Superhero Detective Series (Book 1): Superhero Detective For Hire

by Brasher, Darius

George nodded.

  “Do you carry a gun?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Can I see it?” What was it with people wanting to see my gun?

  “No,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because George, if I take out my gun, it will be for the purpose of shooting you.”

  George smiled at me again.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he said. God, he was a cool customer.

  “I guess that depends on whom you ask. If you ask Eileen and all the other women you are blackmailing, I would guess more than just a few of them would want me to shoot you,” I said.

  George sat back in his chair. He crossed his legs.

  “Well, you certainly have been doing your homework,” he said. “What else do you know about me?”

  As I wanted to impress on him the dirt I had uncovered on him, I went ahead and told him.

  “I know you are a Metahuman with the ability to record what you see,” I said. “I know there is no Heroes’ Guild record of a Metahuman named George Chase, or named any of the other aliases you go by such as Sidney Waters or Timothy Barnes. As I’m sure you know, a Metahuman not registering with the government is a jailable offense.

  “I also know you have no visible means of legal support. You earn your living by targeting and sleeping with women who are married to wealthy men. As with Eileen, you pick up some of these women at Zenith Fitness, which has a very wealthy client base. Using your powers, you record your sex acts with these women. You then use those recordings to threaten to expose them to their husbands and the world at large. You extort enough money from these women to support your lifestyle,” I said. I then listed some of the names of the women I had recorded from the notebook I found in his bedroom desk.

  George listened to me patiently and silently while I spoke. When I finished, he clapped his hands lightly together.

  “Bravo!” he said. “I am very impressed. You managed to dig all that up without me even beginning to suspect someone was rooting around in my life.”

  “I do what I can,” I said. I was starting to like the guy. He was completely unruffled by what I knew about him and what he had done.

  “I’m here to tell you to stop it,” I said. “Of your blackmailing of Eileen, at least. I don’t approve of what you’re doing to those other women, but it’s a big, bad world out there. I can’t help everybody. Those other women will have to fend for themselves. Besides, not everybody is paying me. But, Eileen is. So, you are going to leave her alone.”

  “And if I don’t?” he asked.

  “If you don’t, I will turn you into the Heroes’ Guild, the police, and anybody else I can think of, along with all the evidence about what I know. You will no doubt go to jail for a nice, long while,” I said. I glanced down at his food. “Unfortunately for you, they don’t serve oysters in prison. They also don’t have women there. A good looking guy like you would probably still be able to get plenty of action, though. I’ve sent some guys to prison in my time. I know what they do to satisfy their bodies’ cravings in there. ‘Gay for the stay,’ they call it.”

  I allowed myself a slight smile. I deliberately looked George up and down.

  “You would wind up being the bottom for some three hundred and fifty pound gangbanger named Tiny for sure,” I said.

  George looked at me. I held his gaze. After a while, he smiled at me.

  “No,” he said.

  “‘No,’ what?” I asked.

  “No, I’m not going to stop; no, you aren’t going to report me to the authorities; and no, I’m not going to be someone’s prison bitch,” he said.

  “What makes you so sure of that?” I asked.

  George speared another oyster. He chewed it carefully before answering.

  “Here’s the thing, Truman. Can I call you Truman?” I nodded and he proceeded. “I like women. No, I love women. I love the look of them, the feel of them, everything about them. And, they like me, which is why I am as successful with them as I am. They get as much out of our encounters as I do.”

  “Except they don’t get any money,” I interjected.

  George grinned.

  “True. I have managed to monetize my end of things. But, it’s not like I’m shaking down poor, single mothers for their last dime. I’m taking money from women who can afford it. What they pay me is a drop in the bucket compared to what they and their husbands make. And, like I already said, it’s not like the women aren’t getting something out of it. Do you know that of the women who I’m, um, extorting from as you so crudely put it, several of them continue to sleep with me even though they are paying me?

  “So, no, I’m not going to stop,” George said. He swallowed another oyster. “Did you know that, technically, only a woman can be a nymphomaniac? I learned that from a therapist years ago.” He grinned again. “Not one who was treating me, but one I was sleeping with. Men who have a sexual addiction suffer from satyriasis. That therapist told me she thought I had it. Satyriasis, that is. Maybe she was right. I do seem to have a hard time keeping my dick in my pants. I’ve found a way to make money off of my natural desires, and I’m not going to stop.

  “Let’s say you report me,” George said. “What happens then? For the police to charge me with something and have it stick, one of my lovers would have to be willing to come forward and make a complaint against me. But, they won’t. They know if they complain, the things I have against them will see the light of day. The same thing applies to you reporting me to the Heroes’ Guild for being an unregistered Meta. You haven’t seen me use any powers. Only my lovers have. Again, they are not going to step forward to complain.”

  George took a sip out of his glass. It looked like a red wine. He swirled the liquid around in his mouth and swallowed.

  “In short, reporting me does no good. So again, no, I’m not going to stop,” he said. “It’s a shame though. You seem like a nice guy. I’d like to accommodate you. But, like you said, it’s a big, bad world out there and I’ve got to look out for number one.”

  “You’re overlooking something,” I said.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “You’re overlooking the fact I might insist you stop. You’re overlooking the fact I might slap you around until you stop,” I said.

  George looked at me appraisingly.

  “Well, you’re certainly big enough to do it,” he said. “And, you move like you can handle yourself. But, there are several problems with the notion you might beat me up.”

  “Pray tell,” I said.

  George held up a finger.

  “Number one, I’m pretty sure the Heroes’ Guild takes a dim view of one of their licensed Heroes beating up a poor, defenseless citizen,” he said.

  “Maybe I don’t care what the Heroes’ Guild thinks,” I said.

  “Maybe. But I doubt it. When I was younger, I considered trying to get my license myself. I looked into what goes into it: the years of study, the physical conditioning, the discipline. I know how much work and effort goes into passing the Trials. I have a sneaking suspicion you would not want to jeopardize your Hero status over little ol’ me.

  “Now, let’s say I’m wrong and you don’t care what the Guild thinks,” George said. “I’ve been making a living of my wits and, ah, other assets, for quite a while now. In the course of making a living doing what I do, I’ve developed a really good feel for people. How far you can push them, what they will and will not do, that sort of thing.”

  George took another sip of his wine. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. It was fascinating to see how his mind worked.

  “You’re a big guy. Bigger than I. Plus, you say you have MMA training, not to mention superpowers that are perhaps more useful offensively than my own are. You might be able to kick the shit out of me if you wanted to. But, my reading of you tells me you won’t. Oh, I have little doubt you would beat someone up if you were defending yourself or someone else. But, beat me up just beca
use I won’t do what you tell me to do?” George shook his head. “I don’t think that’s your style.

  “Besides,” he said, “if I let you scare me off, what happens to the life I’ve built for myself? I can’t just stop what I’m doing and curl up into a ball every time someone looks at me hard. I like my life. I’m having a good time and making a pretty penny while I’m at it. And, you know what?” George grinned at me. “I am positive the women are having a pretty good time too.”

  George was finished with his oysters and drink. He pulled cash out of his pocket and left some bills next to his plate. He looked at me. He flashed a wolfish smile at me. I was sure it was the same smile he used to cause panties to drop.

  “Plus, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be quite so easy to slap me around as you think,” he said.

  George peeled a twenty dollar bill off of his roll and put it on the bar in front of me.

  “Have a drink on me,” he said. “Actually, since the money is coming from my ladies, have a drink on them instead.”

  George winked at me. He clasped me on the shoulder and walked away. I watched him swagger out of the restaurant. I just let him go.

  George was a criminal. Of that there was no doubt. But, I had to admit I liked him. He had style. He didn’t scare easily. And, he lived life his way on his terms. I tried to do the same. That was why I had been fired years before from my private security gig and why I was my own boss. I wanted to do what I thought was best in my way. I sensed George to be a kindred spirit.

  I turned back to the bar. I got the bartender’s attention and ordered a sparkling water. Being such a hard-assed, hard-boiled detective, I knew there was a chance the state would revoke my private detective license if I was spotted drinking something non-alcoholic in public. I would drink the water surreptitiously and hope no one noticed.

  I poured the contents of the bottle the bartender brought me into an empty glass. I picked the glass up and looked through it. Though I had not had a drink in years, the clear effervescent liquid looked just like a vodka soda. If I used my imagination, perhaps it would taste like one.

  I took a sip of it. I made a face. It tasted nothing like a vodka soda. My imagination must not have been as strong as I supposed.

  I thought about what George had said while I drank. He was right about some of the things he said, and wrong about others. He was wrong about me not wanting to violate Heroes’ Guild rules. The Guild would not be thrilled if it knew I had broken into George’s place, for example. I had done other things in the past the Heroes’ Guild would not approve of. I would no doubt do more such things in the future. At the end of the day, I answered to my own conscience and my own conscience alone.

  But, George was right that it was not my style to beat him up simply because he was doing something I told him not to do. I had the need to hurt people in the past, but it was always because I was defending myself or someone else. I had never hurt someone simply to impose my will on him. I would not start with George. As I said, at the end of the day I answered to my conscience. My conscience would not allow it.

  I polished off my drink. I left George’s twenty as payment and tip. An old cop I used to have dealings with always said, “If someone wants to give you money, take it.” As long as taking it did not corrupt you, I tended to agree with him.

  I left the restaurant and walked to my car. It was a chilly night. I cinched up my trench coat. Yeah, I had just gotten finished drinking sparkling water, but at least my coat was true to my hard-boiled detective roots.

  George was right about my unwillingness to slap him around. But, I had been hired to get him off of Eileen’s back. That was exactly what I was going to do.

  I did not enjoy being thwarted. I was determined to not be thwarted for long.

  CHAPTER 10

  Two days later, I sat behind the desk in my office with my feet up on the windowsill. I had finished my morning run around the nearby city reservoir a short time before. My sweaty tee shirt was half dry. I had on athletic shorts and running shoes. The shoes cost more than something which was not gold-plated had any right to cost. They were comfortable to run in, though. I felt as fleet of foot as the Roman god Mercury with them on. If any evildoer thought he would escape from my clutches on foot while I was so attired, he had another thing coming.

  Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue streamed from my computer. I hummed along to it as I looked out the window. If every piece of music were as beautiful, the world would be a better place. But, the world was what it was, and not every song was a Gershwin tune.

  I had spent the day before successfully wrapping up a job for an insurance company client. Now that it was over, I could turn my full attention back to George Chase. I was spending my post-run cool-down mulling over ways to get him to cease and desist when two men on Paper Street below caught my attention.

  At first, I was not quite sure why the two caught my eye. As I watched, they climbed out of their parked car. The larger of the men was overweight, but it was a hard looking kind of overweight. He looked like the kind of guy who belonged in a boxing ring. His companion was shorter and wiry. The shorter one had his light jacket zipped all the way up.

  The men crossed the road in the middle of the street and walked towards my building. They were lost to my view as they entered my building.

  A pinprick of warning tickled the back of my brain. I had learned to trust my gut over the years. I thought a bit about what it was about the men that had drawn the attention of my subconscious mind. Then it dawned on me. It was the zipped up jacket. I had been outside not that long ago. It was an unseasonably warm fall day. Why did the wiry man have his jacket zipped all the way up unless he was concealing something within it? And, had that been a slight bulge I had seen under the jacket?

  Maybe the men were coming into my building to buy insurance from the insurance broker on the second floor. Maybe the sister of one of them worked in the office down the hall. Maybe they were cake decorators scoping out a new location for a store. There were an unlimited number of reasons why the men could have been entering my building. Maybe I was just being paranoid. But, even paranoids have enemies.

  I put my feet on the floor and turned around to face my desk. I slid open the drawer on the right, the one containing the loaded Beretta semi-automatic pistol with the safety off and a round in the chamber. I shut off the music. I stretched out my awareness. In a minute or so, I sensed two men walking down the hall towards my office. They were the right size and shape to be the men I had spotted on the street. I felt my heart begin to beat a bit harder.

  The door to my office opened. The two men stepped in. The smaller man stepped to the right of the door; the larger man stepped to the left. I knew they did it so my attention would be divided. This was clearly no Avon sales call.

  The bigger man had sandy hair and pale white skin. He wore faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved tight grey tee shirt that curved out over a prominent belly. My initial assessment had been correct: the guy was overweight, but it was a hard fat. He was carrying around a lot of muscle under that extra weight. His nose was big and flat, as if it had been broken and re-broken several times. If so, I knew the feeling.

  His companion was darker hued, as if his ancestors hailed from somewhere sunny. His jacket was still zipped up, and the bulge underneath I thought I had noticed before was most definitely there. It could have been a very large tumor. It was more likely a gun. The man had a full beard. I did not approve of the recent fashion trend of men having full beards. Guys were starting to look like nineteenth century United States Presidents. I did not mention my disapproval though. Few people were interested in my fashion advice. Their loss.

  Together, the two men together looked kind of like a modern day Laurel and Hardy. Only meaner.

  “You Truman Lord?” the wiry one with the beard asked me.

  “The man, the myth, the legend,” I said. “You gentlemen looking to buy some insurance? Or, perhaps you’re seeking a beard trimmer? Or, maybe yo
u’re cake decorators. If so, my friend,” I said, looking at the fat one, “you’ve been eating too much of your own product.”

  My wrist rested on the lip of the open drawer containing the gun.

  “We ain’t here to buy nothin’ or about no fuckin’ cakes,” the big one said. “We’re here to tell you to keep your nose outta where it don’t belong.”

  “We are not here to buy anything,” I said.

  “What?” the big one said.

  “You said ‘We ain’t here to buy nothing.’ What you should have said is ‘We are not here to buy anything,’” I said. “I abhor bad English. Don’t you?”

  “You bein’ a smart-ass?” the big one said.

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s been my experience a bit of wit lightens the burdens of an otherwise humdrum, dreary day. Do you find that to be the case, too?”

  The two men glanced at one another. I was not what they had been expecting.

  “Buck,” the wiry one said, speaking to his companion, “why don’t you show this asshole what we think of smart-asses.”

  Buck took a couple of steps in my direction. He froze in place when I lifted my gun out of the open drawer and pointed it at his big belly.

  “If you move another inch, I’ll ventilate your friend’s stomach for him,” I said to the wiry one. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen him start to reach under his jacket. He froze at my words.

  “Now put your arms down at your side,” I said to him. I still held my gun on Buck.

  For an instant, the wiry one did not move his partially raised hand. The world stood still. The situation danced on a knife’s edge; it could have gone either way. I had already decided if the smaller one moved a hair further in the direction of his gun, I would turn and shoot him first. He posed the most pressing threat. I kept my gun aimed on Buck, though. If I moved it prematurely to cover the other one instead, the wiry one might panic and try to get his gun out to shoot first.

  The crisis point passed. The smaller man dropped his hand to his side. I let out the breath I suddenly realized I had been holding.