Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot

by Darius Brasher

  Later, I said to myself. There will be plenty of time for self-blame later. Right now, focus on finding the white-haired woman.

  I stepped out of the poker room. A couple of minutes had passed since the flash of light and Eugene’s death, the pale-faced dazed man had said. It had taken me maybe a minute more to do a sweep of the poker room. The white-haired woman could not have gotten too far in just a few minutes. The casino was packed. Moving through the crowd would take her some time, especially if she was moving slowly enough to not draw attention to herself.

  I knew there were two entrances to the casino: the one Eugene and I had come in on the north side of the casino, and another on the east side of the building. The east side entrance was closer to the poker room. If I were the white-haired woman, I would head to the closest exit. I moved in that direction, hoping I had guessed correctly. I started counting seconds off in my head. One, two, three four, five . . . I hurried, not quite running, but certainly moving faster than the people around me. I wanted to run. I resisted the impulse. It would be almost impossible to run flat out in this crowd of people. Also, I might miss spotting the white-haired woman if I ran. Additionally, running would draw the attention of security. People running in a casino tended to have done something wrong, like stealing money. Security would no doubt accost me and have me explain why I was running. I did not have time to stop or to make explanations or to enlist their aid.

  I still counted. Fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five. When I counted off a full minute, I stopped. If the woman had a couple of minutes’ head start on me but she was walking slower than I, she should be right around here. I spun in place, looking. It was hard to see clearly with all the people and the tall casino machines in the way.

  I jumped on top of the closest gaming table. Unfortunately, the table was full of players. Blackjack, maybe. I was not paying attention. I did not care. Chips, cards, and drinks went flying. I was now high enough to see a pretty good distance. I spun around on top of the table, carefully searching for the white-haired woman. I did not see her. Damn.

  “Sir, patrons are not permitted on top of the gaming tables,” the bored voice of the dealer floating up to me from his perch in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped table. A symphony of angry and irritated voices from the gamblers at the table played around me. The voice of the dealer, though, was flat and unemotional. It was a jaded voice, the voice of someone who had seen and heard everything. If he had worked in casinos for any length of time, he probably had seen everything. Maybe I was not the first Hero to clamber on top of his table.

  I jumped down. I hurried again towards the exit. I started counting again. Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. When I hit thirty seconds, I jumped onto of the nearest table again. This table was also occupied. Chip stacks toppled and drinks spilled. Voices of surprise and anger rose below me. It was déjà vu all over again. I peered out at the people on the casino floor, paying particular attention to the people moving in the direction of the exit. No, it was not quite déjà vu. I saw a flash of white hair. Since I was looking so hard for it, it stood out like a neon sign. I could see the back of the woman’s head. She was, as I had guessed, on the move toward the exit. She was a couple of hundred feet from where I was.

  “Sir, you have to get down,” a voice from below said. This was no bored voice this time. This was a firm voice of command. I looked down to see a casino security guard. He looked up at me, annoyed. There was an earpiece in his ear. Either he happened to be standing there coincidentally, or someone monitoring the security cameras had seen me jump up on the first table and had sent this guy after me.

  “Sure thing,” I said to him. I hopped down in front of him. He was around my age, big in a weight-lifter kind of way, and slightly shorter than I. Though he was armed like the other guards I had observed, his hand was not near his weapon. He no doubt was used to dealing with drunk and rowdy gamblers and had not been trained to have his hand on his weapon when confronting someone. “No need to scare the patrons,” the people who trained him probably had reasoned. Not a good idea.

  “Sorry,” I said to the guard in apology, but not for standing on the table. I jabbed him hard in his stomach with my left fist. He gasped in pain. I followed up with a hard chop with the side of my right hand onto the man’s trapezius muscle, near his head. The guard collapsed like an empty suit. I bent down and took his gun from his holster. I thumbed off the safety. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds. The weight of the gun felt reassuring in my hand. Though I had my powers, of course, it was good to be armed again. Sometimes a bullet—or the threat of one—could do what superpowers could not.

  I stood. I rushed in the direction I had seen the white-haired woman. I was faintly aware of voices raised in alarm behind me, no doubt caused by my encounter with the guard. I held his borrowed gun at my side. I did not want to shoot someone by accident. If the white-haired woman was guilty as I suspected, I would not have minded shooting her on purpose, though.

  I had to hurry. Not only did I not want the woman to escape, but I knew I would soon be swarmed by more security guards. This time, they would have their weapons at the ready. I had to get to the woman before the guards got to me.

  I hastened my pace through the crowd of people. In my rush, I pushed some people out of the way. Cries of complaint rose in my wake. There she was. Right ahead of me. The commotion I was causing must have alerted her. She turned her head. She saw me. She turned all the way around to face me. Now that I had connected the dots, it was obvious looking by at her she was the woman I had winked at in the coffee shop days before. I leveled my gun at her.

  “Freeze!” I shouted. Unoriginal, yes, but it got the point across. A couple of people close-by screamed. People took one look at me and my gun and scampered out of the way. It was like watching the Red Sea part. In seconds the path between me and the woman had largely cleared.

  The woman smiled at me. She seemed unfazed by the gun pointed at her. Not the reaction I expected. Her left eye glowed pink. Suddenly, there was a slight haze around her left eye, like a pink fog. I considered firing. No, too high of a chance of hitting an innocent bystander. Instinctively, I dove to the right, behind a tall slot machine. Too late. A beam of pink light lanced out from the woman’s left eye. The light struck me in the left side. I heard a bunch of screams. Mine was one of them. My left side felt like someone had stabbed me with a hot poker. I collapsed behind the slot machine, hitting my head on the chair mounted to the floor in front of it. My head throbbed, adding insult to injury.

  I looked down. A hole was in my clothes, the edges of which smoked. I hastily pulled my shirt up. There was a wound on the edge of my left torso. It bled a bit, though not as much as I would have thought. The flesh around it looked charred. Maybe the heat from the energy beam partially cauterized the wound, preventing me from bleeding too much. Though it hurt like the devil, nothing vital seemed hurt. That would not have been the case had I not reacted in time. A bit to the right, and bye-bye Truman Lord. But as it was, I would live. For now. If I took another shot in the wrong place, I might not. I resolved to not get shot in the wrong place. Easier said than done.

  A young man was crouched down at another slot machine to the right of me. He barely looked old enough to be in here. He looked at the gun in my hand with fear in his eyes.

  “Are you one of the good guys?” he asked. His voice quavered.

  “Yes. Though sometimes it’s hard for me to tell,” I said. I winced in pain. “Stay down. I’m a Hero. I got this.”

  I peeked my head around the slot machine a bit to see where the Meta was. She had barely moved. Waiting for me to make another appearance, probably. Now that I could see her again, I could lock onto her with my powers despite the crowd of other people. Her left eye glowed pink again. I snapped my head back. Right where my head had been, the slot machine exploded. Coins rained down on me. And me without an umbrella.

  “You sure you got this?” I heard the young man shout over the bedlam.
I did not answer. Everyone was a critic.

  Now that I had a lock on the woman’s water signature despite the crowds, I could exert my powers on her directly. I reached out with my mind, attempting to prevent oxygen from dissolving into the water in her blood. It was a delicate process; if I proceeded too hastily, I would kill her. Tempting, but no. If I was successful, the woman would be unconscious in just a few moments.

  Damn it! It wasn’t working. The woman’s biochemistry was slightly off. It was not like that of a regular human’s. Not every Metahuman’s was. I would not be able to exert my powers directly on the woman. If I got up to confront the woman physically, though, she would blow my head off. Time for Plan B.

  My powers told me water pipes ran through the walls and ceiling of the casino. Not to mention there was water in plastic bottles and cups scattered about. I exerted my will. The water pipes nearby burst. Water gushed out of the walls and ceiling. More screams. As the water rushed out, I turned it and the water in the nearby cups and bottles into a fine mist. In mere seconds, a thick fog swirled in the area. Though people were still yelling and running about, the sounds became strangely muffled. You couldn’t see an inch past your face. Unless the female Meta had some sort of super-vision, she would not be able to see me in the fog. Thanks to the lock I had on her water signature with my mind, I would be able to “see” her, in a way, with my powers. Despite the thick, soupy fog, the outline of the Meta’s body glowed in my mind like a body viewed through infrared goggles.

  Could the Meta still see me anyway? Only one way to find out. I stood. I stepped quickly away from the ruined slot machine. I was not drilled by another energy beam. Good. Things were looking up.

  Emboldened, I advanced on the Meta’s location. People screamed and milled about, confused by what was going on. Casinos were not supposed to be foggy. I pushed people roughly aside as I came closer to the Meta. Almost there. Damn it! My powers sensed she was airborne. She was flying towards the exit she had been walking towards before I confronted her. She was fast. She was going to get away.

  Since she was no longer surrounded by people, I fired my weapon several times at her in the air. More screams, more running, more panic. I operated on adrenaline, anger, and instinct in shooting. Later it occurred to me firing a gun in a crowded enclosed area was not a good idea. The Meta did not slow down. I did not know if I had hit her or not. If I did not stop her, she would get away.

  I made more water rush out from the pipes near the exit. I slammed a torrent of it against the doors of the exit, cooling it quickly. With loud cracks that sounded like more gunfire, a wall of ice formed in front of the exit. Would it be enough to stop the Meta?

  No. Even through the pea soup fog, I saw a pink light lanced out. The entire area was suddenly suffused with a bright pink light. There was a combination of a crack and explosion. My ice wall gave way. I sensed it more than I could see it. There was a rush of air. The fog seemed to clear a bit. I ran. I dissipated more of the fog with my mind so I could see better.

  I was soon at the exit. A hole had been blown through my thick ice barrier and through the doors behind it. I sensed the Meta receding off into the sky outside of the casino. In seconds, I could sense her no more. She was gone.

  I had let her escape. Again.

  Great.

  I shook my head at myself in disgust. Though adrenaline had made me forget about it, my head still hurt from where I had slammed it against the chair when I had dived for cover. I clutched my side. It still felt like it was on fire. My clothes were wet thanks to the water I had unleashed. They clung to me like a heavy second skin.

  I made the fog dissipate. I formed a sheet of ice over the cracks I had blown in the water pipes. The water spewing out stopped running. The pipes would have to be patched or replaced, but the ice would hold the water back for now. With the disappearance of the fog and the stopping of the water, there was a fresh surge of panic due to the sudden change. I looked around. Everywhere was pandemonium. People were scrambling around like ants. Some were trying to get out. Others were scooping up chips. Fistfights were breaking out. It was a riot.

  Here was my casino trip in a nutshell: I had abandoned my client to go get a drink even though I had promised him not to. He was killed while I was gone, presumably by the Metahuman woman I had just chased. That Metahuman woman had gotten away from me, just as she had when I had confronted her days ago. I had assaulted a casino employee and taken his gun. I had fired that gun surrounded by throngs of people, putting lives at risk. Oh, and I had caused a riot. I had done all that while under more electronic surveillance than they had in Fort Knox.

  I was not having a good night.

  Unfortunately for Eugene, his night was worse.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Despite the State’s Attorney’s argument that the Defendant is a dangerous Metahuman who should remain in custody until trial in the interest of public safety, I believe defense counsel’s arguments are more compelling,” Judge Leon Archibald said.

  Willard Flushing, the Astor City State’s Attorney, stood behind the table in the courtroom reserved for the prosecutor’s office. He frowned at the judge’s words. Willard glanced over at me with obvious dislike on his face. He was a tall, lean man with a haircut that looked like it had cost almost as much as his expensive suit. He wore rimless glasses. I was pretty sure he only wore them to make him look smarter. They did not work.

  I was tempted to bend over and moon Willard. I did not. Doing so at my bail hearing did not seem like the appropriate time or place. Occasionally, I could control my impulses. If only I had done so the day before when I allowed Eugene to be murdered. Besides, I was in handcuffs and wore a one-piece green Astor City Department of Corrections jumpsuit. Exposing my butt enough to moon Willard would have required Houdini-like dexterity. It was just as well. I knew Willard to be a closeted homosexual who secretly cheated on his wife by having so much sex with men it was as if he was trying to medal in the gay sex Olympics. He might have misconstrued me mooning him as an invitation. He was not my type.

  A few feet from Willard and the prosecutor’s table, my attorney Laura Leonard and I stood behind the defense table. Laura looked the way I imagined a fairy with glasses would look. She was skinny, over a foot shorter than I even in her heels, and had natural blonde hair and blue eyes. She was so tiny, it seemed like a strong gust of wind might blow her away. She was one of the smartest people I knew. Maybe the weight of her intellect served as an anchor. Laura had a Bachelor of Science degree in biology from Johns Hopkins University, a Juris Doctor degree from Yale University, and a Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks. She had started off in life in a trailer in rural Kentucky.

  I was so much bigger than Laura, it was as if we belonged to two different species of humans: her Homo Sapiens, and me Homo Screwupicus. In my Corrections Department green jumpsuit, I felt like the jolly green giant standing next to Laura. Minus the jolly part. I was still pissed at myself for letting Eugene get killed and for letting his presumed killer get away.

  After being arrested the night before at the casino and charged with reckless endangerment, destruction of property, assault, battery, and theft for attacking the security guard and taking his gun, I had spent the night in jail. Laura and Willard had just finished making their arguments to the judge regarding bail and whether I should be released pending trial. Normally a lowly assistant State’s Attorney handled something as routine as a bail hearing instead of the head prosecutor himself. But, Willard had told the judge at the beginning of the hearing he was handling it himself because “Mr. Lord is a dangerous Metahuman with a history of disrespect for the law.” I suspected the real reason was partly schadenfreude, partly Willard wanted to be the one responsible for keeping me in jail, and partly the fact Willard was an attention-whore and wanted to showboat for the members of the press in attendance. The press was there because it was not every day a licensed Hero got arrested. By virtue of our licenses, Heroes had limited police powers which afforded
us some leeway when battling supervillains. The State’s Attorney was arguing I had exceeded the scope of my authority at the casino.

  Since Willard had gone out of his way to handle my bail hearing himself, perhaps that Christmas card I had sent him featuring myself nearly nude had been a mistake. Truly no good deed went unpunished. That was what I got for showing my Christmas spirit. Christmas spirit was not the only thing I had shown on the card.

  “I believe defense counsel’s argument that Mr. Lord, being a licensed Hero and a business owner with no criminal record, is neither a danger to the community nor a flight risk,” Judge Archibald said. His liver-spotted jowls quivered as he spoke. A fringe of kinky grey hair ringed his otherwise bald head. Judge Archibald was knocking on the door of retirement. Perhaps he knocked on death’s door too in light of how overweight and out of shape he was. Typically, bail hearings were presided over by younger, less experienced judges. The fact Judge Archibald had not risen higher in the judiciary was a testimony to both how dumb he was and how ineptly corrupt he was. If he had been a little smarter and a bit less obvious about the bribes he had taken over the years, perhaps he would be on the Unites State Supreme Court by now.

  “As a result, I do not believe Mr. Lord’s further confinement is necessary, nor is bail necessary to ensure his appearance at trial,” Judge Archibald intoned. “I am ordering the Defendant’s immediate release on his own recognizance pending trial.” The judge rapped his gavel against the dark wooden bench. I heard the gallery of people whisper and stir behind me.

  “I’m shocked you’re letting me go so easily. I didn’t even have to bribe you,” I said loudly to the judge. The crowded courtroom grew eerily still at my words. The eyes of the two court clerks seated at desks next to Judge Archibald’s raised bench got wide. I felt Laura’s fingernails digging into my arm. I ignored her. The pain from her nails was no big deal. It was nothing compared to being shot with an energy blast by a Metahuman. I knew that all too well from recent experience. “I heard your starting bribe price was ten thousand dollars,” I said. “You must be getting soft in your old age. I’d say senile, too, but I’m not sure you were ever all there mentally to begin with.”