Authors: Matt Abraham
Chapter 30
Humphries was on TV. Next to him stood Glory Anna, the new leader of Team Supreme. She was a foot taller than he was, and had on a red and gold uniform with her dark hair pulled back. The two of them were behind a podium on the platform in the central lobby of Top Tower, surrounded by a sea of waving hands.
“How will this affect the policing of powered crime?” a reporter asked.
Humphries said, “We’re looking to expand it. I think I speak for us all when I say we cannot allow the loss of one man, no matter how terrible, to dissuade us from the pursuit of safety and justice. There’s a whole city, a whole country in fact, that still needs protection, and we are working closer than ever with Team Supreme to expand our influence for the purpose of capturing not only Pinnacle’s killer, but every other black cape who threatens national security. Now, just one more question.” He pointed to one of the reporters. “Martin, go ahead.”
“Glory Anna, you said this tip came in over the Team Supreme hotline, how certain are you that this individual is really the culprit?”
The room went silent.
Glory Anna stiffened. “The tip is good. As of now we can’t reveal the source, but it’s solid.”
Another reporter jumped in. “Does this person have anything to do with the Sindicate?”
“Everything that happens with Gold Coast’s black cape community has something to do with the Sindicate, but right now our evidence points in a completely different direction.”
Humphries nodded, and leaned over the mic. “That’s correct. Also, I’d like to apologize for the lack of information. We have the suspect’s name, but no picture on file. However, Glory Anna and I are putting all available resources into finding this individual so Gold Coast City can be assured that we’ll have the black cape who goes by Mindgame in custody shortly.”
Widow clicked off the set.
“Mindgame.” I slumped down in the couch. I couldn’t believe it. He was making some bold claims at Lynchpin’s party, but this was way out of line for a guy like him. It didn’t fit.
“Who’s he?” Widow asked.
“A thinker. Nobody really. One of Professor Varius’s old techs. There’s no way he’s involved,” I said. The telephone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Widow leaned towards the receiver.
“No, it’s probably for me.” I got up and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Curse? Good evening, have you seen the news?” It was the same guy who gave me the case a few nights back.
“Sorry slick, I was too busy to see tonight’s installment.”
“You know of course I realize that you’re lying.”
Cogs. Some can read your thoughts even over the phone. “Ok. Yeah, I saw it. So?”
“So the killer’s been identified, and will most likely be captured shortly. Therefore I’m calling to inform you that your services are no longer required.”
“What? I don’t think-”
“Thinking is not what you were hired to do. You were hired to find a killer, and that’s been done. That part’s over. This investigation is now closed. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that any further actions regarding it will not go unnoticed. Or unpunished.”
“I don’t cotton to threats, slick. So if you got any more in your mouth keep them tucked under your tongue because-”
“That wasn’t a threat Mr. Curse, merely the effect your further snooping will cause. Now pick up a pen and write this down: Your work is no longer required. Good night.”
I hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Widow said.
“The guy who hired me. He called to fire me.”
“So the case is closed.”
I looked out my window. The moon was low in the sky. Its glow bounced off the bay, making the waves shine. “Not for me it isn’t. Not until I’m sure they got the right man. I’ll just need to be careful.”
Widow went to my desk, got herself a glass, and filled it. “So then what’s your next move?”
“The same move. Get some sleep, and contact Monday about this in the morning.”
“You got information on Mindgame for him?”
“Some, but I’m not handing it to the SPECs. They can do their own legwork. I want to find out who their informant is, and what kind of proof they got it wasn’t Lynchpin.”
“Alright then, good night boss.” She killed her drink, then started towards the door.
I called out, “Widow.”
She stopped, and turned around. “Yeah?”
I took off my hat and threw it on the desk. “Leave the bottle.”
I tried to nab some sleep, but couldn’t stop thinking about Mindgame. Was he really involved? Maybe he was Lynchpin’s partner, or maybe he could’ve planned it, but that all seemed so unlikely. I was convinced the old man was behind it all, a hunch that was only confirmed by his building roadblocks on my avenues of inquiry, but if he thought they’d slow my push then he wasn’t thinking on all six cylinders.
I tossed like a tableside Caesar for an hour trying to see how it fit, and by the time I finally nodded off my mood was as dark as the night outside.
#
“Rise and shine,” Widow pulled the blinds up, and light poured into the office like water through a turbine.
“I’m up,” I grumbled, and rubbed what little crud had accumulated from my eyes.
Widow shoved a bagel at me along with a cup of coffee. “Here, eat this.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“How long you been up for?” I asked.
“Long enough to hear the news.”
The coffee in my hand couldn’t have snapped me awake like those words. “There’s more news?” I broke off a piece of the bagel, and shoved it into my craw. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, what fresh hell’s arisen while I slumbered?” I took another bite. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
“Blood Angel and Black Orchid are in the morgue.”
I dropped the bagel. “What? How?”
“Nobody’s saying much. Rumor has it some white capes got ahold of them, but in my opinion the whole thing’s fishy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when A-listers like Orchid and Blood Angel mix it up with heroes there’s a lot of damage, but all the pictures they’ve shown of the crime scene lack the telltale signs of destruction.”
I was about to ask another question but stopped. I didn’t notice it before, but the office was silent. Even the sounds that creep in from street side were gone. I looked out the window. Barely anyone was out. “There was no destruction around the bodies?”
“Not one bit.”
I picked up my bagel off the floor and tossed it in the can. Orchid and Angel. Both were board members, and the first two allies Lychnpin engaged at the party right after our meeting. Them, and the guy who discovered the body. If those three really were accomplices in Pinnacle’s murder, and Lynchpin was tying up loose ends, then Gravel would be next, and that might put him in the talking mood. I gave Old Stony a call, but all I got was his answering service so I left a message.
Then I thought of Lynx.
I dialed her number as fast as my fingers could. It was ringing. Once. Twice. Six times in all before going to voice mail. I hung up and used a dirty word.
Widow said, “So what’s your plan for today? And the answer isn’t ‘I’m investigating Mindgame’.”
“I know. Besides, even if he is involved, which I doubt, he’s got to be as far away from Gold Coast as possible.”
“Good. So who’s on the dance card then?”
I looked at my watch. Seven am. Monday wouldn’t be available until noon. “Nobody for now. I’m thinking maybe I should barricade the door and shoot whoever comes knocking.”
“That’s a plan,” Widow said, “but since you’re technically not on the case anymore there is another thing.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Maybe you can swing by Mrs. Freeman’s house?”
It took a second to realize who she was talking about. “Wait, you mean the missing Kapowitzer? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“She’s sweet,” Widow said, “plus she lives in a real quiet part of town, and I can’t think of a safer place to spend the morning.”
“Maybe.”
“Ok,” she said, and headed out to her desk. “I’ll call Mrs. Freeman and tell her you’re on your way.”
“While you’re at it call Monday too, let him know I want to meet for lunch.”
Widow was right. I knew visiting Mrs. Freeman was a safe way to kill some time, and I didn’t want to hang around the office anyway. If Lynchpin really was knocking off board members then Lynx was in danger, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d welcome anything that could take my mind off that.
Chapter 31
Mrs. Freeman lived in one of the older parts of Gold Coast, an area called Sunnyport. It was near the bay, not right on it mind you, but close enough to get the cool breezes. Trees lined every street, and practically each block had its own park. It was a pleasant place as neighborhoods go, but I could tell its best days were behind it. Every tenth row home was boarded up. Next year there’d be more. That sort of thing spreads like cancer.
I pulled up in front of her four-story apartment building, hopped out, and walked inside. I made my way to the third floor, and rang Mrs. Freeman’s bell.
“Who’s there?” she said through the door.
“Dane Curse, Mrs. Freeman,” I said. “You called me about Earl’s keepsake a few days ago. My secretary phoned earlier.”
I heard the chain disengage from the other side along with a series of locks, and Mrs. Freeman opened the door. She was a tiny woman wrapped in a flower dress with matching slippers and silver hair to her shoulders. “It’s so nice to see you Mr. Curse, I was expecting you sooner.”
“I know ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Well, considering everything that’s been happening I suppose it’s understandable. Come in.”
I stepped into the house, and despite the windows being wide open I could taste the mothballs and floral air freshener. That aside, though, the place was nice, quaint. The carpeting, walls, and furniture were either yellow or green, and I immediately liked it all. Her home made me feel like a teenager again.
“Please, take a seat.” She pointed to the couch on the far wall flanked by two pre-war lamps. “Can I get you something to drink? I have some very nice tea brewing.”
I sat down and said, “No thank you, ma’am. If it’s alright with you I’d like to jump right in. Please, tell me everything about Earl’s old Kapowitzer.”
Mrs. Freeman joined me on the sofa. “It was almost two weeks ago. On Thursday I think. I was sleeping in my bedroom, and I heard a noise out here.”
“This room?” I asked. “You heard a noise in your bed from this room here?”
“More the hallway.” She motioned to the path that led further back into the apartment. “And I got up to see what the commotion was. That was around eleven pm.”
“How did you know?”
“I checked the clock on the bedside. It has an extra large face. So I heard the noise, put on my slippers, and then I came outside to see what it was, and if you can believe it there was a young man, on his knees, rooting through the closet. I yelled at him to get. He looked up, said something rude, and went right back to looking.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, I told him that I would phone the police. He just laughed, as if I wouldn’t.”
“Probably thought it was a bluff, considering how the, uh, how Earl used to-”
“You can say it Mr. Curse. How Agent Dreadful earned his money. I have no illusions about my late husband, but I assure you, it was no bluff. Despite Earl’s profession I have always led an honest life.”
“You don’t seem the sinister type.”
“No, I’m not. So I made the threat again, and again he insulted me.”
“Really, he just sat there talking with you?”
Bizarre.
“What was his voice like?”
“Well, like anybody else’s. Not too high, not too deep. I remember being surprised at how sophisticated it was, not rough at all, more like a professor’s.”
I nodded. “Professor. Got it. Please go on, what happened next?”
“Well, he found what he was looking for, then got up, and ran out the door. Of course I locked it behind him. It was only after, when I looked through the closet, that I realize what he had taken. If I had known then I would have put up a fight.”
I nodded again. It looked like some peck might be left in her yet, though not enough to handle a burglar no matter how professorial. I was glad she didn’t press the issue. “The locks,” I said, motioning toward the door. “Were they forced?”
She shook her head. “No. I checked the next morning and there weren’t even scratches. I don’t know how he got them open, but he must have been a very smart man. Those are B-Locks.”
I walked over to check. I hadn’t noticed before, but she was right. B-Locks. Old school deterrents that were pretty decent in their day. They look like four regular locks installed in a row, but the trick is that each needs to be unlocked in a specific order for all of them to open. I don’t mind admitting I’ve had problems with them in the past.
I returned to the couch and said, “You’re right, he picked them without leaving a scratch. I can’t do that. The guy’s got skill. And he stole your Kapowitzer?” A broken Kapowitzer. What would you do with one? That was a bigger mystery than who took it.
“Yes, I can’t imagine why. It doesn’t work.”
“None of them do,” I said.
Mrs. Freeman looked my way. “Yours still functions, doesn’t it?”
“It’s the last one.”
She nodded. “Because of that business with the Brazilian boy all those years ago.”
“Earl told you about that?”
“Actually, no. He never shared that part of his life.” Mrs. Freeman glanced up at me, a smirk on her face. “Perhaps you could? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Gossiping with old women isn’t really my thing, but the fact she thought we were being so naughty made it irresistible. “It’s not that special a story. One of Brazil’s baddest black capes had a son who got killed by a Kapowitzer. They knew because the type of energy residue the blast leaves behind is unique to the gun. Add the fact that these pistols are genetically locked to their owner, and you get a bunch of Brazilians hunting down everybody who owned one, knowing that if they murdered all fifty of us they’d eventually get their guy. In the end they either killed every owner, or destroyed their weapon.”
Her eyes were sparkling. “But not yours?”
“No, not mine,” I smiled, and pulled out Lois.
“May I? I’ve never held a working one.”
“No.” I returned Lois to her spot under my jacket. “They jolt anyone who isn’t the owner.”
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t. But back to business, can you describe the man who took yours?”
“I can do better than that. After he escaped I sketched a portrait of him. It’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it.” Mrs. Freeman shuffled off. I crossed my legs and leaned back in anticipation of seeing how good her artistic skills were, preparing myself for some very blurry disappointment.
She returned with a large folded yellow sheet of paper in her hand, and extended it towards me. “Here you are.”
“You know Mrs. Freeman, before we go any further I just want to let you know that there’s a very slim chance I’ll be able to find this person. With legal items I can lean on the law to assist, but something like this…”
“My hopes are high, but my expectations will stay reasonable.”
I looked into her eyes. They reminded me of homemade cookies. “Ok, let’s take a look.” I flipped open the sheet. “Oh my God.”
“What is it? Is everything alright?”
I looked at Mrs. Freeman, then back at her sketch. “You’re sure this is the man?”
“I’m positive, what’s wrong?”
In my hands, drawn with subtle texture and expert shading, was a very accurate portrait of Mindgame.