“I know you said you do not know where we can find Brooke,” I said. “Do you have any other information that might prove useful in locating her? You already said she does not have any living family. What about friends?”
Mr. Barker was silent as he pondered for a while.
“There is one person,” he said after a bit. “He’s a registered Metahuman. His street name is Shrapnel. I don’t know his real one. Last I heard he operated out of Portland, Oregon. After Brooke washed out of the Trials and she left my home, I heard now and then she associated with him. I was never able to verify that. Nor do I know if Brooke and Shrapnel still communicate. It’s been years since I heard anything about Shrapnel. The only reason why I remember his name is because it’s so distinctive. Hard to forget a name like that.”
“Do you happen to remember the names of the supervillains you fought the day Brooke’s family was killed?” I asked.
“Why?” Mr. Barker said. “Do you think that might be important?”
“Who knows,” I said with a shrug. “As you know from your time as a Hero, knowing is better than not knowing. You never can tell when something will prove to be useful.”
“That’s true enough,” Mr. Barker said. “Their names are Dreadnought and King Cobra. I fought them in Dallas, Texas, which I believe was the city they primarily operated out of.”
I could not think of anything more to ask. I looked over at Shadow. She shrugged slightly. She did not have anything else to ask either.
I stood. I thanked Mr. Barker for his time. I handed him my card.
“If you can think of anything else that might be useful in locating Brooke, please contact me,” I said. He nodded. He stood as well to shake my hand. Then, he shook hands with Shadow.
“Sorry for the mess we made of your house,” Shadow said to him. The room did look like a hurricane had hit it. “Can we give you some money to pay for the damage?”
Mr. Barker grinned at her. It made him look far younger than his years again.
“Hey, I was the one who started it by attacking Mr. Lord,” he said. “Besides, I should be thanking you instead of you apologizing to me. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a fight.” His smile looked wolfish. “I have not had so much fun in years.” Looking at the two of them standing there grinning at one another, I thought that despite the difference in their sex, age, and race, they were very much alike. Like two peas in a bloodthirsty pod. I fought when I needed to; these two seemed to do it because they enjoyed it.
Shadow and I left Mr. Barker’s house. We walked down the street, on the lookout for a cab to take us back to our hotel.
“You know, there is dried blood on your face,” I said to Shadow. “You’d better wipe it off or else we’ll never be able to hail a cab.”
Under my direction, Shadow tried to clean her face off with her hands. She grimaced in pain as her fingers touched a tender spot on her face.
“I still say I could have taken that guy,” Shadow said as she gingerly wiped the blood away.
“I have no doubt you could have,” I said with a straight face. I suppressed a smile. I considered pointing out that a 79-year-old man had bloodied her and fought her to a standstill. I thought better of it. Unlike Mr. Barker, I did not have claws. If Shadow attacked me, I would have to shoot her.
A Hero really ought not shoot his sidekick.
CHAPTER 23
I sat behind my desk in my office in Astor City. I had my feet up on my desk and my office phone cradled between my shoulder and ear. I had been on hold with the Dallas Police Department for several minutes, waiting for Homicide Detective Gloria Rodriguez to come on the line. It seemed much longer than merely minutes. The terrible music playing in my ear made the minutes stretch out to what seemed like an eternity. The music was from an album where a hot young pop star had tried to repackage herself as a more serious artist by covering several George and Ira Gershwin standards. The Gershwins were brilliant songwriters, but the young singer’s renditions of their songs were rapidly making me loathe them. Maybe the Dallas Police Department used this music when people were on hold to get them to hang up in disgust. That was one way to cut down on call traffic. Smart. If the Dallas police displayed similar savvy in solving crimes, Dallas criminals did not stand a chance.
Shadow was stretched out on the small couch I had against the wall. She read Vogue magazine as her long legs dangled off the end of the couch. Perhaps she was reading up on the best way to reduce facial puffiness after having a run-in with a retired Hero.
“If we’re partners like you say,” I said to Shadow, “why is it you’re lounging around while I’m doing all this arduous investigative work and having my ears assaulted?”
“I’m not lounging,” she said without taking her eyes off her magazine.
“Oh? My mistake. This music is so terrible that not only is it affecting my hearing, but apparently my eyesight as well. If you’re not lounging, what are you doing?”
“Supervising you. It’s hard, but fulfilling. You’re doing a pretty good job. Probably because I’m overseeing you. I wish you’d do your job more quietly, though.” Shadow smothered a yawn. “I’m thinking about taking a nap when I finish this article. Supervising is strenuous work.”
I was about to reply when the music in my ear mercifully stopped. “Detective Rodriguez,” a new voice said. Since there apparently was a God in heaven, the new voice lacked the young singer’s annoying vocal fry.
“Detective, my name is Truman Lord. I’m a private detective in Astor City. I’m calling to report a homicide. Your phone system has murdered my hearing and my musical sensibilities.”
There was a pause, and then a short bark of a laugh.
“It’s god-awful, isn’t it?” Rodriguez said. “The higher-ups say that kind of music is supposed to help make young people feel more comfortable talking to the police.” The detective’s voice was deep for a woman’s, and had a hint of both a Spanish accent and a Texas twang.
“How’s that working out?” I asked.
“Well, since I’m talking to you and not to a young person, not too well,” she said. “What can I do for you other than lobby for better music?”
“I’m working on a case involving a Metahuman who murdered by client. In the course of that investigation, the names of two Metahumans based in Dallas came up: Dreadnought and Killer Cobra. After doing some media searches for their names online, I learned they were killed a couple of years ago. Apparently they died at the hands of a Metahuman. The murderer has not yet been found and the case is still open. I also learned you are the lead detective. That’s why I’m calling. I was hoping you could tell me what you know about their deaths. They may be tied to the matter I’m working on. I might be able to help you close their cases.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a bit.
“Well Mr. Lord,” Rodriguez finally said, “other than the fact you seem to have decent taste in music, I have no idea who you are. I am reluctant to discuss an open investigation with someone when I have no idea who he is.”
I glanced over at Shadow. She was still lying down. Her eyes were closed. “Well, my sidekick Shadow is about fifteen feet away from me,” I said. “I could put her on the line to vouch for me.”
“Partner,” Shadow said immediately. I did not think she had been listening. I should have known better; Shadow was always aware of what was going on around her, even when she did not appear to be. When she eventually died and was lying in her casket, her spirit would probably be able to tell Saint Peter how many mourners had shown up for her funeral and what they all were wearing. Though it was not one of her superpowers, her observational skills were so well-honed that they sometimes seemed like they were supernatural.
“Though I don’t know how I could doubt the word of someone named Shadow, I’ll need something better than that,” Rodriguez said. She sounded amused. If I were talking to her in person, I would have her eating out of the palm of my hand by now. Then I remember
ed how Aurora had so easily been able to say no to my request for information despite me working my charms on her in person. So, maybe I would not be able to have Detective Rodriguez eating out of the palm of my hand. Just as well. It was an unsanitary way to eat. Probably how mad cow disease got started.
“All right, if the word of my sidekick is not good enough, how about the word of another police detective? Detective Glenn Pearson of the Astor City Police department can vouch for me.” I gave Rodriguez Glenn’s direct telephone number, as well as my own.
“Okay, Mr. Truman, I’ll give this Detective Pearson a call and check you out,” she said. There was a sudden smile in her voice. “If it turns out you’re wasting my time, I’m gonna fly to Astor City and force you at gunpoint to listen to those Gershwin covers on a continuous loop.”
“Yikes!” I said. “Police brutality.” The detective and I said goodbye to one another, and hung up.
I put my feet down. I had no idea if or when the detective would get back to me. I did not know what to do with myself until then. Other that Dreadnought, Killer Cobra, and Shrapnel, I was all out of leads. Shrapnel I intended to track down and visit in person.
I turned around and looked out the window. Paper Street was three stories below. I craned my neck a bit to look up and down the street. I looked carefully. I did not spot Killshot anywhere. I did not expect to, but it did not hurt to check. “Leave no stone unturned” should have been my official motto.
I turned back around. Shadow was still supervising me. She was so exhausted by how hard she was supervising me, she was now snoring gently. I considered leaning back, closing my eyes, and supervising her right back. I decided against it. What if Killshot’s conscience got the best of her, and she walked into my office to turn herself in? It would be mighty embarrassing if she turned right back around and resumed her killing spree because she found her man hunter asleep.
It crossed my mind I could kill some time by having a drink. I still had some bottles of liquor in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. Though I knew I should have poured them out already, I had not been able to bring myself to do so yet. As I sat there, it seemed like the bottles in the drawer were calling me so loudly I could literally hear them.
I shook my head vigorously to clear it. No. I had been down that road before. The destination was not pretty. So instead of having a drink, I decided to do some much neglected paperwork.
About two hours later, Detective Rodriguez called back. Since Shadow was awake by then, I put the call on speakerphone so she could hear as well.
“I spoke to your Detective Pearson,” Rodriguez said.
“I thought I felt my ears burning. Did he sing my praises? Modesty compels me to say only half of what he told you is true. Pearson has long been an admirer of mine. He tends to gush.”
Rodriguez laughed.
“If by gush you mean he said you are like a herpes outbreak—annoying and persistent—then yes, he gushed,” she said. “He confirmed you are who you say you are. He also told me you are a licensed Hero, something you neglected to volunteer.”
“I didn’t want to unduly sway your opinion of me,” I said. “We Heroes have groupies, you know.”
“I get the feeling Pearson is not one of yours. Unless, of course, groupies always call the objects of their affection herpes outbreaks.”
“Glenn’s one of those guys who hides his deep affection through insults. He doesn’t want the world to know what a big softie he is.”
“Yeah, we homicide detectives are well known to be big softies,” Rodriguez said. “It’s probably why so many people try to get away with murder. They think we’ll go easy on them. Speaking of which, I pulled up the files for the murders of the Metahumans known as Dreadnought and King Cobra.” She paused. “Dreadnought and King Cobra: where do you people come up with these names?”
“Don’t look at me. I only go by Truman Lord,” I said. I thought it best not to mention I had earlier thought my code name might be Drip when I had regained consciousness in that filthy alley. Detective Rodriguez did not know me. I did not want to make a bad impression.
“Anyway, Dreadnought’s real name is Mario Modell. King Cobra’s name is Solomon Frey. Both of them served time over thirty years ago for separate incidents. Assault and armed robbery in the case of Dreadnought, and assault, armed robbery, and destruction of public property in the case of King Cobra. Prison is apparently where they met and befriended each other. They became thick as thieves, no pun intended. After they were released from prison, they teamed up to conduct various criminal enterprises, including human trafficking, extortion, robberies, and murder. They both were wanted for a list of crimes longer than my arm. But someone got to them before the cops did. Dreadnought was found dead in the home of his girlfriend here in Dallas on the morning of June 16th six years ago; King Cobra was found dead in an alley the same evening. No witnesses and no clues in either case. Until you called, I figured the murders would go unsolved.”
Shadow and I looked at each other. June 16 was the day Mr. Barker had told us Killshot’s parents and brother had been killed years before when Killshot was only fifteen.
“Five bucks says I know how those two Metas were killed. Someone was settling an old score,” Shadow murmured quietly. I waved at her to be quiet.
“How were Dreadnought and King Cobra killed?” I asked Detective Rodriguez.
“It was the same MO in each case. Both were shot with some sort of high-yield energy weapon. The blast went all the way through each of them, leaving a hole you could stick a metal rod through. Dreadnought was shot in the chest, right through his heart. King Cobra was shot dead center in the middle of his forehead. Since they died in the same way and on the same day, it is pretty obvious the same person or people killed them. Either it was a Metahuman like them or someone with access to some high-tech weaponry the likes of which I’ve never seen.” Detective Rodriguez paused. “That’s basically all I can tell you. Now it’s your turn. What are you working on that might be able to help me?”
I told the detective about what had happened to Eugene at the hands of Killshot and my efforts to track her down thus far. I left out facts that might incriminate me in the eyes of either the police or the Guild. I did not tell her of my conversation with Mr. Barker either. For one thing, I did not want to explain how I located him. I was in enough trouble with the Guild as it was. For another thing, I did not want to say something that might expose Mr. Barker’s secret identity or Hero code name.
“It certainly sounds like this Killshot woman has the power needed to kill Dreadnought and Killer Cobra the way they died,” Detective Rodriguez said thoughtfully once I had finished. “Anyway idea what her motive for killing them might have been?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, crossing my fingers. Shadow rolled her eyes at me.
“You got any leads on where I can find Killshot?” the detective asked. “Now that I know of her, I would very much like to talk to her.”
“We’re working on that. As soon as we know something definitive, we’ll let you know.”
“You do that,” she said. “I hate to have open murder cases. Even if the victims are men like Dreadnought and Killer Cobra. The fact they were scum does not mean their killer should be allowed to get away scot-free.”
“Will do,” I said. We said our good-byes to each other and hung up. Shadow and I looked at each other.
“Three dead Metas: Dreadnought, Killer Cobra, and Eugene. Killshot is a busy beaver,” Shadow said.
“And those are just the ones we know of,” I said. “Killshot apparently makes her living as a professional assassin. Who knows how many people she’s killed over the years. Even her psych profile in her Guild file said she had sociopathic tendencies. And that was when she was trying to be a Hero.”
“I think our next move is to pay a visit on that Shrapnel character the Scarlet Centurion told us about. It seems to be the only active lead we have right now,” Shadow said.
“I was thin
king the same thing.” I paused. “I must say I’m proud of you. You’re thinking like a detective. Perhaps I’m rubbing off on you.”
Shadow made a face.
“Oh God, I hope not,” she said. “Since you also were thinking about talking to Shrapnel, it must be a bad idea. How about this for a plan instead: as Killshot seems to be killing Metahumans left and right, one of us could stand outside and wait for Killshot to amble along and shoot us in the head. Then, the other one could grab her.”
“Interesting notion. Are you volunteering to be the one who gets shot?”
“No,” she said.
CHAPTER 24
“Hello?”
“Is this Jeremiah Longfield?” I said into the pay phone outside of the convenience store. Graffiti was all over the phone and the metal pole it was mounted on. I was in a bad part of Astor City. I was tempted to draw my gun and brandish it around proactively, but that seemed a bit of an overreaction.
“Yes.” The man’s voice sounded suspicious.
“My name is Nathan, and I’m with the National Television Rating Company,” I said. “I want to ask you—”
“Look buddy, no offense, but whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” Jeremiah said impatiently.
Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot Page 18
