Omega Superhero Box Set

by Darius Brasher

  “I know you’re both a licensed Hero and a private detective. Mr. Langley recommends you highly.” I was beginning to wonder why.

  “As well he should.”

  “I need some advice.”

  “More deadlifts and squats, fewer bench presses and bicep curls. Your lower body is underdeveloped compared to your upper body.”

  I shook my head in irritation. “I don’t need weightlifting advice.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “Mr. Lo—Truman, I’m being serious.”

  “Me too. Leg day at the gym is a serious matter. It’s not to be joked about.”

  It was getting harder and harder to swallow my irritation. This was the jackass who had solved Avatar’s murder? First Mechano, now this joker. Was every Hero in this city a disappointment?

  “A friend of mine was murdered several days ago,” I said. Truman didn’t interrupt to make a stupid joke. If he had, despite his slightly menacing air and hidden gun, I might have slugged him. “Her name is Hannah Kim.”

  “I remember reading something about that in the newspaper. Graphic artist at the Times, discovered in her residence with a hole blown through her?”

  “That’s her. I want to talk to you about finding her killer. I can pay you.”

  “I should hope so. I don’t work for free. I’d developed a strange habit over the years that requires money to support. It’s called eating.”

  I tried to ignore him. “The killer is Hannah’s boyfriend. A guy named Antonio Ricci.”

  “What makes you so sure he’s the killer? Were you there?”

  I suddenly realized there was intelligence behind Truman’s half-mocking eyes. I felt wary. Truman’s idiotic banter had made me careless. I’d forgotten I was talking to a Hero. Though I had been unimpressed by some of the Heroes I had met, I had yet to meet a stupid one. Except maybe me since I caused Hannah’s death. I needed to choose my words around Truman more carefully. I wasn’t willing to blow my secret identity by telling Truman about my run-in with Antonio before Hannah’s murder.

  “No. I’m assuming he’s the killer based on the police saying he’s a person of interest.”

  “Pretty big leap from him being a person of interest to him being a murderer,” Truman said.

  “Hannah had confided to me that Antonio abused her. Plus, the news says he’s a suspected member of the Esposito crime family. A guy like that is capable of murder.”

  “And since the police haven’t found Mr. Ricci yet, you want to hire me to do it?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Truman leaned back in his chair a little. His hidden hand was still near the gun. “And what’s your interest in all this?”

  “I already told you. Hannah was my co-worker and my friend.”

  “I’ve got a lot of friends. Not too many of them would rush out to hire a private investigator to find a guy who may or may not have killed me and who may or may not be on the run when the police have been looking for him for less than a week.”

  “What can I say? I’m a good friend.”

  “Apparently,” Truman said. “How long have you been friends with her?”

  “About six months.”

  “About six months,” Truman repeated. “You’re really going above and beyond the call of duty for someone you’ve known for only six months.” His look was assessing. “Were you in love with this girl?” he asked abruptly.

  “What? No, of course not. She had a boyfriend.”

  “Were you sleeping together?”

  “What was it about ‘she had a boyfriend’ didn’t you understand?”

  “And I have a girlfriend. That doesn’t stop women from beating down the door to get to me.”

  Now I was really irritated. “Weird. I didn’t see any women in the hall clamoring to get inside.”

  “The day is still young. They’re at work. Once it’s quitting time, it’ll look like the mother of all bachelorette parties in here.” Truman still stared at me. His gaze made me uncomfortable, like I was being examined under a microscope. “Do you know anything about Mr. Ricci other than what’s being reported in the media?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “What about the circumstances surrounding Ms. Kim’s murder?”

  “No. Are you going to help me, or are we going to play Twenty Questions?”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive. Your responses to the latter will determine the former. Let’s say I find Mr. Ricci for you. Then what? If you’re looking for a little eye for an eye retribution, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not that kinda guy. Or would you be looking for me to turn him over to the police?”

  “Uh, I was hoping to have a chat with him first.”

  “You want to have a chat with him?” He emphasized the word in disbelief. “You, a guy wearing khakis and penny loafers who works for a newspaper, want to have a chat with a hardened criminal who works for the mafia? To find out the best place to buy brass knuckles that match your ensemble, perhaps?”

  “I guess I want to hear from the horse’s mouth why he would kill Hannah.” I was increasingly uncomfortable under Truman’s piercing gaze.

  The room fell silent. I heard traffic passing by on Paper Street below the office window. There was the faint sound of a woman talking in the office next door.

  “I’ve been in this business a long time,” Truman finally said. “I’ve developed certain instincts. Like when someone’s lying to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Maybe a lie of omission, then. You’re definitely leaving stuff out of your little story. A friend who’s only a friend doesn’t run out and try to hire a private investigator when the victim’s body is barely cold and the police haven’t had a chance to get started investigating in earnest yet. If you had a romantic relationship with Hannah I could wrap my head around it. But just a platonic friend?” Truman shook his head. “There’s definitely something going on here you’re not telling me about. I’ve found over the years that when I stick my nose into a situation I don’t fully understand, it tends to get shot at. My nose isn’t much to look at, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I’m trying to hang onto it, not have it blown off thanks to swallowing the half-baked story of a young man I don’t know from Adam. Have you seen the Sphinx before? Someone shot its nose off a long time ago, probably because the Sphinx was silly enough to stick its nose where it didn’t belong. It’s not a good look, and not one I plan on emulating. Unless you start being honest with me, I’m going back to reading my book. The throng of female admirers I told you about will be here in a while. I want them all to myself. So buzz off. Hurry along now. Go. Scat! Vamoose!”

  I stood up so abruptly that the chair toppled over. It hit the floor with a loud bang. I didn’t pick it up.

  “It was a mistake to come here,” I said. I turned my back to Truman and stalked toward the door. Screw this clown, I thought. I’ll figure out some other way to find Antonio. Truman isn’t the only private detective in the city.

  “Hey Theodore!” Truman called out to me right before I opened the door.

  I turned my head.

  The gun that had been in Truman’s drawer was now in his right hand, pointing at me. Looking down the big barrel of the high caliber gun felt like looking down the muzzle of a cannon.

  Truman fired.

  11

  The blast of the gun was deafening. The bullet had barely cleared the gun’s barrel before I drained it of its kinetic energy with my powers. It froze in the air just a foot or so from the muzzle. Despite my exhaustion, I hadn’t been so stupid as to not keep monitoring Truman and the gun with my powers even though I had turned my back to him.

  I spun to face Truman. With a small finger flick, I ripped the gun out of his hand. I twisted the gun around in the air to point its muzzle at Truman’s head. Turnabout was fair play. I’d find out how Truman liked having a gun pointed at him.

  Before the gun was in place in front of Truman, some of the water in the big bo
wl on Truman’s desk exploded out of the glass. As quick as a wink, it surrounded the gun. There were loud cracking and popping sounds as the liquid transformed into solid ice almost instantaneously. The ice-encased gun fell onto Truman’s desk with a loud thump.

  I tried to break the gun free of the ice. Shockingly, I couldn’t. My attempt was met with implacable resistance. It should have been as easy as snapping a dry twig in two.

  I had known that Truman’s Metahuman power was hydrokinesis, or the ability to manipulate water. Reading about it in newspaper accounts and seeing it in action were two different kettles of fish, though.

  I looked up from the gun, ready to defend myself. Truman did not look like he was about to attack me again. He still sat behind his desk. He clenched and unclenched his gun hand as though I had hurt it when I had disarmed him. Otherwise he looked smug, like a man who was watching a movie unfold the way he expected it to. He grinned at me.

  His smug grin was my first clue. My second clue was the floating bullet. Thanks to all my Heroic training over the years, I was good at judging angles and trajectories. Now that I had a moment to focus on the path the bullet would have taken had I not stopped it, I realized it would not have hit me. It would have sailed well over me and hit the wall near the ceiling.

  I realized it had not been a bad shot. Truman had not been trying to hit me at all. He somehow suspected I was a Metahuman, and had been trying to get me to expose that fact by shooting at me. Like an idiot, I had fallen for it. The first rule of being a secret superhuman was to not expose the fact you were a secret superhuman. Truman was not the clown I had originally taken him for.

  Truman’s smile faded as he winced and shook his right hand a little. He said, “You could’ve been a little gentler in disarming me.”

  “And you could’ve not shot at me,” I said.

  “A good point.”

  “What gave me away?” My heart pounded. Even though I now knew I was not in danger, it was hard to be blasé about a gun being fired anywhere in your direction.

  Truman’s smile returned, as if I had passed some sort of test by realizing what he had done. “A couple of things. The way you checked out the room before you came in, like you were looking for potential threats. I do something similar. Also, the way you move. There’s a certain amount of grace and confidence that goes with being a trained fighter. You’ve got it. And, though you said you knew I’m a Hero, the fact didn’t seem to intimidate you at all. A normal person tends to be nervous around people with superpowers. You weren’t. It all pointed to the idea that you are a Metahuman. And not just Metahuman, but a trained Metahuman. Game recognizes game, as the kids might say. This,” he said, pointing to the still hovering bullet, “just confirmed my suspicions.”

  “You could have just asked if I was a Meta.”

  “And have you lie to me?” He shook his head. “I’m not as young as you. Life’s too short to waste it asking questions you’re likely to not get straight answers to. Besides, this way I’d know, and you’d know I knew. Saves time.” He reached out as if to pluck the bullet out of the air, appeared to think better of it, and withdrew his hand.

  “Touching it won’t hurt you,” I said.

  “I said the exact same thing to my girlfriend Ginny last night.”

  I lowered the bullet, bringing it to a rest primer side down on his desk. A sudden knock on Truman’s closed door startled me. “Everything all right in there?” came a woman’s voice.

  Truman stood. He was tall, probably a couple of inches over six feet. “That’s Charity, the accountant next door. She’s probably come over to sexually harass me again. Who can blame her?”

  He walked past me and opened the door. The middle-aged woman on the other side had bobbed blonde hair, was professionally dressed, and a little on the heavy side. She was attractive, but more handsome than pretty. She glanced at me, then back at Truman.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I heard a gunshot.”

  “And you rushed to my side, sweet Charity? My hero. But no need to worry,” Truman said, “I was merely swatting a fly.”

  “With a gun?” Charity’s voice was disbelieving.

  “It was a mighty scary fly.”

  “Well, as long as everything’s okay,” she said dubiously. She started to turn away, then noticed the signs taped to Truman’s door. Her eyes scanned them.

  “Why in the world would you have these idiotic drawings on your door?” She sniffed disdainfully. “This is supposed to be a professional office building, not an art exhibition at an insane asylum.”

  “Don’t you see what it says there about how certain people should stay away? I’m using these signs to keep the undesirables out.”

  “And yet, somehow, you’re here.”

  Truman made a long-suffering sigh. “A woman’s tongue is sharper than a serpent’s tooth. That was in my horoscope this morning. Now I know why.”

  Charity shook her head in disgust. “You can’t take anything seriously, can you?”

  “Life’s too serious to be taken seriously.”

  Charity shook her head again. She turned and walked away. Truman stuck his head out the open door and watched her. “Stop staring at my ass,” Charity’s voice floated from down the hallway.

  “Stop putting your ass where I can see it,” Truman retorted. “This is supposed to be a professional office building, not a catwalk.” He closed the door and went back around his desk to sit down. He looked at me somberly. “I think she’s in love with me.”

  “She hides it well.”

  “Too many do,” he agreed sadly. “So, tell me Mr. Theodore Conley—assuming that’s your real name—how’d you stop the bullet in midair and pull off that little disarming trick with my gun? Magnetism? Metal manipulation?”

  “I’m telekinetic.”

  “Well that certainly explains where you got the code name of Kinetic from.”

  Stunned, I hesitated for the briefest of moments.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally managed. It was clear from the sudden smile on Truman’s face that my hesitation hadn’t been lost on him.

  “Ah don’t know what you talkin’ about,” he said, repeating my words in an exaggerated version of my Southern accent. He resumed in his normal voice. “I grew up in Georgia. I know a South Carolina accent when I hear one. Unless my ear for accents betrays me, you grew up in western Carolina, probably near the Georgia border. Edgefield County, maybe?”

  Edgefield County was only about a ten-minute drive from the farm I had grown up on. “Aiken County,” I admitted cautiously. Though I certainly didn’t want to reveal my secret Heroic identity, saying where I was from seemed a safe enough admission. “What’s where I grew up got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, if I hadn’t seen footage of the Hero Kinetic a couple of months ago. Using his telekinetic powers, he had foiled an attempted warehouse robbery in the wee hours of the night, and the local TV news stuck a camera in his face and asked him for a comment. He didn’t say much before he flew off, but he said enough for me to hear his accent. When I heard it, I thought, ‘Well I do declare! Someone from the Palmetto State is a Hero right here in Astor City. He must’ve come here recently as I’ve never even heard of him before. Bless his heart. Ain’t it a small world.’” Truman had adopted an exaggerated Southern accent again as he recounted his thoughts. “I made a mental note of it. The Heroic community is a relatively small one, after all. I figured I’d run across Kinetic sooner or later, and I’d swap incest jokes and chitlin recipes with my fellow Southerner when I did.

  “So, let’s recap what I’ve observed about you today: One, you move and behave like someone who’s had Heroic training. Two, you sound like the same Southern gentlemen I’d seen on the news. Three, not only are you a Metahuman, but you’re a telekinetic, just like the guy on the news. Four—and this one’s the clincher—you look like him. You both have the same build. Kinetic looks like he also often skips leg day. Sure, the conto
urs of your face are different than Kinetic’s, but that’s no doubt because he wears a mask with tech embedded in it that changes his facial features. It’s all the rage with Heroes these days.” Truman’s battered face split into a grin. “You won’t catch me sporting one, though. I’m too pretty to slap a mask on. As I always say, don’t hide your light under a bushel basket.

  “That all adds up to the conclusion that you’re the Hero Kinetic. Two plus two makes four.” Truman frowned thoughtfully. “Or is it correct to say ‘two plus two make four’ so there’s subject-verb agreement?” He shrugged slightly. “I’m not sure. I’m a detective, not a grammar nerd.”

  I opened my mouth, about to deny it. Truman lifted a restraining hand before I could get a word out. He said, “Before you give me an elaborate song and dance about how I’m mistaken, bear in mind that though I’m no grammarian, I am something of a walking lie detector. As the human body is mostly water, my powers allow me to monitor a man’s perspiration rate, blood pressure, and heart rate, among other things. When I suggested you are Kinetic, your vital signs changed. You got as nervous as a mouse at a cat convention. That tells me you were lying when you denied being him.”

  Truman leaned back in his chair and grinned at me again. “So now that I’ve established that you are in fact the Hero Kinetic who grew up in the Deep South like me, let’s get to the important stuff: I like fresh spring onions and red pepper flakes in my chitlins. What about you? And here’s my incest joke: I told my sister I’m into incest. She took it really hard.”

  The office fell silent.

  Truman said, “No good, huh? That didn’t even get a chuckle. I guess you’re right: One should never joke about having sex with sisters, no matter how much they incest.”

  Silence again.

  Truman shook his head ruefully. “Wow, that one bombed too? I guess your generation of Heroes isn’t much into puns.”

  I was quiet because I was at a loss for words. After all this time in Astor City, no one had made the connection between Theo Conley and Kinetic except for this guy. He came off as a clown, but he had figured out who I was in just a few minutes. I began to understand why Mr. Langley had referred me to Truman and how he had managed to solve Avatar’s murder. Despite his almost non-stop flippancy, there was more to this guy than met the eye. Heck, when I had come in he had been reading the Bhagavad Gita, hardly an easy read. Nobody who was entirely frivolous read something like that in his free time.