered Meta who used her powers in violation of the Hero Act, I had never turned her in to the authorities.
I had not seen Shadow since Clara died months before. Before I started drinking, I worked out religiously. Dealing with supervillains was not a job for the out of shape. Since Shadow worked out regularly as well and we belonged to the same gym, we used to cross paths with each other there from time to time. Since Clara’s death, I had stopped working out. A psychologist would probably say I had not worked out because I was depressed. I had yet to meet a psychologist who was not at least half-crazy himself, so what the hell did he know?
Not only had I not seen Shadow, I had not spoken to her either. After Clara died, Shadow had given me her cell phone number for the first time after years of me knowing her. Shadow had made me swear to call her only when necessary before handing me her number. It was probably easier to get a direct line to the President of the United States.
I dialed Shadow’s number. Her phone rang twice. Someone picked up. There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Is this the President?” I asked.
“Do you remember what I told you when I gave you this number Truman?” Shadow’s voice said. She had a voice like a radio broadcaster, feminine but not the slightest bit girlish.
“I don’t remember your exact words, but it was something along the lines of ‘If you use this number to call me without a very good reason, I will give you a vasectomy with my bare hands.’”
“Oh good, you were listening. So this had better be for a good reason, or I’ll be paying you a visit soon to perform the operation. If you want to have some children, you had better get Ginny knocked up before then.”
Ginny Southland was my girlfriend, though the word “girlfriend” sounded juvenile, like Ginny was the girl I planned on taking to prom and losing my virginity to. I had left both my prom and my virginity behind many years ago. Though my prom was nothing to write home about, I had enjoyed losing my virginity so much I tried to recreate the experience as often as I could. Ginny was my current partner for those recreations. Non-married adults really needed a better word for the people they liked other than girlfriend and boyfriend. “Significant other” sounded too much like you were married; “lover” sounded too much like you were married and cheating. Once this whole matter with Eugene was wrapped up, perhaps I would come up with a better term than girlfriend. “Non-spousal virginity loss recreation partner,” maybe. No, that hardly rolled off the tongue. I would mull it over and try to come up with something better later. One problem at a time.
“I do have a good reason for calling,” I said to Shadow. My mind had a tendency to wander, especially when I had been drinking. “I’m calling to offer you a job.”
“The last job I did for you paid a grand total of fifty cents. I still haven’t blown through that windfall yet,” Shadow said. “I don’t think my bank balance could withstand another one of your jobs.”
“This one is different.” I sketched out Eugene’s situation and how I wanted her to help me keep Eugene under constant protection. I included how much Eugene was paying me. Shadow whistled when she heard the sum.
“I see your retainer negotiating skills have improved,” she said. “When we were searching for Clara, her mother paid you a dollar. Excuse me, fifty cents. I forgot to subtract my cut. How could I have forgotten such a huge pile of loot? I converted it into pennies and I’ve been swimming around in it Scr
ooge McDuck style.”
“In my defense, they don’t teach money management skills when you go through the Hero Trials,” I said.
“Yet another reason to not become a Hero. I’d rather be a rich civilian than a broke Hero.”
“So are you in or not?”
“What kind of money split are we talking?”
“I was thinking an eighty-twenty split,” I said.
“Why that’s hardly fair,” Shadow said. “You deserve more than just twenty percent. Eugene is your client, after all. I’m just the subcontractor. We’ll bump you up to twenty-five percent, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“I meant eighty percent for me, and twenty percent to you.”
“Sorry, I was confused,” Shadow said. “I thought you were divvying the money up based on skill level and worthiness, hence the eighty percent for me.”
“No. I was doing it based on gender. I read that women get paid only seventy-nine cents for every man’s dollar. Someone recently accused me of being a misogynist, so I was trying to be true to my misogynist roots.”
“You? A misogynist?” Shadow snorted in disbelief. “You’re a lot of things—some good, some bad—but a woman hater is not one of them. Who the heck was dumb enough to call you a misogynist?”
“A couple of weeks ago, a woman caught me looking at another woman’s backside as she had walked by me. She said I was a misogynist for checking the other woman out.”
“Let me guess,” Shadow said, “the one who said you are a misogynist had a body like a sack of oversized potatoes and a face to match.”
Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot Page 3
