Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot

by Darius Brasher

  “I’m not selling anything,” I said quickly before he hung up on me. “In fact, I’ll pay you one hundred dollars for literally three minutes of your time to ask about your television viewing habits.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. One hundred dollars for three minutes was a pretty good rate of return. Corporate lawyers did not make that much per minute.

  “Okay,” Jeremiah said, “but make it quick.”

  I asked the man some questions about his viewing habits, in the course of which I verified the information I already had for him: his age, occupation, and address. Once I had everything I needed, I assured him he would receive a check from my company in the mail. I hung up the telephone receiver. Jeremiah Longfield was the real name of Shrapnel, the registered Metahuman the Scarlet Centurion had mentioned to me and Shadow. Now that I had confirmation Shrapnel still lived at the address I had earlier gotten for him from the Guild, I planned on showing up on his doorstep. Not for the purpose of delivering a check, though. I suspected Shrapnel would be disappointed to see me instead of a check. Life was full of disappointments.

  It had taken me longer to locate a working pay phone than it had for me to speak to Jeremiah. I had not wanted to call him from either my office or my cell phone. I did not want to tip Shrapnel off that I was looking into him. But, I did want to verify the information the Heroes’ Guild had on Shrapnel was accurate before I made the cross-country flight to visit him.

  As I walked away from the phone booth, I nodded at the two young, tattooed Hispanic men standing nearby. They did not nod back. They had been waiting for me to get off the phone. They looked at me suspiciously. They probably thought I was a cop. Due to my size and the way I carried myself, I was often mistaken for one. The fact I was a white guy in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood did not help. Even so, it hurt my feelings to be racially profiled. I in turn thought the men were drug dealers who were trying to stay off of law enforcement’s radar by using pay phones. But, perhaps I was doing the men an injustice by thinking that of them. Maybe they were hanging around the pay phone because they were expecting a call from their priest. Or, maybe they were waiting to hear if their applications to Harvard Medical School had been accepted.

  I got into my car, which was parked in the convenience store parking lot. Before I drove off, a thin white woman walked up to the two men. Money and a plastic bag changed hands as deftly as a magician’s sleight of hand. That confirmed it: the men were not waiting to hear about medical school. Pharmacy school was more like it. I drove off, leaving the open-air pharmaceutical dispensary behind me.

  Earlier, I had contacted the Heroes’ Guild and gotten the home address and real name for Shrapnel. A licensed Hero was permitted access to such information about registered Metahumans as long as he swore under oath that the information was needed to further an investigation. I had to send a sworn affidavit to that effect to the Guild before it would release Shrapnel’s information to me. I knew all this red tape was in place to protect people’s privacy and preserve due process. But, sometimes it was a wonder to me the bad guys ever got caught in light of all the hoops one had to jump through in order to catch them.

  Since I was thinking about bad guys, I thought about calling the police and reporting the drug dealers at the pay phone. I did not do it. The men would probably wind up suing me for harassment and racially profiling them. Then, I had the opposite impulse to turn the car around and buy some of their product from them. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

  I managed to resist the temptation. I had enough problems as it was.

  CHAPTER 25

  The next day, Shadow and I got off a plane at the Portland International Airport in Portland, Oregon. I felt naked without a gun as we collected our bags from baggage claim and picked up our rental car. I could have brought my gun on a train again, but Shadow might have rioted had I suggested we take Amtrak all the way across the country. For that matter, I had not been terribly thrilled about the idea of it myself. I had briefly considered smuggling a gun onto the plane, and thought of a few ways I probably could have gotten away with it. I ultimately decided against making the attempt. I was in enough trouble as it was. I did not need to add a terrorism charge to all the things I was facing.

  “I really don’t like walking around unarmed,” I said to Shadow as she drove away from the airport in our rental car. I was in the passenger seat. A light rain was steadily coming down from a grey sky. Since this was the Pacific Northwest, that was hardly surprising.

  “I told you I can get in touch with some people I know. I can have any kind of gun you might want ready in less than an hour,” she said. “Besides, you’re a Hero who controls water. You’re surrounded by weapons.” She gestured at the wet windshield, on which the wipers were steadily moving back and forth.

  “Sure. But it never hurts to have a gun as backup,” I said. “But I don’t want to go through you to get access to a gun. When you say ‘some people I know,’ I know you mean criminals.”

  “Well of course I mean criminals. You can’t get nuns to deliver guns to you.”

  I shook my head.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “I have enough bad and illegal ideas all on my own. I hardly need you to enable me. Besides, I’m a licensed Hero. I’m supposed to be upholding the law, not finding new ways to subvert it. I’ve cut too many corners in this case already as it is.”

  “Well, if you find your head getting blown off by some Meta because you lack a gun to defend yourself with, don’t come crying to me.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” I said.

  While I navigated, Shadow drove us to the Pearl District in northwest Portland. We pulled up at the address I had for Shrapnel. It was six-story apartment complex. It was a red brick building with black accents. Some sort of ornamental, viny vegetation clung to the building’s facade as artfully as if it had been told to do so by the building’s architect. Maybe it had been. The building looked like something straight out of Architectural Digest magazine. The neighborhood looked like it belonged in Beverly Hills. Shadow and I looked at each other.

  “I thought you said the records for this Shrapnel guy indicated he was unemployed,” she said.

  “They did. He confirmed it when I spoke to him.”

  “Begs the question how he’s able to live in such a nice place in such a ritzy neighborhood.”

  “It does at that. We’ll be sure to ask Shrapnel how that is.”

  “So what’s the plan? Go up and just knock on Shrapnel’s door and ask him if he’s seen his old pal Killshot lately?”

  I shrugged.

  “It’s as good a plan as any,” I said.

  “What if Shrapnel’s not home, though? Though it shows poor taste, not everyone sits around waiting for us to knock on their door.”

  “If he’s not home, I figure we’ll let ourselves in and wait for him. I brought my lock picking tools with me for just that reason. They did not get stolen by the airport’s baggage handlers. Though it would be pretty ironic if lock picking tools were stolen.”

  “Carrying lock picking tools is against the law,” Shadow said.

  “True enough. But, Shrapnel’s the only lead we have left. We did not come all this way to go away empty-handed,” I said. I shrugged. “Besides, I’ve already been charged with crimes on the East Coast. Why should the West Coast be any different? If I’m going to be accused of crimes, might as well go whole hog and be bicoastal.”

  Shadow smiled slightly.

  “Oh, I wasn’t complaining,” she said. “I’m all for breaking the law. Since you’re willing to do it so readily, maybe I’m the one who is rubbing off on you.”

  We got out of the car. It was raining harder now. Almost immediately I felt water run down the back of my shirt and down my spine. I had on a baseball cap, khaki pants, a black long-sleeved tee shirt, and black running shoes. If I were true to my private detective roots, I would have on a fedora and a trench coat instead. Or, if I were true to my
superhero roots, I’d have on a cowl and cape. In either case, water running down my spine would have been less of an issue. It made me wish I had dug the ceremonial cape I had been given when I was sworn in as a Hero out of the back of my closet before Shadow and I had gotten on the plane.

  I created a small field around both myself and Shadow through which water could not penetrate. Water immediately stopped running down my neck. Who needed a trench coat when you had superpowers? Eat your heart out Sam Spade.

  The front door of Shrapnel’s building was locked. There was a keypad listing all of the apartments under an intercom, including Shrapnel’s in Apartment 6A. It was mid-afternoon and there was plenty of street and foot traffic. Though I did not like picking a lock with so many potential witnesses, I would take a chance. Besides, the lock did not appear complex. It would not take me long to open. I reached for my lock-picking tools in my pants pocket. Shadow reached out and stopped me. She started pressing the buttons for the apartments on the fifth floor. When she had hit the third button, someone answered.

  “Yes?” came a woman’s voice out of the intercom speaker.

  “I’ve got a flower delivery for Jeremiah Longfield in Apartment 6A,” Shadow said into the intercom. “He doesn’t seem to be home. I don’t want to leave the flowers out here. Someone might walk off with them.” Almost immediately, the door buzzed open. Shadow thanked the woman, and then followed me into the building.

  “Most women are suckers for flowers,” she said to me as we walked up the stairs. “Even if they aren’t for them.”

  “What would you have said you were delivering if you had gotten a man instead?” I asked.

  “Porn.”

  We went up to the sixth floor. Shrapnel’s apartment was towards the rear of the building. I stretched out my water awareness. My powers told me someone was inside the apartment. I knocked on the door. After a few moments, I heard footsteps and felt the person inside the apartment approaching the door.

  “Who is it?” a man’s voice asked. It could have been the voice I had spoken to the day before, but I was not certain.

  “We’re here to talk to Jeremiah Longfield,” I said.

  “What about?” the voice asked. I was now sure it was Shrapnel’s voice.

  “We want to talk to you about Brooke Cantrell,” I said. Sometimes honesty was the best policy.

  “Who?” the voice said.

  “Brooke Cantrell,” I repeated.

  Silence. Though I could not tell you why I thought so, I had the feeling Shadow and I were being looked at through the door’s peephole.

  “Okay,” the voice said. “Give me a minute to put some pants on.” The man’s water signature receded back into the apartment. After a few moments, I felt the man’s presence leaving the floor we were on. I hesitated for a moment, concentrating. It was no mistake: Shrapnel had definitely left the apartment.

  So much for honesty being the best policy.

  “Shrapnel just left the apartment,” I said to Shadow. “Either there is a back door or he went out the fire escape.”

  “Why do people always run from us?” Shadow said. “I’ll go outside and try to catch him going down.” She was moving down the stairs we had just come up as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She was almost a blur. With her heightened reflexes and speed, she really could move quickly when she wanted to.

  While Shadow tried to head Shrapnel off at the pass, I would go after him head-on. I kicked at Shrapnel’s door with the flat of my foot. The door did not budge. Pain danced up my leg and through my torso. I winced. Either Shrapnel’s door was solidly built, or I was not one hundred percent back to peak capacity after my recent injuries. Probably both. I kicked at the door again. Nothing. The impact made my teeth rattle. The third time I tried, the door flew open. I went inside in a rush. There was a short hallway that opened up to a large room. Directly ahead was a partially opened window. My powers sensed Shrapnel making his way down below the window.

  I ran to the window. I stuck my head out. I saw a small metal landing with rungs running up and down from it. A fire escape. A brown haired man was making his way down it. I opened the window wider and climbed out onto the grated platform. My climbing out there caused a ruckus. Through the holes in the fire escape, I could see Shrapnel look up from where he was climbing down. He freed an arm from a rung and lifted it, his palm open in my direction. I pulled my head back just in time. Sharp shards of metal flew up past me through some of the holes in the metal fire escape. Other pieces hit the escape, causing a clatter that sounded like the rain had suddenly turned into hail. A piece of metal ricocheted and glanced off my temple. There was sudden pain. Blood dripped into my eye. Another piece of metal impaled my wrist. It hurt like hell. I quickly pulled it out and dropped the metal shard.

  That was Shrapnel’s power: creating and projecting shards of metal from his hands at high velocity. Hence his code name. It was one thing to read about his powers in the Guild’s records on him; it was quite another seeing—and feeling—them in action.

  I was really sick of Metas shooting at me.

  Using the rain and the water dripping off of the fire escape, I formed a shield of ice immediately beneath the platform I was on. Shrapnel’s metal immediately stopped flying through the cracks in the platform, bouncing harmlessly off the thick ice. If anyone happened to look out their window during all of this, they were getting quite a show.

  I poked my head back out to where I could see Shrapnel. He had stopped shooting at me—probably because he saw it wasn’t doing any good—and had both hands back on the fire escape, climbing down. He had about two stories left to go. Shadow was nowhere to be seen in the alley the fire escape descended into. I did not want Shrapnel to get away. I had no clue how to find him again if I let him elude us.

  I concentrated on the part of the escape Shrapnel was on. I turned the wet surface of it ice cold. With my powers, I felt the part of the escape Shrapnel was furiously climbing down almost immediately being coated with a sheet of ice.

  With a cry of dismay and surprise, Shrapnel slipped. He fell. He landed like a sack of dropped potatoes on the ground below. For an instant I feared I had done the wrong thing as Shrapnel did not move. Then, he let out a moan I could hear from as high up as I was. He slowly got to his feet. He started to stagger off, towards the alley’s opening that was on the same side of the building Shadow and I had parked on. I gathered my will, preparing to incapacitate him before he could get away. No need. Shadow appeared at the mouth of the alley.

  Shrapnel raised his hands towards Shadow. A blast of shrapnel rocketed from his palms at her. Rather, they rocketed towards where Shadow had been. She was already moving, almost faster than the eye could follow. She dodged to the right, and sprang into the air. Her body moved like a bullet toward the building on the other side of the narrow alley. She spun in midair, pushing off of the building’s side right as she impacted it. Another blast of shrapnel hit the wall near where Shadow had been, but Shrapnel’s reflexes were too slow and Shadow was too fast. Like a smashed tennis ball angling off a wall, Shrapnel rocketed down towards Shrapnel. The heel of her foot clipped his jaw. His body spun halfway around like he had been slapped with a steel girder. He collapsed listlessly onto the ground. Shadow landed on the ground on her hands and knees like a cat that had hopped down from a table.

  Shadow stood up straight. She turned to bend over Shrapnel for a moment. Then she picked up him. She slung his unmoving body over her shoulder like he was a bag of sugar. I almost yelled down to her to tell her to bring Shrapnel up the fire escape rather than taking him around to the front of the building and bringing him up the stairs. The latter would attract too much attention. I smothered my cry. My yelling down might itself attract too much attention.

  I should have known Shadow did not need me to tell her the right thing to do. With Shrapnel still slung over her shoulder, she leapt up to grab the bottom rung of the fire escape. I got rid of the ice I had coated part of the fire escape wi
th so Shadow would not have a problem coming up. She started to climb up the fire escape as readily as a monkey climbing a tree. Shrapnel’s dead weight on her shoulder caused her no more problems going up the escape than a purse slung over her shoulders would have.

  I climbed back inside Shrapnel’s apartment. Shadow arrived outside the window shortly thereafter. I helped her get Shrapnel’s inert form through the window. I laid him on the floor. He was a medium-sized wiry man. He had on a polo shirt and dark jeans, no shoes or socks. I checked his pulse and breathing. He was still very much alive. He was merely knocked out cold. Good. It would serve this guy right if we had killed him. He had shot at us, after all. But, he was the last lead I had to finding Killshot.

  If Shrapnel turned out to be a dead end, I would have to fall back to Plan B to find Killshot: sending up smoke signals asked her to turn herself in.

  I was not optimistic about Plan B.

  CHAPTER 26

  Shadow climbed inside Shrapnel’s apartment from the fire escape while I went to the front door. It was still wide open from where I had kicked it in. My kicks had pulled the door knob strike plate from the door jamb. The deadbolt had not been engaged when I had kicked the door in, so it still worked. I used it to secure the door closed.

  I went back over to where Shadow stood over Shrapnel. Her torso was twisted around and she was bent over slightly. She pulled shards of metal out of the back of her leg. The middle of her clothed hamstring looked like a pin cushion. The ends of the pieces of metal she pulled out were bloody.

  “You were moving so fast out there, I did not even realize you had been hit,” I said.

  “If I had not moved as fast as I did, he probably would have hit something vital,” Shadow said, grimacing slightly as she pulled out another piece of metal. She was dropping the shards into a small plastic-lined trash bin she had pulled over from the corner of the room. She was careful to not drip blood onto the floor. “As fast as I am, he anticipated where I would be and fired where I would be rather than where I was. If it weren’t for my heightened reflexes, I doubt we would be having this conversation right now.” She glanced up at me. “I do this sort of thing for a living. Not too many people can bloody me when I’m trying to make sure they don’t. Scarlet Centurion I can understand. A retired Hero is still a Hero with years of combat training. But this guy?” she said, gesturing at Shrapnel with her chin. “He’s supposed to be an unemployed engineer who does not use his powers. If this guy is not using his powers on the regular, I’ll eat your hat.”