In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition (18 page)

“Shoot.”

“Okay. Why weren’t any of the mainline heroes at Redhawk’s induction?”

Terry shook his head. “Politics.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The Deuteragonist Society called for a boycott, and most folks honored it.”

“Who are they?”

Terry opened his hands. “This is a lot of ancient history, but you were gone when the Hall opened. The Hall negotiated a deal with the heroes to control revenue and images, which worked out since anyone wanting to control that stuff himself, in those days anyway, would pretty much have to give up his secret identity to pursue the lawsuits. Discovery and so forth, and the right to confront an accuser. Sidekicks were included in the deals, pretty much as property of the primary hero. Redhawk and a few others escaped that, but they’d already become independent before the deal went into effect.”

I nodded. “And if a sidekick went independent later, his revenue would flow to the primary. And they probably had no sub-licensing deal in place with the primary.”

“Exactly. Came to a head about twelve years ago with the Scarlet Archer and Fletcher. Fletcher went independent and tried to break free by calling himself Fletch. He and Archie had had a falling out long since. Archie sued, then brought a hot young dish in to become the new Fletcher. They became an item and she later sued him for palimony. In the original case, however, his rights to the Fletcher trademark were upheld. If the man who had been Fletcher wanted to still be a hero, he had to find a new name and start over.”

Terry shrugged. “So the sidekicks got together, formed the Deuteragonist Society, and went on strike. They forced the Hall and the heroes to put revenue-sharing, health, dental and educational programs in place. It was a good thing, but there was a backlash. The heroes on the nominating committee never picked a sidekick. When Redhawk was nominated, the Deuteragonists urged him to refuse. They wanted a deal where a bunch of sidekicks would come in all at once. When that didn’t happen, they called for a boycott.”

“And the heroes respected it?”

Grant nodded. “The nominating committee fights this battle every year. I’m for bringing the sidekicks in, but the hardline faction says they’re just adjuncts and feeding off the fame of the primaries. Another faction doesn’t agree to the basket adoption because they say it demeans the individual efforts of those who would be inducted. Lots of primaries agree, so they stayed away; and a lot of the hardliners see Redhawk as a sidekick still, so they stayed away.”

“Fascinating.” I hung the towel around my neck. “The independents did well in the ratings.”

“It’ll even out again. It always does.” Terry shook his head. “The rich remain rich, while the poor fight for table scraps.”

“I suppose you want to push the nominating committee to put Puma into the Hall, right? That is your other question?”

“It’s a good one, but not the one I was going to ask.” I reported to both of them what Selene had said about the list of the vanished. They both looked surprised.

“I’d not noticed your not being on the list before.” Terry shrugged. “Then again, I just kept trying to remember who some of the folks on the list were. Who ever heard of the Blue Eel?”

An image flashed through my mind. “A woman–girl really–based about fifty miles up the Fishkyll. She worked a bunch of the lakes up there–Forest Ranger vigilante game warden kind of thing. Some water powers. Not very powerful, but pleasant. She came to town once for a fish market poaching scam.”

“Huh. I’ll be...”

Grant nodded. “I remember her, dimly. I have to admit, I never noticed the lack either. I guess I just assumed you were there. I know I was on the distribution list for the names when the idea of creating the memorial was first put forward. Staff assembled a file on everyone. You were there. It was approved. Selene should have said something.”

“She wouldn’t have. Remember, she and the Hall don’t like each other.”

“True enough.”

“But my name is on the scroll now. How come?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t do it, but I can find out who did.” Grant cocked his head. “How important is it?”

“Good question.” I thought for a second, then sighed. “Just idle curiosity now, I guess. Is that sort of resignation part of P-crud?”

“No, my friend, we call that maturity.” Grant beckoned me back onto the mat. “
This
is part of P-crud.”

The hot shower helped a little after Grant finished giving me the honor of helping him through P-crud. Once I got to believing that Grant was just flesh and blood, I’d become a bit more confident. He made me pay for that. I might have been fighting with no style at all, but he had all of them down solidly. Through the years I’d fought against some of the world’s best martial artists. Grant could have mopped the deck with every single one.

And despite his claiming he had no powers left, I’d have made him an odds-on bet at splitting a car engine with a single karate chop.

I hopped on the CRAWL and headed back to Castigan’s place, but I got off early. I told myself it was because I really needed to thank Randy Singh for tipping Kid Coyote off and saving my life. I could even see if he still had that yo-yo and Castigan could offer it for sale. And right up to the point when I left the CRAWL and almost turned toward the store, I believed it absolutely.

Then I headed for the Bluebelle. For half a dimly-lit block I told myself I was just going to pick my stuff up and that was it. Believed it, too. Yep. I was lying. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to confront Bennie.

And I even knew why.

Shrinks philosophize about the freedom people get with the anonymity of the mask. With our identities hidden, we become more bold, freer to be ourselves. The person inside us can transcend the fleshy prison. We can be wittier or more sexual or confident. Once we lose the fear of embarrassment or discovery, we are truly set free.

Free of fear.

Once upon a time fear had been my ally. Frighten a criminal so badly that he drops a load in his pants, and the next time he’ll drop a dime on a friend. I’d used fear to build a network of informants that kept me ahead of the enemy.

But, after the beat down I was afraid. I needed to make someone else afraid.
Sharing is caring.
And Bennie, for very good reasons, was top of my list. He’d sold me out. He had to pay.

Bennie didn’t see me until I slammed both hands on his cage. His head came up. His eyes went wide white.

He rabbitted, which was exactly what I wanted.

A quick kick sheered the bolt on his cage. Another tore the office door off the hinges. Terror twisted his features. He ripped open an outside door and darted into the alley. I came after him as fast as I could, leaping over the clattering trash cans he toppled in his wake.

He cut right, dashing into another alley. I hesitated at the corner. I crouched, looked. He was halfway into a small courtyard, heading for a dark warehouse. I sprinted after him. He yanked the door open and disappeared inside. The door banged on the exterior wall, then arced closed again.

But I caught it before it could lock.

I slipped inside and cloaked myself in shadow. I could feel him out there. Tiny echoes of labored breathing reached me.

I set my voice low. “We have an issue to settle Bennie. Do we do it the easy way, or do we wait until you get out of Intensive Care?”

Something crashed in the darkness. I moved toward it, then barked my shin on something hard. I crouched to rub it and something whistled through the air where my head had been.

A light flashed on from above, pinpointing us. Bennie stood there, a fire ax raised high.

“Stop!” announced a sepulchral voice, “the game is ended.”

Bennie thought the words were for him.

But, really, Nighthaunt was speaking to me.

Chapter Seventeen

Bennie hadn’t gotten the message. He rose on his toes, the ax going higher. Light gleamed from the razored edge. Unholy terror burned in his eyes, outshining it. He looked at me but didn’t see a person. I wasn’t someone he recognized. I was Grendel–he was Beowulf.

Something whizzed through the air. It hit him hard, right there, in his forehead. A Spookstar. In years past Nighthaunt’s weapon would have buried two inches of blade in Bennie’s skull. Or, if Nighthaunt was feeling generous, would have pinned his hands to the ax-handle. Now it just
thwoked
off, leaving a red mark and a little dent.

The Mark of Cain.

Bennie bounced one way, the ax another. The Spookstar fell by my knee. Blackened steel, the four-bladed throwing star had been blunted as if black olives had been impaled on each point. Black neoprene plastic covered them. In spite of that change, the Spookstar worked as effectively as the old model, but with much less blood.

As I scooped it up, the light went out.

His voice, just a shade more brittle than I remember, sent shivers down my spine. “It is
you
, isn’t it?”

“Thanks for the save.”

“How long have you been back in Capital City?”

“Month and a half, give or take.” I didn’t bother trying to see him. I couldn’t. He probably had nightvision equipment on or was using a headphone and broadcasting to compact speakers he’d scattered about. Nighthaunt had always been clever that way.

He pondered silently for a bit. “Of course, Old Dude with yo-yo.”

“Old Dude who got stomped shortly thereafter.”

“Why did you come back?”

I shrugged. “Retirement. Capital City was the only home I’ve known.”

Again silence for a heartbeat or two–which wasn’t much time given how fast mine was fluttering. “I’ve admired your work. Stockholm. Mumbai. Mombassa. Oh, and that thing in Cyprus, very well done. And Lhasa, my favorite. I’m sure I’m missing many more.”

I cocked my head. “You knew I was out there?”

“I knew
someone
was out there. I didn’t make the connections until just now. I monitor things just in case they are headed for my city. “

His city.
Some people never change.

“Those days are past. I’m out of the game.”

“We’re never out of the game.”

“Rumors of your retirement clearly are false.”

“I keep my hand in at the request of others, but strictly in an information-gathering capacity.”

“Yeah? What did you learn nailing Bennie there?”

“That I still have it.” He laughed and the chills intensified. “As do you.”

I shook my head. “You know that’s not true. I froze. I went after Bennie to convince myself I wasn’t afraid, but I am. The Zomboyz. Panda-moanium. A motel clerk with an ax. Game over, and I don’t have the spare change to buy more lives.”

“Pity you think so. When I was your age I’d only dimly begun to think of retirement. I pushed the idea off until a replacement came on the scene.”

“Redhawk. You trained him right.”

“But he wasn’t the replacement. You were.”

I made no attempt to cover my surprise. “You’re joking.”

“You and I are different from the other heroes. Graviton was invincible. He was a god. Golden Guardian had his power armor. Colonel Constitution had that ultra-warrior serum pumped into him. The mutants… You and I were, well, we found respectable words for it: Gadgeteers or Tricksters. You know the others referred to us as Felixes, don’t you?”

“As in the cartoon cat?”

“With his bag of tricks. Terry and Grant once said that, not realizing I was in earshot. They viewed me as something less than they were. Most of C4 did, which is why I set out to bring down each of their arch-nemeses in turn.”

“So that was the origin of the ‘Twelve Labors of Nighthaunt.’” I frowned. “You broke your leg during that, right?”

“Left femur, compound fracture. Cold really gets to it these days.” A little irritation crept into his voice. “I got them, though, and earned grudged respect from the others. It made me realize that if they were going to look at a colleague as being beneath them, this was going to be their vision of ordinary people. And someone had to defend them. That task fell to the Felixes of the world.”