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

by Brasher, Darius

  Buck looked at me like he wanted to wring my neck. I managed to avoid fainting under his glare.

  “So,” I said conversationally, “what is it exactly I am supposed to be keeping my nose out of?”

  I kept my gun on Buck’s belly. No one said anything in response.

  “Don’t everyone speak up at once,” I said. I raised the gun so it was pointing at Buck’s head. I still kept a careful eye on the other one. I would not shoot Buck unless I had to in self-defense. But, they did not know that.

  “George Chase,” Buck finally said sullenly. “You’re supposed to keep your nose out of George Chase’s business.”

  “I see,” I said. “Who sent you here to tell me that?”

  Silence.

  I continued to point the gun menacingly. I had the feeling, though, if I was to get additional information, I was going to have to shoot one of them. And that, obviously, was not something I was going to do.

  The silence stretched on in the room. This was not getting me anywhere.

  “Well, if you are not going to tell me anything, scat,” I said.

  Neither man moved.

  “You heard me. Scat!” I repeated. I shooed the men dismissively with the back of my free hand. “Shoo. Skedaddle. Vamoose. Hit the bricks. Get out.”

  The men hesitated. Then, the wiry one turned towards the door. With a final glower at me, Buck followed his lead. I continued to hold the gun on them as they went to the door. I kept a careful eye on them, especially the wiry one with the concealed gun.

  “This ain’t over asswipe,” Buck said over his shoulder. “I’m gonna find out how tough you are without that gun.”

  “Oh goodie,” I said. “I’ll be looking forward to that happy day with bated breath.”

  The men left. They did not bother to close the door behind themselves.

  How rude.

  I stayed in my seat holding the gun. I monitored the men with my powers to make sure they were not going to double back and try to surprise me. But, I sensed the men go down the stairs to the ground floor.

  Still holding the gun, I turned to the window. In a few moments, I saw the men exit my building. I put the gun on top of my desk. I thought it unlikely I would shoot my foot off if I continued to hold it, but one could never be too careful. No one ever thought they were going to shoot themselves in the foot, and yet it happened more often than you would think.

  I watched the men cross the street in the middle of traffic. Cars honked at them. They were headed for the car I had seen them get out of. Their car was at the wrong angle for me to see the license plate. I was too far away to make it out clearly anyway.

  I lifted the window halfway. The sounds and smells of the city poured into my office. I stretched out my mind to encompass some of the water I kept in the glass bowl on my desk. At my mind’s command, the water shot out of the bowl and out of the window like a javelin. The water streaked towards the men’s car. Right as they were getting into it, I had the water hit the back license plate. I coated the plate with a sheen of liquid. License plates in our state were printed with raised letters and numbers. I closed my eyes. It was like reading braille. The characters on the plate appeared in my mind’s eye thanks to my probing water: UTC 982. I wrote the characters down on a pad of paper on my desk. My steel trap mind no doubt would have retained the information, but why take a chance?

  I turned back to the window. The men pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. I kept the water hovering on their license plate until they were so far away I could barely maintain a hold on the water. I released the water. It no doubt splashed onto the street. I closed the window. Blessed silence filled my office again.

  I knew the men were driving southwest, towards the outskirts of the city. But, more importantly, I had their license plate number. It was a clue.

  I turned the pad around to admire the writing from a different angle. In my business, sometimes you went quite a while without finding a clue. You had to really appreciate the ones you managed to get your hands on.

  I put the gun back into the desk drawer I had taken it out off. I picked up the glass bowl holding the depleted water. I took it to the bathroom at the end of the hall to refill it.

  As I did so, I thought about who had sent Laurel and Hardy to try to scare me away from George. The logical candidate seemed to be George. Who else could it have been? I had a chat with George, and two days later Laurel and Hardy showed up to put the fear of God into me. Or, at least they tried to. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But, chalking it up to coincidence did not do me any good. Assuming the two events were linked, however, did do some good. It gave me something to look into. Perhaps I could ask the owner of the car Laurel and Hardy had been in who sent them.

  I went back to my office. I put the water bowl down in its usual spot. I got on the phone with the local office of the Department of Motor Vehicles. I identified myself as a Hero and gave them my Hero license number. In addition to licensed Heroes being able to legally use their powers, we also had limited police powers. Those included being able to get information out of certain government agencies. Rank hath its privileges.

  I gave the guy I spoke to at the DMV the plate number from Laurel and Hardy’s car. He in turn gave me the name the car was registered to: David Hoff. He also gave me Mr. Hoff’s address and telephone number.

  After hanging up with the DMV, I looked down at Mr. Hoff’s name and address. I felt smug. It appeared to be a clue as well. It was the second one of the day.

  I was pretty sure this was some kind of record. Maybe I should have nominated myself for Super Sleuth of the Year.

  CHAPTER 11

  I rewarded myself for my sleuthing savvy by going out with Ginny Southland that night. It was our second date. Our first date days before had shown me there was more depth to Ginny than I had first given her credit for. She was putting herself through law school by working at Zenith Fitness. She was a second year law student at Astor City University Law School. Behind that pretty face was a sharp mind. I tried to not hold the fact she was studying to be a lawyer against her.

  I parked on the street by Ginny’s house shortly before 6:30 p.m. She lived in a townhouse in Brentwood. Brentwood was a neighborhood in Astor City that used to be so dangerous I would not have entered it back then without wearing body armor and updating my will first. Gangs having gun battles up and down the streets of Brentwood were the norm back then. But, the neighborhood had been gentrifying since those bad old days. The character of Ginny’s street and neighborhood were changing as people with money moved in, driving up the prices of the real estate so the older, poorer residents were slowly but surely being forced out. There was a known drug house still on the corner a few houses down from Ginny, though. Aside from that last vestige of the bad old times, the neighborhood was now so ritzy I wondered if I had to pay someone rent for the space I left my car in on the street while I went to fetch Ginny.

  Diagonally across the street from where I parked, a young man leaned against a tree growing next to the sidewalk. He was wearing baggy pants, a football jersey, and a backwards baseball cap. Despite his casual attire and posture, his alert eyes missed nothing. He looked like he had been standing there for a while and like he was not going anywhere any time soon. I had little doubt he was connected to the drug house on the corner.

  I nodded at the young man in acknowledgement. He nodded back. I was sure he would be happy to accept rent money for my car’s space. The problem was he would probably give me a baggie of illegal substances in exchange. Both the Heroes’ Guild and the cops would frown on that. But, it warmed the cockles of my heart to see young people keeping up the neighborhood’s old criminal traditions. And people said the young had no appreciation for history.

  I opened the gate to Ginny’s tiny front yard. I felt the dealer’s eyes on me as I walked up the short walkway to Ginny’s front door. His was a pretty good location to sling dope from. Because of the neighborhood’s rapid gentrification, there was
a low police presence. Also, middle class and affluent people felt a lot more comfortable coming to a safe neighborhood to buy drugs as there would be less chance of them being robbed or arrested.

  I laughed silently at myself as I knocked on Ginny’s door. Without even meaning to, I had been assessing the neighborhood as a base for criminal activity. On the upside, if I ever decided to jump to the other side of the legal fence, I would know how to set myself up as a criminal mastermind. I had a PhD in crime from the school of hard knocks. It was a side effect of what I did for a living, just like how I immediately found the entrance and egress points for every building I entered. One never knew when one would have to exit a place rapidly.

  Ginny opened the front door. My breath caught in my throat. She looked spectacular. She was wearing her red hair long, and it cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes were bigger and bluer than any human’s had any right to be. She wore an ocean blue blouse that accentuated her curves, and a not-quite-mini leather skirt that hugged them. Strappy high heels made her almost as tall as I.

  “Wow!” I finally managed to say. “I’m trying to not hold the fact you are a future lawyer against you. But, if I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold that against me instead?”

  Ginny grinned. She looked down at herself.

  “You like?” she asked.

  “Well, I certainly don’t hate,” I said.

  “Good. That means almost two hours of primping and preening have not gone to waste,” she said.

  “You mean you don’t roll out of bed looking like this?”

  Ginny touched my cheek after locking the door behind herself.

  “Of course I do. I was lying about the two hours of preparation. Always looking good is my superpower,” she said. “Darn it, now I’ve gone and blown my cover.” I had told Ginny during our last date I was a Meta. Oftentimes when you first told people you were a Meta, they either treated you like a hostile alien life-form or like a performing seal. Compared to the general population, there were not too many of us. Ginny had simply continued to treat me as a regular person. That reaction was one of the reasons I had asked her out for a second time.

  I checked Ginny’s legs out as she swung them into my car after I opened the door for her. Her legs were two of the other reasons I had asked her out for a second time.

  “Keep it real, my man,” I said to the drug dealer as I opened the driver side door. I shot him with my forefinger. Though the expression on his face stayed the same, the corner of his mouth twitched. Was it possible he was laughing at me?

  Ginny was most definitely laughing at me when I got into the car.

  “Are the kids no longer saying ‘keep it real’?” I asked Ginny once the door was closed.

  “The kids from a couple of decades ago probably still are,” she said, still laughing. “Do you know anyone with a time machine you can borrow?”

  I sighed. I put the car into gear and drove off.

  “How is a busy, on-the-go detective supposed to keep up with all the modern lingo?” I asked. “Crime-fighting does not afford me a lot of free time.”

  A short drive later, I found street parking near the restaurant, which was a minor miracle for downtown Astor City on a Friday night. We went inside. The restaurant was named Mandalay. It was a Burmese restaurant, and one of my favorite places to eat.

  After we were seated, Ginny looked down at the menu. There was a map on the right corner of the menu that was prominently labeled “Burma.”

  “Burma?” she said. “I thought the country was named Myanmar.”

  “I think it all depends on if you are for the military junta that took over Burma and renamed it Myanmar, or against it,” I said. “I’m pretty sure the owners of this place are against it.”

  “Well, I honestly don’t care if they call it Burma or Myanmar,” she said. “As long as they have good food and lots of it. I’m starving. Besides, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”

  I recognized the reference she made. It was to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

  “I hope, my dear Juliet, you are not expecting me to poison myself over you at the end of the evening,” I said.

  Ginny shook her head.

  “You and I are no tragedy. We’re a comedy for sure. So, the poison won’t be necessary,” she said.

  The waiter came over and took our orders. A few minutes later, he brought us our drinks. Ginny had a glass of red wine. I had a glass of water.

  “You’re a cheap date,” Ginny said, eying my glass of water. “If memory serves, you drank water the last time we went out too. Do you not drink?”

  I shook my head.

  “No. I like to avoid the empty calories of alcohol. I’m trying to keep my girlish figure,” I said.

  “No, I’m serious,” Ginny said. “Why do you not drink? Does it have to do with you being a—” She glanced around to see if anyone was listening. She made a waving motion with her hands.

  “A superhero? You can say it out loud,” I said. “It’s not a dirty word.”

  Ginny smiled sheepishly.

  “I was trying to avoid blowing your cover,” she said.

  “What cover? I don’t wear a costume or a mask. I don’t hide the fact I am a Meta. I don’t go around shouting it from the rooftops, either, though.”

  “Why don’t you? Wear a costume and mask, I mean?” Ginny asked. Our food was delivered to the table. I waited for it to be served before answering.

  “Heroes who wear a mask and costume generally do it for two reasons. One, they want to lead a normal life when they are not doing the whole superhero thing. Two, they want to protect the people in their private lives from being made the target of whatever supervillain or criminal they might fight. Or both,” I said. I took a bite out of my meal. I had ordered flat egg noodles mixed with vegetables, chicken, pork, and seafood. The sauce was spicy enough to clear not only my sinuses, but those of my immediate ancestors. It was just the way I liked it.

  “With me, I’m single and have no kids. My parents and older sister are all dead. I have no family to worry about protecting. As for leading a normal life when I’m not doing the whole superhero thing, my work is my life. I don’t try to build artificial barriers between the two,” I said.

  “You’ve got no family? None at all?” Ginny said.

  I nodded.

  “That sounds lonely,” she said.

  I shrugged.

  “I have buddies who are married with a bunch of kids. Some of them are the loneliest bastards I know. Besides, the fact I am alone does not make me lonely. It does give me the freedom of not having to hide my identity from the world, though,” I said. I grinned. “Besides, if I wore a mask, I would be depriving all of you lovely ladies of my ruggedly handsome face. That would be a crime against humanity. I am a Hero, not a villain, after all.”

  Ginny raised her wine glass to me in a salute.

  “On behalf of women everywhere, I thank you for the eye candy,” she said. She took a sip of her wine, and then glanced at my half-empty glass of water. “You never did tell me why you don’t drink.”

  “I’m a teetotaler,” I said. “I have been for years. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not opposed to drinking. I did my fair share of it when I was younger. Back then, I liked nothing better than a beer or a scotch on the rocks.” I got a sudden sense memory of the way scotch coated your tongue and burned your throat as you swallowed, suffusing through your bloodstream with a pleasant sensation of release. I had an impulse to order one. But, I resisted the temptation.

  “But, being a Metahuman, I don’t like to ingest anything that impairs my faculties or makes me lose control,” I said. “I’m not powerful enough to travel back in time or move the Moon from its orbit like some Heroes, but I still can do some damage when I let loose.” Images of the mangled bodies of the animals I experimented on when I was a teen ran through my mind. I tried to put the images out of my mind. It was not something you wanted to think about while you ate dinner.
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  “It would be far too easy to hurt someone seriously or kill someone without even really meaning to,” I said. “It’s that whole with great power comes great responsibility thing. Plus, like we already said, I don’t have a secret identity. I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years, and am easy to find. Look up tall, dark, and Heroic in the phone book, and there I am. I like to have my wits about me at all times in case someone decides to make a play at me.” I thought of the two men I chased out of my office earlier that day. “Hence, the no drinking.”

  Ginny nodded as she digested what I said.

  “Have you ever had someone come after you before?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Sure. More times than I would like,” I said.

  “Were you scared?”

  I nodded again.

  “Every single time,” I said.

  Ginny put her fork down and leaned back in her chair. She surveyed me thoughtfully.

  “That was not the answer I was expecting,” she said. “I was expecting you to say ‘No, I laugh in the face of danger,’ or some such macho rubbish.”

  “Anyone who says he is never afraid is either a liar or stupid,” I said. “There are some scary people out there. There are psychopaths and sociopaths walking around, looking for all the world like normal people until they rape you or shoot you in the head or stab you in the throat. But, not only that, we live in a world where people can fly, bend steel girders with their hands, and shoot bolts of energy out of their eyes. I’ve encountered my fair share of them. Of course I was scared of them at the time. I’m getting a little nervous just thinking about them right now. I would be a fool to not be afraid of them. The important thing is to do what needs to be done even if you are afraid.”

  “Courage is the not absence of fear; courage is taking action in the face of fear,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “I think that pretty well sums up what I’m trying to say. You do what you need to do even if the person you are facing can turn your flesh to stone with a glance and the idea of going up against him makes you pee your pants,” I said.