“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” I said. Though I did not say it, I thought about how Eugene might never have died had it not been for me. The least I could do was make myself a target to bring his killer to justice. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks to be a Hero. Actually, they don’t pay me the big bucks. Maybe someone will if I pull this off, though.”
“Better you than me. I’m no Hero. Volunteering to put myself in the line of fire is not my idea of a fun time or a good idea.”
I sat back down behind my desk to figure out whom I should call. The way to handle it would probably be to call one or two people every couple of days. I would not be a potential threat that needed to be eliminated to save Killshot’s and Shrapnel’s business if I contacted everyone the same day.
Shadow let out a long sigh.
“I’m going to hate myself later for even suggesting this, but do you want me to help you in making the calls? Maybe two targets are better than one,” Shadow asked.
“Thanks, but no. If we both make the calls, Killshot will target both of us. We won’t know which one of us she might go after first. If it’s just me who contacts the former clients, Killshot will just come after me.” I smiled ruefully. “Besides, if Killshot succeeds in knocking me off, you need to be around to avenge me.”
“True,” Shadow said. “Or pin a public service medal on her. Depends on my mood.”
I picked up my office phone. I made some calls.
CHAPTER 29
Days later, I was having a late dinner with Ginny at a busy Mexican restaurant we liked in Astor City—enchiladas and soft tacos for her, carne asada for me—when Killshot sat down at our table.
I recognized her immediately. She was wearing tight dark designer blue jeans, a white blouse with the top two buttons unbuttoned, shiny black high heels, and a necklace with large, pink-tinted gemstones around her throat. Unlike when I had last seen her in person in the Golden Horseshoe Casino, her hair was black instead of a shocking white. It was long, and pulled back into a sleek and chic ponytail. Unlike when I had seen her in the Perk Up coffee shop, her face was anything but plain and nondescript. It was artfully made up. She wore tasteful pink blush, her cheekbones were high and prominent, and she had on lipstick that matched the color of her necklace. She was beautiful. Lightning was often beautiful too, but that did not mean you wanted to be struck by it. Killshot looked more like a woman out for a fun evening on the town rather than like a Metahuman serial killer. Serial killers rarely actually looked like serial killers, which is one of the reasons why they were able to kill so effectively.
“Hello Truman. You’re looking well. Certainly better than you did the last time I saw you,” Killshot said. She smiled slightly. Her voice was higher than I remembered from the Trials. Her tone was friendly and familiar, as if I was an old friend she had not seen in years. Her dark eyes were not friendly, though. They were reptilian. They reminded me of the first time I had seen a crocodile in real life. Crocodiles were direct descendants of dinosaurs. The crocodile’s eyes had been cold, uncaring, unforgiving, and unflinching. It had been as if its eyes had been saying the crocodile and his kind had been here long before I arrived on the planet, and it would be there long after I left. Killshot’s eyes had the same look: implacable, pitiless, and coldly confident. It seemed like there was a faintly pink haze surrounding her left eye, but perhaps not. Anxiety can make one imagine things.
“Hello Brooke,” I said to her. I already had my gun out and pointed at her stomach under the tablecloth. I had drawn it the instant she sat down. If she was aware of it—and I had the feeling she was as her eyes were not those of someone who missed much—she did not seem to care. “Or, would you prefer your code name?” I got a faint whiff of her perfume. She even smelled good. The poisonous gas hydrogen cyanide smelled sweet too. That did not mean it was good for you.
Killshot smiled as if she was a game show host who had been given a correct answer. It was just as broad, and just as fake. Her teeth were unnaturally white and even. Her smile did not reach her eyes.
“I suppose I could say I’m surprised you have learned my real name, but frankly I am not,” Killshot said. “You have proven yourself to be resourceful and stubborn, more so than I would have expected of one who would allow his client to be killed so easily.” Killshot’s eyes shifted over to Ginny. “Any this must be your girlfriend Ginny Southland. No need to introduce us, Truman. I know all about her. Where she lives, where she works, that sort of thing. I’m pretty resourceful too.” The implied threat was not lost on me.
Killshot’s smile at Ginny widened a bit. “I love your dress, by the way,” she said to Ginny. Ginny was wearing a rich emerald blue sleeveless sheath dress. “It really complements your hair and skin color.”
“Thank you,” Ginny said uncertainly. She was normally very friendly, and a compliment from another woman typically would lead to a discussion about fashion. I think she sensed my tension. “How do you and Truman know each other?” Ginny asked.
“Truman and I are old friends. We stood for the Hero Trials at the same time. How long ago was that, Truman? Eight years ago? Nine? Ten? Where does the time go? As the cliché goes, it flies right by when you’re having fun.” Or killing people, I thought. Which, I supposed, was Killshot’s way of having fun.
“Ginny, this is Killshot, the woman I told you about,” I said. Ginny’s eyes widening slightly, but she did not otherwise react. I was proud of her. “Why don’t you excuse us for a few minutes while she and I chat?” Ginny pushed her chair back a bit from the table. If I knew Ginny, the moment she was away from the table, she would call Shadow and then the police. Some backup would be nice.
“If you move another inch, you’ll be dead before your butt clears the chair,” Killshot said to her. She said it conversationally, as if she was mentioning what the weather was like outside. The pink mist I thought I had seen around Killshot’s left eye grew more distinct.
Ginny froze. She looked at me.
“Why don’t you go ahead and stay after all,” I said to Ginny. Even if I shot Killshot, I wasn’t sure she would not be able to get her own shot off at Ginny. Ginny stayed where she was. “Besides, listening to me chat with Brooke here might prove entertaining. Like watching The Silence of the Lambs.”
Killshot smiled again at my words.
“I guess I’m supposed to be Hannibal Lecter in this little morality play?” Killshot shook her head. “The difference between me and Dr. Lecter is he was a cannibal and in prison. I am a vegetarian and as free as a bird.”
“For now,” I said. “The night is young.”
“Oh, I anticipate I’ll remain free for the foreseeable future. Both free and thriving. The thriving part is why I’m here, Truman. I make a decent living doing something I enjoy and that I’m very good at. The calls you are making to former clients of mine are having a negative impact on it.” She made a dismissive motion with her hands. “Oh I know the only reason why you are making these calls is to flush me out. I am no fool. I know you have been diligently looking for me ever since we last encountered each other in the Golden Horseshoe Casino. Whatever else you are, you certainly are dogged. So, I suppose congratulations are in order: You’ve found me.
“Now that I am here, I must insist that you stop calling my former clients. I want you to stop looking for me as well. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for you. That would be a good way for me to bump into a whole lot of walls.” Killshot paused. I think she was making a joke, and expected me to laugh. I could not muster up even a sympathy laugh. I am a stickler about not humoring murderous sociopaths.
Killshot’s brow furrowed a bit at my lack of reaction. She continued.
“Your phone shenanigans will cost me some clients, I fear. But, in fairness to you, I did cost you a client in the most permanent way possible. So perhaps the calls you have made balanced the scales of justice. We’ll call it a wash. From here on out, you go your way, and I’ll go mine. I am asking nicely
. Think of it as a professional courtesy, from one Metahuman to another. I’ll even say please.”
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
“Then I will kill everyone you care about or have ever cared about,” Killshot said. She stated it like she was reporting the score of a baseball game. She looked at me directly. It was like looking into a deep, dark hole with no humanity at the bottom of it. “I’ll save you for the end, of course, so you can fail in trying to stop me from killing everyone else. You will watch everyone drop like flies, one by one, until only you remain, knowing compliance with my simple request could have saved you so much heartache. I will start with that Amazon you associate with. Shadow, I think her name is?” Killshot made a tsk, tsk sound. “A dark-skinned black woman named Shadow? The name is a little too spot-on, don’t you think? Not very politically correct either, but I am not much for political correctness myself. So who am I to judge? Despite her silly name, Shadow has quite a formidable reputation. Good. I enjoy a challenge. I have yet to meet a nut I could not crack.”
Killshot’s eyes moved over to Ginny.
“Then, I imagine I will follow up on Shadow with sweet Ginny here as an encore.” Killshot drank Ginny in, as if Killshot was caressing her with her gaze. “It would be such a waste. You really are quite lovely. I would kill to have your flaming red hair and lovely pale skin. It would be a shame to see it go to waste.” For a moment, Killshot seemed almost regretful. Then, she suddenly brightened.
“I know what I’ll do. Before I kill you, I’ll scalp you. I’ll have your hair made into a wig. In my line of work, I need to use disguises from time to time.” Killshot seemed pleased at the thought of it. Her eyes lit up. It was the first genuine spark of real emotion I had seen in her since she had sat down.
“You’re trying to scare me,” Ginny said. “You don’t scare me.”
“Really?” Killshot frowned slightly. “You really ought to be scared. I thought Truman had told you about me.” She looked back at me. “I suppose she’s not as smart as she first appears to be. And I had heard she was in law school. I guess they will let just anyone in these days.”
Killshot paused.
“You mind if I have a sip of your water, Truman? Making threats does build up a thirst.”
I indicated yes with a hand gesture towards my glass. Killshot reached over and picked up my glass of water. She took a deep drink without taking her eyes off of me and Ginny.
“Ahhhh. Refreshing. And, far less addictive than alcohol. Wouldn’t you say, Truman?” Killshot asked. There was a slight smirk on her face. She was enjoying herself. I wanted to slap the look of self-satisfaction off her. I did not. One of the restaurant’s patrons might jump up and accuse me of being a misogynist again. I could only deal with one nutcase at a time.
“What’s to stop me from killing you right here and right now?” I said. My finger was on my gun’s trigger.
Killshot looked at me contemptuously.
“You mean with that gun you’ve got pointed at me under the table?” she asked. She seemed completely unconcerned and at ease. “Why, I suppose you could shoot me. I know I would, if the roles were reversed. But, the roles aren’t reversed. You’re still a licensed Hero, sworn to uphold truth, justice, apple pie, a mother’s kiss, and whatever other nonsense the Heroes’ Guild is spouting these days. You’re not going to kill me in cold blood. Besides, there’s no guarantee you’d get a shot off before I killed our lovely but stupidly courageous friend here,” Killshot said, inclining her head slightly at Ginny.
“So yes, you should kill me here and now,” Killshot said. “But you won’t. The precious but ultimately foolish rules Heroes like you follow won’t allow it. That is why, in the long term, people like me always win and people like you always lose. You never do the smart thing, the most efficient thing.”
Killshot was right. At least in part. I would not kill her. Not like this. She was a rabid dog who needed to be put down, but I could not kill her in cold blood. Neither could I let Shadow, Ginny, and others die. Too many people had already died at Killshot’s hands. I could not add more to the list. I had to end this. I had to end her.
“I’m not going to stop trying to bring you to justice,” I said.
Killshot smiled knowingly.
“I knew you would not. People like you never do,” Killshot said. She shook her head at me. She looking at me like I was her crazy uncle she was fond of, but did not completely understand. “I have to say I like you. Despite your Boy Scout ethics, you’re tough and tenacious and don’t take yourself too seriously. I respect that. Even when we met years ago I saw it. You’re different than a lot of other Heroes. They have sticks wedged so far up their rear ends that you’d think they had tails. Sanctimony is a superpower they all have in common. Not you, though. That’s why I gave you a chance to walk away from all of this. I hope you remember after I kill everyone you care about that I gave you that chance to end this without bloodshed.” Though her face looked slightly sorrowful, that was not the expression she carried in her mostly dead eyes. They were tinged with eagerness. It was the look a predator gave its prey. Killshot made as if to stand.
“Wait,” I said. Killshot paused and remained seated. “I have a counter-proposal, a way for us to resolve all this without involving anyone else. A duel to the death. No third parties, no guns, no weapons. Just you and me and our powers, Meta against Meta. We will find out who is best. If I win, justice will be served for Eugene and for all the other people you’ve killed. If you win, you can go on and generate more blood money unmolested.”
Killshot looked intrigued. It was an appeal to her ego and to her combative nature, traits I was banking on.
“A duel?” she said. Her head cocked to the side as she thought about it. “I must admit, the notion is tempting. It’s so poetic, so romantically primitive. One woman versus one man. A battle of wits, will, strength, and power. Alexander Hamilton versus Aaron Burr. The only question is, which of us will wind up like Hamilton?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you sure you agree that neither of us will bring weapons or help? I’m thinking specifically of that woman Shadow when I ask.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “You have my word.”
Killshot and I discussed for a bit when and where this would all take place. We settled on two days from now at the Astor City Coliseum. The Coliseum was a circular open-air stadium on the outskirts of the city. It used to be the home of Astor City’s football and baseball teams until a new stadium opened inside city limits last year. The Coliseum had not been used for well over a year, and was scheduled to be demolished early next year.
The Coliseum was out of the way and abandoned. It suited our needs perfectly. Plus, since it shared a name with the Roman Colosseum where the ancient Romans held gladiatorial contests, having a duel at the Coliseum only seemed fitting.
“What time shall we meet?” I asked.
Killshot smiled like a kid on Christmas Eve.
“Why, high noon, of course,” she said. “You’re not the only one with a streak of romance.”
“Noon it is.”
Killshot clasped her hands together in satisfaction as if we had just finished negotiating a business deal.
“I will see you in two days. Let the best woman win,” she said. I knew the use of the feminine noun had not been an accident. Killshot started to stand up again.
“Wait, before you go,” I said. “What happened to you, Brooke? You stood for the Trials. At one point, you wanted to be a Hero. Maybe you would have gotten your license had you kept trying. How do you go from wanting to be a licensed Hero to being a professional killer?” I wasn’t looking for an advantage, for something that would give me an edge against her. Rather, I was genuinely curious.
Killshot’s lips pursed slightly.
“The short answer? Money. Plus, doing what I do is a whole lot more fun than doing what you do. You Heroes all have a bunch of rules and regulations you have to follow.” She made a face. “The prospect of havin
g to ask ‘Mother may I?’ or listening for ‘Simon says’ before I do something makes me ill. As it is, I do what I want, when I want, to whom I want.”
Killshot’s face assumed a reflective cast.
“My parents and brother were killed by supervillains. After it happened, all I wanted was to be a Hero, to protect people like my mother and father and brother from people like us. To help people. I worked my fingers to the bone training, getting ready to be the best Hero I could possibly be. I was going to save the world, one person at a time.
“I apprenticed under a Hero named Scarlet Centurion,” Killshot said. I did not see any point in revealing I already knew that through talking to him. For all I knew, Killshot might go after him for talking to me. “In the course of that apprenticeship, he and I helped a lot of people. And, you know what I discovered? Most people do not deserve to be helped. Usually they are in whatever situation they need to be rescued from because their own stupidity or greed or lust put them there. Take your own client Eugene Poindexter. A contract was not taken out on him because he fed the homeless and tended to the sick. A contract was taken out on him because he saw something he never would have seen had he not been a supervillain. And, because he was about to betray his friends. He was no angel, no innocent who deserved to be saved.”
Killshot was warming to her topic. She seemed to enjoy talking about herself. I wondered if she had ever talked about these thoughts and feelings with anyone else. I suddenly felt like Doctor Phil. Perhaps if Killshot had consulted with an actual psychologist years ago, she would not have turned out as she had.
“I started to think the people I was training to protect did not deserve my protection,” she said. “And the few who perhaps did deserve it did not want it and resented it if you did protect them. After all, no good deed goes unpunished.”
Killshot reached over and took another drink of my water. It flashed through my mind to make her choke on it with my powers. But, I had already agreed to the duel.
Superhero Detective Series (Book 3): Killshot Page 22
