Subject 12

by S. W. Douglas

  "The rolls?" I felt a bit lost.

  "Sorry. Made him a Titan. You know, one of the inner council." She took another sip of her drink, which was starting to get rather low by this point. "But nobody gets put on the rolls. When the four of us die that's it for the Titans. He couldn't accept that." She set the glass down and speared me with a look. "And you'll find out in a little while just how much trust I put in you to tell you any and all of that."

  To a police officer, all of that probably would have spelled Motive with a capital M. To me it was just an interesting side note. It was too pat to mean anything. Besides, why wait till now to do it? And why not target Venom directly?

  "Would you say he had a grudge with Steamroller?"

  She chuckled. "If I didn't know better I'd say the two of them have been having an affair for the last decade, so no."

  That was surprising. "Would you mind explaining?"

  "Oh, the usual. I've seen them holding hands sometimes when they're alone, sneaking off together, talking in whispers and suddenly stopping whenever I walk in on them, though she denied all of it whenever I asked her about it. It's weird. Normally she tells me everything. And I mean everything," she said, shuddering. "Way too much information sometimes."

  If what she was saying was true then yes, that was weird. "How long did you say this has been going on?"

  "Oh, Christ, at least a few years, so maybe even longer. I only remember thinking something weird was up at a birthday party a few years back when I walked in on them hiding out in the utility room Wildcard sleeps in. I was a little drunk so I didn't think anything of it till the next morning when neither of them asked me to whip up a hangover cure."

  "Have you seen anything like that since you got together this last time?"

  "Come to think of it, no. Well, once. The night we went to Rio, they got into an argument over something and excused themselves to finish their discussion without distracting us. Then there was this crap this morning, and of course that bastard accused me of causing it. Beyond that, no, nothing." She looked thoughtful.

  "Thanks. Is there anything else you can think of?"

  "I'd watch out for him. His reports about you weren't very kind, and when we showed up down there he seemed hell-bent for leather to prove that you were too dangerous to trust. So was Clarence. They both advocated execution, especially since you'd killed Grid Iron, Speedfreak and the other one there, I can't remember his name, so damn easily."

  "I never learned it," I said matter-of-factly. "But it doesn't really matter at the moment," I continued, trying to redirect the conversation from what I'd done to what I'd asked her. "Do you think this attitude would have carried through despite the four of you deciding against it?"

  "Four of us? Honey, didn't you pay attention this morning? Corrine was dead-set against giving you any kind of chance. She only gave in when both Jackhammer and I said we should give you one."

  Okay, that wasn't what I'd expected. "Go on."

  "Well, she's the one who demanded that I drug you into cooperation. Well, that and try to use my 'feminine wiles' to help things along." She didn't blush, but the look of embarrassment was hard to miss. I couldn't tell if it was faked or not. "I didn't want to drug you, because I didn't know how you'd react. I needed to taste you first to make sure anything I did wouldn't kill you, but if I was to have something ready I had to prepare it ahead of time. You can see my quandary."

  I nodded.

  "I don't know, really. I mean, Ray's a doctor. He has a prescription pad and everything. He got a Ph. D. in psychology before he even joined the Guild, ran a small practice in Newark before he discovered his talent." She sighed again. "Since I didn't give her anything, that just leaves him."

  "You seem pretty sure Wildcard didn't do anything."

  "You bet your ass I'm sure. He my have lost most of his marbles but he still wouldn't do something like this!" Her conviction was convincing.

  "Alright, thank you." I stood up and made to leave, but I stopped short of the door by a step or two. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

  She thrust her chest forward slightly and smiled. "Of course not."

  "Do you have a daughter named Jessie?"

  The smile died on her face. "Why do you ask?"

  I shrugged. "I met a very pretty teenager at the Guildhall in Reno. I guess she was seventeen, maybe eighteen. She was wearing a costume she said her mother designed."

  "So what?" Her words and tone were casual but I could see the worry behind her eyes. Maybe all the friendly was an act for my benefit, hey?

  "She told me that Grid Iron had been harassing her. I got the specifics of one instance, but I had the feeling there was a lot more." I shrugged again. "If she is your daughter, you might want to call her and ask about it. Then again, you might not." I grabbed the door knob but didn't open it quite yet. "She doesn't know her mother is a superhero, from what she said. I didn't talk to her long, though."

  She said nothing, but the worry was even more obvious. Worry for what, though? Did she think I was making a threat?

  "Either way, though, I'll see you for supper. I'm pretty sure lunch has been canceled."

  Wildcard was sitting in the dining room playing a bizarre, probably incomprehensible, solitaire variant that involved two incomplete decks and three dice of various colors and sides. He had been waiting for me, judging by the reaction I got when I stepped into the room. The grayish color scheme his costume had taken on was enough to make me uneasy, though I hated to admit it.

  When he heard my footsteps coming down the hallway he looked up and brought one hand to his face with his index finger to the approximate location of his lips. His other hand went flying off in another direction and came back with a piece of paper and a white-capped orange tube. He dropped the tube in my hand and brought the paper back to rest in front of him. His first hand went for a stand next to the table and picked up a pen. I glanced at the tube and saw it was a prescription bottle for thirty pills and that the script was for Wildcard. I didn't recognize the chemical name, but five would get you ten it was some form of mental health meds, and probably quite potent at that. I shook the bottle and a few pills rattled around inside. I looked up at Wildcard and made cocked my head to the side in a questioning way.

  He held up his right hand and flashed five fingers three times, then pantomimed that I should open the bottle, so I did. I rolled the pills around the bottom a couple times but saw nothing amiss. He flashed the fingers again, so I guessed he wanted me to count the pills.

  Fourteen.

  I counted again, just to make sure I hadn't miscounted. Fourteen inconspicuous, moderately-large orange-tan pills, were all that were in the bottle. When I looked up again he brought both hands off the table and, of course, there were fifteen fingers between them.

  I sat down quickly.

  "Are you saying that one of your pills is missing?"

  He nodded.

  "Is that paper so you can answer my questions better?"

  Another nod and a slight lifting of his mask where his mouth would be.

  "Then I only have one question. What is that pill for?"

  He wrote quickly and handed me the paper.

  "It keeps me from turning into a zombie."

  I handed paper back. "You mean a mood elevator?"

  A quick nod. He scribbled something more and passed the paper back. "Very potent. Read bottle warnings."

  There were six stickers: Take with food. Do not break or chew. Women should not take or handle. Keep out of reach of children. Have doctor check hormone levels frequently. Do not take with another hormonal replacement therapy.

  "This isn't really a mood elevator, is it?"

  He shook his head then shrugged. Another scribble gave me my answer. "Rare condition requires hormone balancing."

  I nodded. I wasn't sure what he was saying but I think I knew what he was getting at.

  "If a woman with a very small build were to take one of these pills, at this strength,
do you think she would have a bad reaction?"

  He nodded and crumpled the paper up. A quick toss put it in a nearby trash can.

  "Who knew you had these?"

  He tapped the bottle where the prescribing doctor's name was printed on the label. Apparently it was a Doctor R. H. Hollidae. I didn't recognize the name. I tried to indicate as much with a shake of my head and a small shrug.

  The frustration was obvious even through his faceless mask. He tried to say something a couple of times but gave up quickly. Finally an idea came to him and he stretched his arm out so he could bend it into letter shapes.

  First it was an R that took some doing, then an A, followed by a Y that took him through such contortions I was amazed he managed to pull it off, then an M, O, N and finally a D.

  "Raymond prescribed these pills for you?" He nodded emphatically. "When?"

  I could hear the curse without him even saying it. He twisted his head this way and that but there were no more loose sheets of paper kicking around within sight. I happened to glance down at the label again and spied the "first fill" date printed at the bottom.

  "He prescribed these for you two weeks ago?"

  I had to give him the bottle back before he could figure out how I knew, but he confirmed it.

  "How the hell did he do that? No, don't answer. Was this a totally new prescription for you?" When he nodded I pressed on. "Has it really done anything?" He shook his head. "Did he tell you it might take time to build up in your blood?" A nod. "For you, it'll take time, but for a woman it's an instant hormone dump? That's weird."

  He nodded again.

  "I think I need to talk to Raymond. Right now." I stood up and waved my hand. "Care to be my wingman?"

  His mask crinkled slightly in what I could only guess was a smile and his costume colors shifted into more of a rosy hue. He stood up and gestured for me to lead the way.

  Raymond was in the infirmary, surrounded by more than enough medical equipment to open a hospital in a third world country. I was a little surprised by both the amount and the newness of the machines. Some of them looked like they'd been installed only last week.

  I didn't realize how appropriate where he was actually was until till it was too late to say anything pithy.

  Wildcard had taken up a flanking position about a step to my left and about half a step behind me. The anger radiating from him would have made me uneasy if I wasn't sure it wasn't directed at me. If Raymond noticed it he made no sign.

  I glanced around quickly, trying to get an idea of where everything was in case this went sour and I needed a line of retreat or, at the very least, a hiding place. The layout was logical and clean, which I appreciated. It had obviously been designed rather than allowed to grow organically like a lot of slapdash places I'd been in my life.

  That Raymond might be totally ignorant of our presence had occurred to me, but I discounted the idea without hesitation. I hadn't tried to be quiet, and even though Wildcard moved with as much noise as a ghost sliding down a greased hallway on ball bearings, there was no way he'd not noticed us.

  And yet he ignored us. I stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge us. This was not a time to give up any power by begging him to respond. My attempt to put myself in the dominant position from the beginning was thwarted, however. Wildcard, not as patient as I, acted before I could stop him.

  He stretched across the room and grabbed Raymond's shoulder, spinning him around in the chair he'd been ignoring us from. Then, grabbing my arm, he pulled me along as he brought the rest of himself across the room as well.

  It was an interesting experience, to say the least.

  Face to face with him, or at least face to the montage of facial features he was showing, it wasn't hard to read the fear in his eyes. Even with the differing hues and shapes, he couldn't hide his nervousness.

  "Hello, Hypnotico," I said casually even though he'd never introduced himself as such. "I understand you used to be someone important."

  "Wildcard," he replied, trying to ignore me, "what are you doing? Has this man told you something? Did you forget to take your medicine this morning?"

  I had to physically restrain Wildcard from slapping him. His mind was made up.

  "Actually, doc," I said, motioning for my companion to chill out, "he did. Apparently so did someone else."

  Raymond's eyes flickered to my face for half a second before he could get himself under control again.

  "Wildcard," he intoned, his voice dropping half an octave and taking on a soothing quality that ate at the corners of my mind. "Wildcard. Did you do something bad with your medicine?"

  This time it wasn't Wildcard who tried to slap him - and I didn't try. The palm of my hand caught his face, cupped over his ear, in a painful blow, but I didn't hit him quite hard enough to deafen.

  The sound hurt my ears, though.

  "Don't you try your bullshit with me, you hypno-dweeb," I cautioned him as he held a hand over his ringing ear. "And if you try it with him I'll rip your goddamn tongue out."

  "I was wrong about you," he said a moment later in his normal voice. He straightened and looked me in the eye. "I knew you were a sociopath but I didn't think you were a sadist."

  It was the perfect response. If I hit him again I proved him right. If I didn't then he'd scored a point I couldn't get back. If I said anything that contradicted him I either gave up a point or, again, proved him right.

  "At least I'm not too scared to fight my own battles," I said cheerfully.

  Or I could turn it around on him. Now why hadn't I thought of that...

  "Says the man with a maniac at his side," he replied testily.

  Point to him. "First off, he's not a maniac. If you were any kind of head-shrinker you'd know that already. Secondly, I'd rather have one at my side than be one like you."

  "Be one? If that's not the pot and the skillet calling the kettle black!"

  "Hey now, let's not make this about race."

  "What?"

  Perfect.

  "You drugged her because she was married to a black man. Admit it!"

  "What? No! You're insane!"

  "Then you admit to drugging her!"

  "I never said that!"

  Now it got tricky. The more outlandish my claims the more frustrated he'd get --- or the more cocky. Either way, he'd slip up. If he was guilty, and I had no doubt at this point because of how he'd immediately tried to twist Wildcard against me, he'd admit it. Somehow. That meant I had to be alert for anything.

  "All you said was you didn't do it because she liked to grunt and groan under the thrusts of a man whose skin is darker and dick is bigger than yours. You didn't say you didn't do it. So which is it? His skin? His dick?" I leaned in closer. The words Venom had said to me rang in my ears and nearly brought a smile to my face "I bet it's his dick. But I don't think it's because it's bigger than yours. You just want it." I smiled and brought my lips as close to him as possible. My next words were as quiet as I could make them and still be sure he could hear them. "Inside you."

  "You're sick!" His protest included a body spasm that sent his chair backwards enough he could get to his feet if he chose to.

  "I'm not hearing a denial there. How about you?" I turned to Wildcard and watched him shake his head. He was loving this, judging by the colors dancing around his costume. If my guess was right... "See, even he agrees ---"

  Just as I had thought, Raymond had jumped to his feet the instant my attention was diverted. He had pulled something out of his pants pocket and was swinging it my way.

  Sometimes shortcuts were the best way.

  I threw myself forward and grabbed at his wrist but missed. That wouldn't normally have been a problem, but by then he had time to activate the device and the greenish gas that hit me in the face disoriented me severely.

  I landed hard, knocking the wind out of me and making me even more woozy. Whatever it was, it had a mild anaesthetic quality because not only was I floating, I wasn't feeling much pain.<
br />
  Yeah, it'd gotten tricky, alright.

  I saw feet moving; a pair in loafers and a pair bedecked in some wild colors highlighted with a playing card motif. My brain refused to recognize anything more than that. They danced around each other for an interminable length of time when suddenly there was a loud snap, a scream, and something went flying into the wall.

  A few moments later my brain started to clear. Soon, it had cleared enough I could recognize more of what was going on.

  Raymond was holding his arm tightly against his chest as he sat against the wall I was facing. My head was pounding, my chest ached like I'd been having a hard time breathing, and I tasted something that I could only describe as a moldy onion sandwich. I tried to push myself up and found my arms not only didn't want to work but they seemed to be taking messages from a part of my brain I wasn't in control of. That is to say they were quivering. So were my legs, actually.

  I tried to force both of my legs to obey and, when that failed, I turned my attention to my arms so I could drag myself across the floor if I had to. This also failed.

  Wildcard's feet were close enough to my head I had to stop. I felt hands grabbing my shoulders and the next thing I knew I was being held upright and propped into a chair. My arms and legs had stopped quivering but felt numb. Overall I was still quite woozy, but at least I could think, if slowly, and my mind was clearing.

  Something told me I shouldn't still be breathing.

  "What the hell was that?" I tried to ask. What came out, well, wasn't exactly the same.

  "What, oh fuck my fucking head!" didn't quite make it out either.

  "Wha-oooooooooooooooh," did, however. If my arms had been working I'd have put both hands on my temples as I tried to rub away the stabbing pain. Instead I slumped forward and didn't fall only because Wildcard caught me and pushed me back into place. I whispered some kind of thanks and closed my eyes because the light suddenly became very painful as well. I kept my breathing very even as I tried to get myself under control. "Thank you," I whispered hoarsely at Wildcard.