“The Anti-Hero Alliance.” I cross my arms and stare. Tired of playing games, my hunger has climbed beyond the airline sandwich level. “We have information that you are a member who has been in contact with Leroy DeLaCruz.”
“Oh, wait, you mean that bullshit ‘Fuck the Capes’ forum?”
At the mention of the word ‘cape’ Ann stands up from her chair, hand on her gun, jaw clenched.
Kevin puts his hands up and trembles. I don’t blame him. “Okay, okay, take it easy, Lady. Yeah, there’s this forum where humans can get together to complain about the ca—” Kevin swallows the word. “Complain about the heroes. They get everything handed to them. They are above human law and above human government. It’s bullshit.”
“How many people are on this forum?”
Kevin shuffles his feet on the carpet. He kicks an energy drink can. The can falls over and a little splash of caffeine spills onto the floor. “I don’t know. A lot, I guess. I only talked to two guys, really.”
“What were their names?” Ann’s voice has an edge, reminding me of the badass she claimed to be on the plane. SHI training standards are insane, even regular Joes that work desk jobs are required to run a sub-seven minute mile and bench press their own body weight. Or so the rumors go.
“I don’t know their real names. One goes by LDeL…”
Leroy DeLaCruz.
“…and the other goes by ‘CapeH8er69’.” Kevin cringes as he says the name.
“Cape Hater Sixty-Nine?” There is no way this bunch of half-asses infiltrated SHI, avoided super-national security, and blew up the Engine.
“Yeah, but ‘Hater’ is with the number eight. You know, like ‘H-eight-er.’” Kevin draws the number eight in the air with his finger. I briefly debate breaking the finger solely to justify this monumental fucking waste of time.
“I think we’re done here.”
Ann scans the apartment one last time. Her upper lip curls, indicating soon isn’t soon enough.
As I step across the threshold I say, “Oh yeah, Kevin…”
Kevin sits in his computer chair. He leans back, puts his hands behind his head, and watches with a half-smile, cocky now that he thinks he’s getting off.
“I’m going to have SHI monitor your computer. If you post one more inflammatory comment towards superheroes, you are going to find yourself in court for that rather large media collection you seem to have acquired. Understand?”
The attitude fades as quickly as the color in his face.
“Have a nice day.” I wink and slam the door behind me.
ANN SLAMS HER DOOR
with a fury that Hell couldn’t come within light years of. Her face is still flushed with rage and a strand of hair has come loose from her military-spec bun. It dangles in front of one of her hazel eyes. She clearly thinks Kevin should be punched in the face. I can’t fault her for that.
Our driver turns to face us. He takes one glance at Ann’s bottled-up anger before asking me if we are headed back to the airport.
“Actually, you know of any good restaurants?” I’m starving and Ann can’t be far behind.
“Define good,” the driver says, eyeing my suit.
“Burger or pizza good.”
The driver smiles. “Yeah, I know a great spot for a pie. It’s even on the way.”
“Let’s go there.”
The engine roars to life.
“Do you really think now is the best time to be going for some nosh?” Ann’s question comes through gritted teeth. The lack of ‘h’s in her English vocabulary become even more pronounced. Fair enough, I tend to sound much redneckier when I’m pissed.
The driver turns the radio up and beats away a bass line on the steering wheel as he drives. A city brighter than Atlanta lights the night sky.
“What else should we be doing?”
“We should brief Vince on the interrogation.”
“That wasn’t an interrogation. That was a circus. The little shit doesn’t know anything about a terrorist plot, and I’ll be highly surprised if the ‘Dipshit8er’ lead gets us anywhere.”
“In that case, we need to be moving forward to Vegas so we can question River about Tess.”
“You’re right, but I need to eat. That tiny sandwich on the plane isn’t enough to keep my ass going for a sixteen-plus hour day. Especially with no end in sight.”
Ann’s shoulders slump. She probably knows I’m right. The bad posture doesn’t suit her at all.
“You do like pizza, right?”
“Everyone likes pizza. Especially the kind with spinach.”
“Ack,” I say, “spinach on a pizza? Gross. Pepperoni and jalapeño is the only way.”
“We’re here.” The driver comes to a stop outside a small pizzeria.
“Thanks. We’ll be out in thirty.”
I step out of the car and into the street. This city has a kind of bright neon glow about it. The feeling in the air makes me think of a less-crowded Tokyo. Having never been outside of Georgia means I’m no expert in world lighting. I walk around the car and hold out a hand to help Ann. The color on her face has resumed its normal state. Maybe the car ride chilled her out.
The pizza place has plate-glass windows facing the street. There is a miasma of garlic and grease floating outside the store. The smell is a beautiful thing. Through the windows I spot a handful of tables with a few people eating inside. I don’t know what time it is here, but the night seems calm. Probably late enough that most of the sensible people are in bed, leaving only the cool and/or crazy people left out. We walk to the order counter.
The cashier has her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and is wearing a green apron with white flour dusted across the front of it. “Hello, what can I get for you all tonight?”
“Do y’all do spinach pizza here?”
“We sure do.” She smiles. The gesture is friendlier than your typical service worker smile.
“Cool. I’ll take a large pizza with half that and half pepperoni-jalapeño. Oh yeah, and two cokes.” I point to the cooler nearby.
She taps away at her register. “That’s going to be seventeen dollars.”
I pull out my wallet and grab a twenty.
She looks at the bill and winces.
Shit, this is a different fucking country. She meant Canadian Dollars, not American. “Um, take Visa?” I hold up my credit card.
She smiles and takes the card. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring it out when it’s done.”
I open the cooler and grab a Dr. Pepper. “What would you like?”
Ann’s head drops to the side. “You said we were getting Cokes.”
“Yeah, two cokes.”
“But, that’s not a Coke.”
I sigh, getting it now. “Same thing. It’s just an expression. What kind of
soda
would you like?”
“I’ll have a Coke. You know, the real one with the red label.”
“Very funny.” I grab the drink and we take a seat by the front windows.
“So, you never told me how you found out about your powers.”
Ann traces her finger down her drink, leaving a line through the condensation. She shakes her head like she doesn’t want to tell me, but with a deep breath she starts, “No one knows what kind of powers a person will come out of the Engine with, all right?”
I nod.
“Sometimes it’s obvious. When Fogo came out of the Engine on fire, everyone knew what his power was. Others are more of a mystery. A lot of the heroes come out of the Engine looking exactly as they did when they went in. That’s what happened to me. The researchers weren’t surprised when I came out of the Engine with the same look as when I went in.
“So they put me through a standard set of tests designed to ‘draw out’ my new abilities, understand? Think of a superhero obstacle course. I failed every test. Flying? Nope. Super strength? Not an ounce. Telekinetic abilities? I couldn’t so much as bend a plastic spoon. No one at SHI knew what to do with me. By this point all heroes showed some kind of aptitude. I kept catching researchers whispering about me being a
failed hero.”
Ann unscrews the cap from her drink. The carbonation hisses, and the drink still foams as she takes a sip. “Finally, they decided on one last tactic. They asked me to go on an actual mission with a tried-and-true hero. Maybe a high-intensity situation would break something loose inside my brain, yeah? Allow me to use my powers or something.
“The researchers brought in Meltin. His body could turn to liquid, like molten steel, before reshaping and hardening into anything. Meltin was one of the older heroes. They figured his experience might come in handy. That and he was bloody indestructible.”
I vaguely remember the name. If I remember right, he died in Asheville, North Carolina a couple years back. I don’t remember how he died, but I have a feeling we’re getting to that. My mouth keeps itself shut. It’s a smart mouth like that.
“First call came in was a bank robbery. Robbers locked themselves inside a main branch. They had hostages and fired shots at police outside. The situation seemed like a perfect way to break in a new superhero or die trying. No one except the highest SHI officials knew about me at this point. I think they planned to sweep me under the rug if I failed.
“They kept the operation so secret, they didn’t even use Miles to traverse us to the bank. They sent us out by plane. The robbers seemed content to sit in their stalemate and SHI doesn’t care much about a few lives. The whole ‘few for the many’ policy is SHI’s unwritten rule.
“Meltin and I get to the bank, all right? We meet with the head of the police, tell him we are going in.”
“Excuse me. I’ve got one half-and-half pizza.” The cashier girl sets the pizza on a stand, pepperoni side facing me, spinach facing Ann. She sets out two plates and tells us to enjoy our meal.
Ann flashes a weak smile and watches the pizza. I take a slice for myself and set it on my plate to cool. “What happened next?”
Ann’s eyes shine. No tears, no quivering lip. Just a pair of gleaming greenish globes, reflecting the cheap light hanging over our table. “Meltin tells me to stay behind him. He says, ‘Just because you might have super powers, it don’t mean you’re invulnerable to bullets.’ I walked behind him, willing my body to prove any sort of super power. As we got close to the bank, maybe twenty feet out, the robbers took notice.
“Two men pointed rifles at us out the shattered front doors. They had bandanas tied around their faces and black leather gloves on. Both their arms were covered in tattoos. Swastikas and skulls and naked women. I could draw those tattoos from memory.” Ann swallows. She takes a slice of pizza and sets it on her plate. Steam rises off the melted cheese. The sweet, earthy scent of spinach drifts in the air around us.
“The men, they yelled at us to sod off or whatever. Meltin told them we were heroes. He told them their guns were useless against him. He kept walking forward. I stayed in his shadow like a frightened little girl. Finally, ten feet out from the front door, one of the men opened fire. Meltin took a stance like he was about to harden to a shield. I ducked behind him thinking he would stop the bullets just like he always did…” Her voice trails off and her eyes drop to the rapidly chilling piece of pizza.
“Only, he didn’t stop the bullets, did he?”
“No.” Her voice is a whisper. “I ended up dragging his body behind the police barricades. Paramedics were waiting, but it was too late, there was nothing to do for him.” Ann picks a spinach leaf off her slice of pizza and drops it on the side of her plate. “And
that
is how I found out my only super power is nullifying other heroes’ powers.”
I don’t have any words of comfort. What do you say to a story like that?
Ann grabs a slice from my side of the pizza. “And so, the Initiative deemed me a danger to heroes. I was forbidden from telling anyone I had been through the Engine. They gave me a desk job where heroes rarely visited and left me there until,” she checks her watch, “seven hours ago.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage.
We eat the rest of our pizza in silence, splitting my half of the pizza and leaving the spinach side untouched. When she finishes, she wipes her mouth with a napkin and sets it on top of her cold slice of spinach pizza.
“Well,” I say, “you ready to go shakedown another hero? Maybe we can use the phonebook to get information out of this one.”
BACK IN THE PLANE
, we call Vince before the wheels leave the tarmac. Vince shows up on the screen after a few seconds. He’s wearing his mostly jovial expression, but bags are swelling under his eyes, and he doesn’t seem to be chewing his gum with the same pop as when we met earlier. This long-ass day is starting to show. I wonder if I look that bad. Ann still looks fresh, but her eyes stay closed an extra half-second with every blink.
“What have you guys got for me?” Vince stifles a yawn.
“Kevin Gagnon was a bust,” I say. “I don’t think he could have infiltrated an organization like SHI. He might be okay with a computer and may spill over some hate-speak on the weekends, but I doubt he gets any further than passive racism.”
Vince steeples his hands, chin resting on index fingers. “Did you glean
any
useful information from the man?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Something about sitting in the plush leather seat has reminded my body of just how fucking exhausted it is. The bed I left in Atlanta is a world away, now. “He said he talked regularly on a hero hate forum with two guys. One named LDeL…”
I wait for Vince to make the simple connection. Years on the force has taught me that even bosses like to feel like detectives. So every once in a while, you have to toss them the easy alley-oop.
“Leroy DeLaCruz. You don’t have to lead me, Quig. I’m more than capable of keeping up.”
I’ve been wrong before.
“Did you find anything else?”
Ann clears her throat. “There was a second person Gagnon spoke with frequently. Screen name: CapeH8er69.” The corners of Ann’s mouth draw back in a grimace.
Vince’s jaw drops an inch before tightening into a clench. “His name is what?”
“Cape Hater, ‘hate’ with an ‘eight,’” I draw an imaginary digit in the air much the same as Kevin did earlier tonight, “Sixty-nine.”
“Sixty-nine,” Vince says. The normally-amused Vince is anything but tickled by this.