by Nick Svolos
Shelly and I shook hands and exchanged business cards as she introduced herself. The three of us talked shop for a bit and eventually got around to Phoenix Fire and the refinery. I patiently went through my account of the events for the umpteenth time that day. I didn’t mind. They had jobs to do, and I was glad to help. I spoke quietly, so as not to disturb any of the mourners. As we talked, a few other reporters and a couple of Angel staffers sidled up to listen to our conversation.
“So, what do you think happened to her, Reuben? At the end, I mean,” Shelly asked.
I had to keep the true cause of her death a secret, and I really didn’t like lying to my colleagues. I decided to try to skirt the edges of the truth. “I really can’t say. I couldn’t look at her. She was putting out an unbelievable amount of light. My guess is that something went wrong. Maybe it was just too much energy, or maybe she caught a stray attack from the fight. We may never know. I think she knew what was going to happen and made a conscious decision to direct the blast straight down. If you look at the map, there’s residential areas all around that place. The area right next to the refinery is industrial, but beyond that, lots of sleeping families.”
“My God, that’s pretty incredible. I can’t imagine the pain she must have been going through,” Rich observed. He added, “You know, the FBI put bounties out on Omega, right?”
I knew it was coming, but it still surprised me. “No I didn’t. That’s pretty quick. Usually, it takes a few days.”
Rich nodded, “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. What do you think Omega was hoping to get out of all this? Seems a little extreme, even for them.”
I thought about my conversation with Hammerblow earlier that day. I wasn’t ready to go public with that interview yet, and I didn’t feel the need to blow my scoop. We’re colleagues, but we’re also competitors. I decided to just play it straight. “I’m doing follow-up on that right now. I can’t talk about it at this point.”
I instantly regretted saying even that much. My comment started a minor feeding frenzy amongst the reporters in the group, and I spent the next several minutes deflecting a series of questions.
The questioning was cut short as a man in a gleaming gold plate mail glided down from the sky above and landed a short distance from the gravesite. The Gold Crusader, in addition to the highly-polished armor, was adorned with a shining gold helmet, one of those medieval ones with a nose guard, over long brown hair. On his hip, he wore a sword named Indomitabilis. He somberly walked over and silently joined the mourners. He was a solo act that mainly worked the San Gabriel valley.
It seemed several other supers had been lurking out of sight, waiting for someone to make the first entrance. Silent Sentinel was the next to make his appearance, emerging from a burst of smoke, shrouded in his trademark black cloak. A mystical portal opened, and Shibboleth and Moonchild stepped through. Within minutes, at least a dozen colorfully-clad costumed people were standing in silence in a small cluster to one side of the gathered normals. I recognized at least half of them, and I supposed the ones I didn’t recognize were probably from out of town.
The reporters gave up on pestering me and moved off to get comments from the assembled heroes. I took a relieved breath. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Ben, the Angel Security guy. “Saved by the bell, eh, Mr. Conway?”
I replied, “Yeah. One of these days I’m gonna learn to keep my mouth shut.” I added, “And, it’s Reuben. This ‘Mr. Conway’ stuff makes me nervous.”
He smiled. “I guess we never got introduced. Ben Jefferson, Angel Security and occasional chauffeur.” I shook his hand, and he said, “I really enjoyed driving around in your woody. Herculene tells me you restored it yourself.”
I smiled. “Sure did. Thanks for taking care of her for me.”
“It was a pleasure,” he grinned. He gently led me away, out of earshot from the others. “Say, there’s some breaking news you may not have heard yet. About ten minutes ago, Omega broke Fist out of jail.”
This just gets better and better. I wiped some sweat from my forehead. “Criminy, who was holding him?”
Ben shrugged. “The FBI. Unfortunately, the ERD is providing security here, so there wasn’t much to get in their way. Just normals. Omega pulled their punches, but it sounds like it was still pretty bad.”
I could only imagine. The FBI agents wouldn’t give Fist up without a fight, but Omega was just too lethal for them to deal with. The timing just seemed a little too good, though. “Do you think they had inside info?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m taking that as a given. So, there’s gonna be a slight change in plans. After this is over, we don’t want you to drive alone. The team will be riding in a limo, so I figure you can ride with me and we’ll just follow them back to the Tower. That OK with you?”
“Yeah, that sounds good to me. To tell the truth, I was a little surprised they let me off the leash long enough to drive over here in the first place.”
Ben chucked, “Yeah, they tend to be overly-protective when they like someone. You get used to it.”
Our conversation was cut short as a motorcycle cop followed by a hearse pulled up on the road near the gravesite, followed by a couple of black limousines with another cop bringing up the rear. Six flying supers followed the vehicles and after landing, they placed themselves in a perimeter around the scene, facing outward and scanning for threats. They were all dressed in entirely in black from head to toe save for a gold badge embroidered over their left breast and the letters “ERD” on their backs. I was a little surprised when Ben mentioned the FBI was providing an honor guard for Phoenix Fire’s final journey. They generally do dirty work and black bag jobs for the feds. Perhaps they thought someone was likely to try something nasty at the funeral. Either that, or maybe Ultiman just had that kind of pull.
Ultiman got out from the far side of the first limo, came around and opened the passenger door. A young rabbi stepped out, dressed in traditional robes, vestments and yarmulke. He turned and assisted a young woman out of the car. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, and even through the thin black mesh veil that dangled from the brim of her wide-brimmed hat, I could see that she was almost a twin of her sister. She had the same high cheekbones, aquiline nose and green eyes as Phoenix Fire.
The rabbi and the girl walked to the gravesite as the crowd of people parted to make way. The remaining members of The Angels got out of the second limo and joined Ultiman at the back of the hearse. The mortuary driver opened the hatch and activated a mechanism that pushed a simple wooden casket with wooden handles onto a wheeled aluminum table. The Angels arranged themselves around the casket and carried it to the grave. They set it down on straps stretched across the grave before moving to stand in a small group next to Phoenix Fire’s sister. Ultiman reached up and tore a section of his skinsuit above his right breast. His lips moved, saying something I couldn’t hear. The other Angels were all in their usual costumes, except for Herculene, who had opted for a more formal Grecian gown in dark green. I saw her scanning the crowd out of the corner of her eye, and when she spotted me, she nodded slightly and shifted her gaze back to the casket.
The rabbi began by reciting a Psalm in Hebrew, and then repeating it in English for those of us who don’t speak the tongue. He thanked all those present for their attendance, and began reading from the scriptures. The latter was all done in Hebrew, and it was done in about five minutes. After this, The Rabbi gave a eulogy in English. He didn’t mention anything about her real identity, although something told me he knew who she really was, nor did he mention the name of her sister. The girl had to go back into the world and lead a normal life, after all.
With the end of the eulogy, a mortuary attendant began lowering the coffin slowly into the earth. While this was taking place, the rabbi explained the next step in the process, the Chesed Shel Emet. The mourners were responsible for the actual burial, shoveling the great mounds of dirt into the grave. He invited those of us who were willing to assist with the task. I j
oined the two lines of costumed heroes and normal, everyday people that formed at each side of the grave. When my turn came, I took the shovel and awkwardly did my best to get some dirt into the grave, shoveling one-armed, and passed the shovel to the next man in line.
As I was walking back to my place in the crowd, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye that seemed out of place. I paused for a second to see an elderly woman in the front row of folding chairs scowling at something. I recognized her as Gail Crenshaw, the CEO of Galestorm Technologies, one of The Angels primary financial supporters. Following her gaze, I saw that she was glaring directly at Ultiman. Looking at her, I realized it was a look of pure hatred.
Quite frankly, I was baffled. My instincts wanted to stay and watch, but I couldn’t do that without raising a scene, so I moved on to rejoin the crowd. As I walked, I pondered the look on her face. I couldn’t make any sense of it. Galestorm provided a sizable chunk of funding to The Angels, not to mention all the wonderful equipment they used. What could be the reason for that look on Crenshaw’s face?
Something else was nagging at me, too. The name Crenshaw rattled around in my head, like I had heard it recently but not in the context of the Galestorm CEO. It seemed significant somehow. It was almost maddening, like walking into a room and realizing I’ve forgotten why I went in there. I decided to table it and hope the answer would pop into my head later.
The grave was about half-full as the last people in the line took their turns shoveling in the soil. I noticed Ben standing beside the team as they began to finish the task of burying Phoenix Fire. Ben reached out, gently touched Mentalia’s arm and spoke to her. She nodded and thanked him as she buried her face in her handkerchief. Ah, I realized, Ben was taking her place so she wouldn’t have to do it one-handed like I had done. Ben joined The Angels in shoveling the remainder of the dirt into the grave. It was hard, dirty work, especially in the heat and humidity, but it goes quicker when you have a bunch of people with superhuman strength.
While I watched them work, I remembered the puzzling discovery of Mentalia’s gloves in the Angelmobile this morning. I stifled a chuckle as I realized maybe they weren’t so puzzling, after all. Ben was driving the car, and I began to suspect the two were involved. I let myself smile, wishing the rest of my mysteries were so easily solved.
Once the burial was completed, The Angels returned to their places next to the gravesite, and Ben joined me back in the mass of attendees. The rabbi came forward again and recited the Kaddish prayer, with the attendees stumbling over the right times to say “Amen”. There were enough Jews present to keep us goyim from making too big of a mess of things, though. The last step was to form a Shura. The attendees, again patiently shepherded by the Jews in the crowd, formed two long lines facing each other. The mourners, Phoenix Fire’s sister and the Angels, walked down the narrow, winding corridor we formed, giving those in attendance an opportunity to offer words of comfort.
I’ve been to a lot of funerals. I always hated this part. I’m usually pretty glib, but in this particular situation I’m lost. I mean, seriously, what are you supposed to say? I always end up stammering a meaningless “Sorry for your loss” that the bereaved was probably very tired of hearing by now and I ended up wishing I had ducked out five minutes earlier. Fortunately for guys like me, there’s a traditional line you can say. It feels corny, but if it gets me through an awkward moment without making any major social faux pas, I’ll take my corn and like it. When Phoenix Fire’s sister passed me, I recited, “May you be comforted among all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.” She smiled sadly, thanked me and continued on. The rabbi and The Angels followed behind her, pausing to shake hands or exchange words of comfort with people as they made their way down the line.
Soon, the young woman, the rabbi and The Angels got into the limos and drove off. The FBI honor guard flew off with them to fly cover for the bereaved. Some people stayed to speak with other attendees, but most drifted off. Ben and I were among the latter.
I was eager to get back to the Tower and get back on track with the investigation. I checked my phone to see if there was any news from Sylvester, but there was nothing. As I put the phone away, I looked up to see a couple of police officers in the parking lot. They were just walking around the area, getting a good look at the people as they headed to their cars. One of them held what might be a photo in his hand.
My body tensed. It’s possible I was just being paranoid, but recent events gave me the idea that paranoia might be a good default strategy. I casually turned my back to the cops and stopped. Ben noticed my odd movement and came back to stand before me. “What’s up, man,” he asked.
“See those cops in the parking lot?”
Ben looked over my shoulder, “Yeah. They waiting for you?”
“That’s my guess.”
Ben considered the situation, “OK, I’ll go down there and get the car.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll pick you up over there.”
I nodded and walked back towards the gravesite. I felt self-conscious walking against the flow of traffic, and for some idiotic reason, I found myself patting my pockets and looking down as if I had lost something. I’m pretty sure my subterfuge had absolutely no effect, but it felt better to be doing something. At any rate, I didn’t get nabbed by the cops, so maybe it worked. I made it to the far side of the gravesite just as Ben drove up in the sleek, black Lincoln.
“So, why’re the cops after you?” Ben asked as we drove away. He said it in a friendly, conversational manner, but it was clear he was a bit suspicious.
“They want to ask me some questions about last night. Like, who told me to be at the refinery.”
“So, why not just tell ‘em?”
“My source is confidential. He wasn’t involved in what went down there, he just passed on the tip. The cops are unlikely to trust my judgment on that, so I’m avoiding them. Once I figure out who’s really behind all this, I’ll have something to pass on.”
“Ah, I see. Well, that’s good. Ya had me worried there for a moment. Thought maybe Herc was getting involved with a shady character.”
That was an odd thing to say. “Uh, what?” I asked.
He laughed, “Sorry, man, but it’s a small world. Folks can see what’s going on between you two.”
“Geez, it’s like living in a fishbowl,” I muttered.
“Ah, don’t sweat it. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”
“I’m not sure I’m getting into anything. Hell, assuming we’re both still alive tonight, we’ll have known each other for twenty-four hours.”
“Well, things move quick with this crowd. That bother you?”
“Sort of. It’s definitely unfamiliar territory.” I thought it was my turn to put him on the spot. “So, how do you deal with it?”
He looked away. “What do you mean?”
I sighed. “Is this the same car you were driving this morning?”
“Yeah”
I opened the glove compartment. Mentalia’s gloves were still there. Ben looked like I had found a snake. “Oh.” He focused on driving for a bit. “She was wondering where those had gotten to. I’d appreciate it if you keep that to yourself. Team members aren’t supposed to be dating the hired help. It’s an HR thing.”
I chuckled, “I can only imagine the sort of HR department a guy like Ultiman would put together.”
“You ain’t kidding, man,” he grinned. He checked the GPS. “Looks like we’ve fallen behind the pack. We should be able to catch up to the limos pretty quick, though.”
As we drove away from the memorial park, I could see through the haze that the Ventura Freeway was backed up. The map on the Angelmobile’s dashboard screen showed an alternate route back to the Tower. “Looks like Archangel diverted everybody to take surface streets to catch the 5 South and avoid the traffic,” Ben commented.
I shifted my mullings over to the question of Gail Crenshaw’s animosity towards Ultiman. I checked off the usu
al suspects. It couldn’t be romance, Crenshaw was well over eighty years old and Ultiman was in his thirties. Yeah, there could be a May-December thing going on there, but it seemed unlikely. Ultiman was just too much of a straight arrow. I’d been fooled in the past, though, so I didn’t entirely dismiss the possibility. I moved it from the “Really freakin’ unlikely” to the “Ew!” folder in my mental filing cabinet. Money was next, but Galestorm fed money and equipment to The Angels, not the other way around. If Ultiman needed more, it followed that he’d be mad at her. Crenshaw had all the power in the relationship. Maybe the money had strings attached, and he wasn’t playing ball. That theory warranted a trip to the “Much more likely than Ultiman nailing an eighty-six-year-old woman” file.
We were on Victory Boulevard, slowing down to turn onto Western and get on the freeway when a giant, glowing, green hammer crashed down through the Angelmobile’s hood and into the engine compartment. The airbags deployed, blinding and smothering me in a white mass, saving me from being thrown into the dashboard.
The seat belt’s shoulder harness dug into my chest and shoulder, expelling the air from my lungs. Pebbles of safety glass from the shattered windshield broke loose and rained down on me. I tried to shield my eyes as I struggled to free myself from the air bag. I became aware that the car was moving backwards. The air bag finally deflated enough for me to look through the rear window and I saw Hammerblow, in his brown, loose-fitting jumpsuit and mask, dragging the car into an alley between a gas station and a used car lot. The front tires were squealing, the impact must have done something to ruin them.
Adrenaline surged through my body as my brain struggled to comprehend this latest data and figure out what to do. I looked to my left. Ben was unconscious, pinned between the steering wheel and the seat.
I heard Archangel’s voice, saying, “Please remain calm, Mr. Conway. The Angels have been notified of your situation and are responding. SpeedDamon should be arriving at the scene in ninety seconds.” This jolted my brain back into gear.
