Killing Capes (11 page)

              By contrast, the southern fountain was at the lowest level of interest to most people visiting the park. It was a small commemorative garden dedicated to the public safety workers who died in that same invasion. Dwight was fairly sure that few people knew of its existence.

              The small obsidian plaque fixed into the concrete of the memorial was etched with a simple dedication: “To those who gave all they could. You are the true heroes.”

              Seated on one of the park benches lining the outside circle of the plaza, Dwight was having a mental crisis he was wholly unequipped for. Wrestling with the need to broadcast Lia’s name while at the same time not thinking of his past actions or his present needs was proving impossible. As his thoughts raced through the many possible focal points, the telepath’s name repeated over and over again.

              A sudden hand grasping his shoulder snapped his attention back to his environment. He jumped, startled by the unexpected contact. At first, he feared that Linda might have found him. The voice that laughed at his reaction carried the same distinct accent he’d questioned earlier. “You’re just a bundle of nerves, aren’t ya?”

              Dwight spun around, fists raised, to see a young woman standing behind the bench he had previously occupied. From her clothing, she could have been some kind of biker. The leather jacket and worn jeans tucked into her combat boots said she was ready for a fight, while the neon blue hair would have been more appropriate in a rave. A multitude of gleaming silver jewelry hung from zipper, clasp, limb, and ear. She was slight, but looked like she could kick his ass if he gave her reason to. Seated on her right temple, just over her dark sunglasses, was a chrome device with a single blinking green light. It appeared to be permanently attached, dug into her skull.

              “Heard you thinking.” She thrust out a hand in his direction. “Lia; but you already know that.” The light on her implant turned red.

              Dwight extended his new arm to the small, punk-rock psychic and returned the handshake. “Dwight Knolls. You’re the Doc’s telepath?”

              “Sure, if that’s what you need.” She came around the bench and sat down, kicking her feet out in front of her. She leaned back, resting her hands behind her head. “If the money is there, I can clear your brain. The lady said something about nightmares.”

              Dwight realized she must not be actively reading his mind, or he would have been found out by now. The implant must have been cutting off her powers. “Not exactly; I’ve got something else in mind.”

              Instantly, she became defensive. She pulled her legs in and stood up. The light switched back to green. “I swear if this is some kind of – oh, that’s what you mean.”

              He cursed internally for giving himself away so soon. Though he didn’t physically feel anything, he knew she was diving into him, pulling the information buried in his mind. “Look, I can explain everything; just give me a second.”

              She held up a hand, silencing him. Even if he wanted to talk, he had suddenly forgotten how to form words. Even as he thought of what to say, his vocal cords couldn’t create the sounds.  He thought about turning to run from the mental dissection, but even that failed him. His limbs ceased functioning. All he could do was stand there as all of his secrets were read like an open book.

              “Interesting, D-man. You have a weird life.” She sat back down. Dwight remained standing, held in place by invisible strings. “I can see why you wanted a telepath. You’re messed up, you know that?”

              She finally released him, causing him to abruptly drop to his knees in front of her. His head hurt; a deep, throbbing pain as if someone had forcefully tossed his mind for memories and burned the place on the way out. It reminded him of a college hangover, the kind from shortly after the discovery of alcohol but before the discovery of moderation. He held his skull as he climbed to his feet. The psychic smiled at him contentiously, proud of her demonstration.

              She remained seated; as much as his thoughts turned to retaliation for the unprovoked attack, she’d proven that she could shut him down before he raised a fist. The light on her device remained green. It must have been a signal that her powers were active. He took a seat against the fountain a few feet from her bench. She had all the power here. His only goal now was not pissing her off.

              “Was that really necessary?” his head still throbbed, making sitting a necessity rather than a desire.

              She tipped her sunglasses down, revealing her vibrant blue eyes. The color nearly matched that of her outrageous hair. “Sure it was. I have to know what kind of creeps the Doc sets me up with. This is a dangerous city, you know? There are just so many people out there doing bad things to innocent little Powers like me.”  The green of her implant stayed constant as she remained on the surface of his thoughts.

              “Look, I can explain all of this shit.” He was ready to confess the entire thing to her. It had been a mistake to try to set this up. If he was lucky, she’d turn him in for the bounty to someone who would make his death quick and easy. If he wasn’t so fortunate, he’d get to endure years of blackmail, or worse. “I’m just doing my-”

              “Job, I know. Mind-reader, remember? Don’t you think if I was going to turn you in, I’d have kept you as a human puppet? I could make you write your confession on your forehead and march into the Guild’s lobby.” She removed her glasses completely, tucking them into her undershirt’s collar. Even if she didn’t have the readily-available ability to see into his thoughts, those fierce eyes could cut right through him.

              “So what are we going to do here? You know what I do, and what I want from you.” He just wanted this to be over so he could go nurse his throbbing headache. Lists of nearby liquor stores began populating his mental map.

              She stood and walked right up to him, “Like I said, Dwight; you’re interesting.” She held out her hand again, this time a genuine offer of partnership, rather than a courtesy. “I like interesting.”

              He returned the motion. It was the first time he had ever been called interesting.

              Within the hour, they were back at his apartment. Dwight and Lia joined Ian in the living room while they waited for Bernard to arrive. He entered with the commotion of a hurricane, banging on the door and coming in before any of the occupants could respond.

              “’o the fuck is this?!” Bernard shouted, immediately suspicious of the woman sitting in Ian’s spot on the cheap sofa. Ian had taken a place on the floor in front of the coffee table, about two feet from the television screen.

The slim man had gone into a panicked rush of cleaning when Dwight and his guest arrived. The entire display culminated with a mass of old pizza boxes being flung from their third floor balcony to the dumpster below. Lia had assured Ian that the cleaning wasn’t necessary; she knew the state of the apartment from his roommate’s memories. Dwight supposed his roommate really wanted to set a good impression with their first female guest in – well, probably ever. Regardless of his efforts, the common area was still a disaster.

For now, Ian was doing his best ostrich impression. He kept his head down and fixated on another game, hoping he’d be ignored by the hitmen plotting nefarious things in his living room. He was unfortunately becoming used to it; the terror that he might be killed for speaking at the wrong moment was nearly constant these last few weeks, primarily after meeting Rampage. Bernard’s frustration hung in the air around them.

Dwight started to speak for Lia but found himself again unable to. The red light switched colors as she froze him in place. “I’m the one who’s going to make this idiot’s plan actually work. Who the fuck are you?” Two Powers were having a pissing contest behind him, and all Ian could do was keep his attention buried in his game.

There was a tense moment as Bernard sized up the much smaller woman. Then he let out a chuckle, clearly deeming her tough enough to let his ego slide. “Righ’ then. You can call me B. Nice to meet ya.” He threw himself down on the ratty recliner that had previously housed Ian’s discarded food containers.

She lifted her hold on Dwight, who promptly sagged down in his seat as the pressure was released from his muscles. “Whatever you say, Bernard.” She tapped the implant with her finger, a sly smile on her lips.

The corners of the man’s eye twitched, “I bloody ‘ate mentalists. Buncha sneaky gits. Keep outta my ‘ead if you value yours.”

She let the light shift again. “I’ve already seen enough of you. I won’t be going back in there unless it’s to replace your mind with that of an
actual
pig.”

Dwight laughed a bit at the mental image that conjured. “Alright, enough. We’ve got work to do if we’re going to make this happen.”

They both glared at him, but followed the suggestion. Either of them could have seriously injured him with minimal effort, but he was still the leader of their little murder-squad, and he was going to try for something resembling peaceful cooperation.

Dwight began, “The first thing we need is to get Midas alone, outside of the city, and grounded. If he flies away or calls for help, this thing is over. Any ideas?”

Lia already looked annoyed, “I thought that ‘ideas’ was your entire job. Shouldn’t you have something for this already?”

She was right, as much as he didn’t want to admit it; without any powers to bring to the table, his only real contribution was the planning stage. The one time he really got involved in the action side of things had landed him in a coma with a missing arm; he was not about to repeat that accident. If Killstreak had nearly killed him, Midas would be able to tear him in half with his little finger. The man had stopped an out-of-control train with his own body. He had pulled asteroids off course using his bare hands. There wasn’t much, including the depths of the ocean and the vacuum of outer space, he couldn’t survive. And now Dwight, a man with no abilities to speak of, had to think of a way to kill him. Left with this revelation, he asked the other man sitting on the floor.

“Ian. Ideas: go,” he commanded, much to the disappointment of the other two people in the room.

Ian turned around, terrified by the mention of his own name. “Midas…speed, strength, toughness, flight, heat vision, perfect hair. I don’t know, Dwight; supposedly, he’s got an allergy to a type of rock that isn’t found on this planet.”

“Can we get our hands on some?” Dwight could guess the answer even as he asked the question.

Ian raised an eyebrow, “Why would he leave any of it here? Anyway, it’s not lethal to him. It’s a ‘runny nose’ allergy, not an ‘anaphylactic shock’ kind. Even if it wasn’t from across the galaxy, he removed all of it years ago and hurled it into the sun. The guy isn’t an idiot, Dwight.”

“I disagree. There isn’t a single Power I’ve met yet that isn’t completely dependent on their abilities.” Bernard and Lia were staring daggers at Dwight as the words left his mouth. “Present company excluded.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “If we take away his powers, he’ll go down like any other person. We don’t need some super mineral, just a little mental suggestion.”

Bernard looked skeptical, “Yer gonna convince ‘im not to kill you first ‘en?”

“We’re going to make him just like everyone else: powerless and scared. Lia’s going to put a little fear in Mr. Big Shot, and we’ll see how he does.”

“’at’s fucked up, D; really fucked up.” Bernard seemed suddenly aware of his partner’s capabilities, given the right motivation.

Dwight felt proud of his partner’s conclusion. “But first, we need to get him alone. Ian, can you think of anything we could use against him?”

Ian ran through his encyclopedic knowledge of the empowered world, “Midas doesn’t really patrol anymore; he’s a spokesman. Lives in the penthouse of the Guild’s Tower. The last time he actually fought someone was when he got called out by Apoch the Unstoppable.”

Dwight recalled watching the news clips of that fight. Seeing Midas snap the neck of an alien god bent on turning humanity into chemical slurry had put the retired Cape back in the spotlight for a few months. The actual fight had been something to see: together, they leveled two skyscrapers and about three blocks of cars during rush hour. If he remembered correctly, a few hundred people got caught in the crossfire.

Ian continued, “After that, he became a celebrity more than a crime-fighter. He nearly got kicked out of the Guild for some scandal with an old-world princess or something. I think there was a tape. He buried all the evidence pretty fast. That’s not the first time those rumors have come up.”

Of course a Power would be able to use all their skills to cover up their little accidents, especially if he had a fetish for filming things. Dwight could only guess what other movies Midas might have made. This was going to take a hell of a bluff, but it might work. At worst, it would let him get a cheap laugh or two before he was beaten to death.

Lia looked worried; the light on her head was active. “You’re a sick man, Dwight. But I think that’ll do.”

“I thought you said I was interesting?” he asked, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Can’t it be both?”

They rented an RV with a satnav from a dealership outside of New Haven and drove to the most remote section of the state park. It took most of the day to get there. Ian spent the trip wiring his computers into the satellite relay. Dwight figured that for Midas, the flight would only be about five minutes. On the exposed plateau, there would be little chance for an escape if things went bad. He wished there was another option, but this was the best spot they could find to broadcast their message.

Lia sat on a rocky outcropping away from the crude set the others were constructing. Her black ski mask lay on the ledge beside her.

“I’m not wearing that,” she said looking to Dwight. He saw her distain for the garment the moment he presented it to her.

Dwight was already putting his on, “We all need to be on camera. The more of us there are, the more likely he will come personally. We don’t want to have some sidekick show up instead. What’s the problem?”

“I just don’t do masks. Either way, my mental rewriting only lasts about three minutes. Are you sure you can get this done that quickly?” She glanced down at the dark cloth.

Dwight felt confident, even amused with the plan. He was actually enjoying himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. “Sure, if he actually comes. But if he thinks he can get away with sending a lackey, he’ll do it. We all need to be in the shot if this is going to happen.”

She sighed heavily, “Fine, but turn away.”

Dwight was confused; it wasn’t like he had asked her to change clothes or something. Puzzled as he was, he didn’t want to argue, and so he turned around, looking at the only junker RV they could afford if they didn’t bring it back in one piece. After a few impatient seconds, he called back, “You done yet?”

“Shut up before I make you forget how to control your bladder.” There was a pause. “Okay, you can turn around.”

He did as instructed. Sure enough, Lia had the mask pulled over her face; only her icy eyes were visible. At least they wouldn’t be identified before Midas arrived to kill his blackmailers and take their stolen footage. Behind her, Dwight could see a neon blue pile; he knew there was nothing natural about that hair color, but incorrectly assumed it was dyed. He decided it was in his best interest not to push the topic. After all, there were a lot of cliffs in the area, and a suggestion of “you can fly” would be a terrible way to go.

“Glad we’re on the same page then, Mr. Knolls.” Lia’s green light glowed visibly beneath the covering. “You do not get to ask me about that – ever.”

Bernard stepped down from the camper roaring with laughter, “’is is either the stupidest or most brilliant idea I’ve ever ‘eard from you, D. I can’t wait!” Ian must have let the plan slip.

The huge man’s sudden arrival caused Lia to panic and abruptly toss the wig further behind her. It flew off her perch, caught on the wind, and sailed over the nearby ridge. She turned back to the men, painfully aware of her error.

Dwight ignored it, and it seemed his partner hadn’t noticed at all. He moved past Bernard to check in with Ian, who was inside the trailer setting up the video stream. He sat at a small bank of monitors they had borrowed from his personal stash. The promise of a small fortune for completing the mission was enough to persuade him to help.

Still, he seemed uneasy about being involved in the murder of one of the city’s elite Powers. Dwight supposed he could empathize, even if this particular one had slept with his wife. Midas was a hero in the truest sense of the word. He had saved New Haven more times than anyone could count in his decades of service. Up until a few weeks ago, his roommate had idolized the Capes; it was amazing how quickly things could change.

“How’s the connection coming?” Dwight asked, looking at the indecipherable code Ian was entering into the transmitter.

Ian didn’t look away from his task. “Smooth enough. These old satellites are easy to crack. I’m setting this up so the average user won’t be able to track us, but the Guild’s systems will.”

To Dwight’s satisfaction, it turned out Ian was quite the programmer; he would have to bring it up the next time he visited with the Doc. Maybe it would even get Ian out of the apartment once in a while so Dwight could use the living room television in peace. “How long do you think you need?” he asked.

Ian lowered his head, massaging his temples with his long, spidery fingers. “Maybe ten minutes or so. I’ll definitely be done by the time you have the camera set up.”

Dwight left Ian to his typing. He went back outside to find Bernard moving their table into the center of the set as Lia adjusted the camera. The whole stage had been a rush job and looked reminiscent of a terrorist’s home movie. It would have to do; they didn’t have the opportunity to use any of Wulf’s fancy toys, Celene, or the Associates to clean up the mess.

All this was compounding the nagging awareness brewing at the back of his thoughts: if Wulf was really keeping low for a while because of the Killstreak job, why the hell would he choose to go after Midas, of all people? Midas was celebrity, a public fixture in New Haven. There’s no way taking him out wouldn’t send shockwaves through the Capes. There would be investigations, conspiracy theories, and people seeking retribution. Covering this up wouldn’t be possible even with an army of Associates.

The lack of an obvious offense added to the confusion. With all of his previous jobs, there had been some slight, some foul committed in Wulf’s insane game. Anything Midas could have done should have been general knowledge; the man couldn’t go anywhere without a dozen photographers tailing him. Even his affair with Linda had landed cover stories in a dozen tabloids, despite no solid proof ever being found.

A quick search hadn’t brought up any sightings of Midas since the press conference. With the others, Wulf’s “justice” had been prompt for their transgressions; in the Phoenix’s case, within a week. As much as he tried, Dwight couldn’t find a single story about Midas in twice that time. It didn’t make sense, unless Wulf had finally made a decision for something long forgotten. However, that didn’t feel right. It wasn’t Wulf’s style to delay a response to an insult. The Wulf that Dwight understood was swift, brutal, and always acted to send a message; this just wasn’t like him.

By now, his companions were each finishing their appointed tasks. The final touch: a Justice Guild flag they had taken from Ian’s room, now crudely shredded, hung on the side of the camper. Everyone’s mask in place, they gathered in front of the camera. The four of them waited for Ian’s signal that the broadcast had begun streaming to the city’s news outlets. His roommate’s intense focus darted between his phone and the camera in front of them.

“Ten seconds,” he said, his voice muffled by the hood covering his face. He was obviously nervous; Dwight couldn’t blame him. He felt terrible for pushing Ian into this, but they needed his presence, otherwise Dwight would have been happy to tell him to put the broadcast on remote and leave. Dwight swore a silent oath to himself that he would do everything he could to keep his roommate from harm.

Ian used his fingers to count down the last seconds. As his hand dropped back to his side, the transmitting light on the camera went live. The four of them stood silently for a few moments, waiting for the viewers at home to adjust to their interrupted programs.

Dwight rolled up the bottom of his mask, exposing only his mouth. “Good evening, New Haven,” he began, making a poor attempt to disguise his voice beneath gruff tones, “We have a special announcement for you. The golden guardian, Midas, has a little hobby that keeps getting him into trouble. Your savior seems to think he’s a bit of a filmmaker.”

Ian tapped the button he had been holding in his other hand: a switch controlling a projector on the ground just in front of their camera. Its image displayed against the flat surface of the RV’s side: a promotional photo of Midas standing proudly beside Lock Heart, an arm around her shoulder. The two of them looked majestic, larger than life. The photo was published when Linda first joined the team as a full member roughly two years earlier. It had been on all the covers that weekend.

“We have obtained footage of these two in, well, compromising positions – several, actually. Our proposal is simple: we’re holding an auction. We’ll start the bidding at one million. Interested parties should send their offer to this account.” He pointed to Bernard, who held up a cardboard sign with a long string of handwritten numbers. The account belonged to Ellis; one of many, he assumed. Dwight was sure she would appreciate the charitable donation, especially if it was at the expense of New Haven’s media outlets. She’d be smart enough to transfer the money and hide it before they could withdraw their payments.

It was a complete gamble. Dwight had no way of actually knowing whether the two of them made any evidence of their affair. Hell, if there
was
video, it was entirely possible that Linda hadn’t known she was being filmed. His assumption was based on Midas’s well-chronicled history of the behavior and the media’s insatiable lust for dirt on Capes.

Dwight hoped that Midas’s need to protect his public image would bring him running to their intentionally traceable location. If this step succeeded, he could only pray that his preparations would save them from the wrathful demigod they were openly taunting.

He gave a flourish and bowed deeply, never taking his eyes off the camera, “We thank you for your patronage, dear city, and hope you enjoy the show.”

Ian prepared to cut the feed, but was suddenly distracted. There was a distant boom somewhere far beyond the trees of the preserve, in the direction of the city. Before Dwight could identify it, the noise came screaming toward them. It slammed into the ground between the four extortionists and their equipment; the impact tossed the camera, vehicle, and themselves in separate directions. Dwight was hurled to the side, colliding with the wheel of the tilting RV before falling to the stone below. The trailer landed much as he did: hard on the rocks. He didn’t see where Ian, Lia, or Bernard fell.

As the dust around him settled, Dwight saw the downfall of hundreds of villains and conquerors kneeling in the crater: the man they had just humiliated. Steam rose from his body, a remnant of the impossible speed that had brought him here. His eyes glowed a deep, angry, hateful red. The networks, if the camera was still broadcasting, would be eating this up. He could see the headlines now: “Midas Foils Smear Campaign, Pummels Four into Fine Paste.”

Rising to his full, terrifying height, Midas took purposeful strides directly at Dwight’s prone form. Lifting him by the back of his jacket with a single hand like he weighed nothing, the Cape held his would-be blackmailer above his face.

With his free arm, the Power roughly tore away the mask from Dwight’s head. If he had wanted to, Midas could have simply annihilated his skull with a blast from his optic rays. The last ragged shreds fell away as he focused all his bitter frustration at figuring out Dwight’s identity. Though they had met several times in the past at Linda’s work functions, the Power came up with nothing. It seemed physical perfection and genius-level intellect were no match for the power of Dwight’s complete obscurity.

He spoke through clenched teeth, “Tell me who you are. Now.” He pulled Dwight in so close the man’s spittle hit his cheek. “You have three seconds.”

“Dwight Knolls; we’ve met before. You might know me as ‘The Referee.’ You slept with my wife. At least once, I think.” It was proving difficult to speak, the way he was being held.

Both men stopped as Bernard rounded the edge of the overturned camper. “The ‘ell was that?!” he shouted at no one in particular. He froze upon realizing that their plan had succeeded.

“Goliath?” Midas asked. Apparently, he knew Bernard from his previous life – the one Dwight always wondered about. There was a second of processing on both sides; Midas finished first. The look of confusion transformed into one of determined rage.

There wasn’t time for a response. Dwight suddenly felt himself falling. Before he landed, a blur of motion rocketed Bernard backward into the rock wall. The force of Midas’s punch embedded the giant in the stone. Dwight knew his partner could take a hit, but he wasn’t sure of Bernard’s limits, if there were any. Midas’s fist had leveled gods, toppled buildings; Bernard often whined about paper cuts. His wounds may heal unnaturally quickly, but he was still as vulnerable to injury as anyone else. Bernard slipped out of the imprint and dropped to the ground with a loud thud. He wasn’t moving. Midas advanced on the fallen giant.

Dwight tried to scramble away from Midas. If Lia was alive, she was his only chance of stopping the furious superhuman. He made it around the side of the trailer when he spotted Ian lying face down, his left leg pinned under the RV. Rushing to his side, Dwight pulled on the limb trying to free it, but to no avail. Ian was completely unconscious, which Dwight assumed was a blessing. Had he been awake, the shock of a shattered leg would be unbearable.

Satisfied with his smiting of Bernard, Midas followed Dwight’s path around the RV. He stood over the struggling hitman and his roommate. “Where is the film, Dwight?”

If nothing else, at least this time the Cape remembered his name, “I never had it – but thanks, I guess, for letting me know that there is one.”

Dwight stood, staring the most powerful individual New Haven had ever encountered square in the face. The fact that Midas could cause an earthquake with a footstep didn’t matter. Dwight was tired of being afraid of the Powers. If he died here, it would be standing up to one of the entitled pricks. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it. I’m done bowing to your kind.”