In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition (24 page)

My father snorted. “Sidney Frazer, Whispering Willows Assisted Living Homestead, Room 114C, overlooking the Fishkyll, just four miles south of East Carcosa.”

I blinked. “You knew where he lived?”

“I own the facility–it was one of my better investments. The staff has access to medical records. DNA matching isn’t that difficult these days.”

“Collecting DNA on retirees is your hobby?”

“We don’t just let
anyone
live there.” He smiled wistfully, “Sidney would have died to know that Elaine Davenport up in 334B was the Ruby Rattler.”

I frowned. “I didn’t hear you tell me that Panda-moanium planned the Hall caper all by himself.”

“I would never lie to you, son.”

“Okay, that ship’s sailed. Who was behind it?”

“I don’t know that anyone was.” He watched frustration grow on my face, then smiled. “By the same token, if I were a criminal mastermind, I might have heard whispers of someone trying to organize criminals. Nowadays it’s like herding wet cats, of course, but the attempt may be underway.”

I poked the book. “Well, you being an expert in all this criminal conspiracy stuff, you’d know. Got a name?”

“I might have heard the name ‘Mr. Big’ bruited about. Melodramatic choice. However, I don’t even know if it is a him. It could be a her, or a they.”

“You sure they’re out there?”

“There’s always someone out there, my boy.” He stood and Carl drew the chair from behind him. “I’ll be late for my next engagement. It was a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

Victoria smiled. “Thanks for the book.”

“Don’t think harshly of me. Save that for your father.”

I stood, held out a hand. “By the way, four years ago, Khirgizstan, that was you, wasn’t it? In the doorway?”

“I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”

“Should I be thanking you?”

“Do you still play the piano?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t recently.”

“But you still can. Good.” He bowed his head toward me. “I doubt we’ll meet again. I wish you better luck with your child than I had with mine.”

I watched him go.

Victoria gave my hand a squeeze again. “What was that bit about the piano?”

I wiggled my fingers. “Got all my toes, too. He didn’t stop them torturing me, just didn’t want me disfigured.”

Carl appeared suddenly and shoved a book into my hands. I opened it. Sinisterion had signed it.

To my son, Trevor,

The future is a reflection of the past.

Solutions lay before and are discovered last.

–Sinisterion

“You don’t look like a Trevor.”

“That’s because I’m not.” I shook my head. “Always wheels within wheels.”

I forced myself to smile and finished my coffee. “Probably time I see to your getting home, isn’t it, Victoria?”

“Vicki. Why don’t you call me Vicki?” She gathered up her book and headed for the door. “You should come for dinner. Mom’s not expecting you, but I think it’ll be okay.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Vicki kept up a steady stream of chatter as we traveled in the CRAWL. We both recognized it for what it was–idle nonsense to keep things light between us. She’d had a big shock learning her grandfather’s identity, and she studiously fought thinking about the implications.

Her mother wasn’t home. She’d gone off to an emergency meeting of some municipal committee or other. I begged off dinner, headed back across town, and snagged a couple of slices before returning to the shop. There was lots of little stuff I could do, and little problems to figure out. Solving them, I assumed, would keep me from thinking about my father, too.

Wrong assumption, especially since one of the little problems–the Murdoch–exacerbated the whole deal.

Murdochs were everywhere. By law, one had been installed inside the vault, even though the room would remain locked and all the air would be pumped out to preserve things. I’d discretely inquired about a cut-out switch for the big screen in the front room, but the workmen looked at me as if I were a narc trying to score super-chunky peanut butter. That wasn’t happening.

So there he was, Dr. Sinisterion, the main guest on The O’Lily Forum. Will O’Lily’s florid jowls were all aquiver as he faced my father down. “Let’s not kid ourselves here, Doc. This is the All-truth Zone, and your book’s a crock. You’ve been behind every criminal action since the Lindbergh kidnapping.”

“First, it is
Doctor
Sinisterion…”

“Sure, sure.” The host mugged for the camera. “A doctorate of Divinity.”

“One who deserves to be worshipped as a god ought to have the background for it, shouldn’t one?” My father paused for a moment, as if O’Lily was capable of comprehension, then continued as the man began to open his mouth. “Second, and more to the point, your crack research team must have told you I was not yet born when the Lindbergh baby was kidnapped.”

“So you’re trying to say it’s impossible for you to have been involved?”

“To your allegation that my book is a tissue of lies, I would have to bow to your knowledge on that subject. I’ve read your books.”

O’Lily beamed and turned toward the viewers. “Hear that, Doctor Sinisterion has read my books, including the latest
I’m a Culture Superhero
. You liked it, did you?”

“I laughed. I cried. Mostly laughed.” Sinisterion’s eyes half-closed. “My point is this: I merely analyze the past and speculate on how history might have been changed. Being graced with vision is an honor, and I’ve chosen not to squander it. It allows me to look into the future.”

O’Lily took the bait. “What do you see?”

“Disaster. Take, for example, the program announced today to form the Capital City Costumed Constabulary under Colonel Constitution the Third.”

“Brilliant idea. I’m for it.” O’Lily waggled a finger at my father and I was surprised Carl didn’t step in to break it off. “You, being a cowardly criminal, must hate it.”

“On the contrary, I love it.”

“You what?”

“All the superheroes will be organized, centralized and given resources if they play along. They’ll be sent on assignments and will be given adequate backup. From a criminal point of view, that’s a disaster. While I have no idea what it feels like to stuff your nemesis into a death-trap to await his inevitable escape; those days will be gone. Your heroes become glorified clerks, filling out endless city forms.”

The host’s expression hardened. “Why is it that you never just shoot a hero in the head? I mean, even in the olden days?”

“Of course, Will, I can only speculate, but it’s simple. Better the devil you know than the one you don’t–especially if he believes you are stupid enough to let him escape. In a grand Skinnerian experiment, you train him to underestimate you. Then, on that one time you truly need to win, you can catch him by surprise.”

“Well surprise was what you got when you planned the Hall of Fame assassination of Puma!”

“Hardly, Will.” My father chuckled, almost warmly. “While one can admire the audacity of that assault, the simple fact is that it accomplished nothing. There are many other ways to murder an old man–most of them undetectable, or so my studies lead me to believe.”

“I don’t believe this denial, Sinisterion! You’re a criminal mastermind, I know it.” O’Lily’s eyes took on a steely glaze. “And I’m telling my viewers right now that I’m making it my duty to bring you down, do you hear? Nighthaunt couldn’t do it. Graviton couldn’t do it, but I’m going to!”

My father opened his arms innocently. “Such hostility, Mr. O’Lily, when I’ve done nothing to deserve it. You’re treating me like a man who would have no compunction about, say, embedding ground glass in a loofah and having you scrubbed raw with it. You act as I might then stake you out on a beach to watch crabs feasting on your writhing form at dawn sipping my morning tea–simply because evanescent windbags annoy me.”

“You can’t threaten me!”

“How is your Tuesday looking? Breakfast at dawn?”

“I… I… I…”

My father caught O’Lily’s wrist. The big man tired to jerk it away, but my father maintained his grip effortlessly. “Calm yourself, Will. I was merely demonstrating that misapprehension is easy. You misjudged me, as have millions. My book sets things straight. You’ve seen that, and so shall they.”

My father released his wrist.

O’Lily pulled it back and rubbed, then turned, ashen-faced, to the camera. “We’ll be back with
more
of the Forum in just a minute! We’ll take on the issue of retired villains, and whether or not they’re entitled to social security.”

Someone buzzing the outside door stopped me from shoving a broomstick through the Murdoch. I crossed to the little reception desk, glanced at the monitor and hit the intercom button. “The shop is not open.”

The girl looked familiar, but the stoop wasn’t well enough illuminated to be sure I knew her. “Please, Mr. Castigan, I need your help. My name is Diana Shaw...”

“Come up immediately, Ms. Shaw.”

I buzzed her through the door, then went out and waited for the elevator to grind its way up to the third floor. The doors opened and Puma’s great granddaughter stepped out, lugging a bulging army duffle-bag. I took it from her and staggered under the weight.

“You are stronger than you appear.”

She didn’t look at me until we were in the shop and I’d closed the door again. “I’m looking for Mr. Castigan.”

“You’ve found him.”

“But I know you. You were with my great grandfather when he died. You came to the memorial service. I’m looking for the guy who sells collectibles.” She stood there for a second, her jaw clenched, her chin wrinkled, eyes beginning to glisten. “I don’t know what to do.”

I set the duffle bag down. “What you’re going to do is sit here and tell me what’s wrong.” I dragged the reception desk chair around. “Spill it.”

“It’s kinda simple but… it’s just a mess. Puma had a little pension, but that stops now he’s dead. My grandmother isn’t quite right in the head, so my uncles have power of attorney. My mom has been my grandmother’s caregiver, and Puma used to send her money to help out. Now that there was a lump of cash that came through because of the ratings and the new series, my uncles are fighting. My mom isn’t getting anything and I’m in school, so I really can’t get a job, so…”

I nodded. “So you thought you’d sell your grandfather’s kit…”

Her lower lip quivered. “He gave the stuff to me, see, his eldest great grandchild. None of his grandkids were worthy. But he liked me and…”

“And he trusted you because you’re good and honest and honorable.”

“You say that, but here I am selling his stuff.”

“How much do you need?”

Her eyes sharpened. “Just ‘cuz I’m in desperate straits, don’t think you’re gonna take advantage of me. He might have wanted me to ‘be good,’ but that doesn’t mean
stupid
.”

I smiled. “Intelligence is good. Now, answer my question.”

“Thirty thousand.”

“That much?”

“My mom and some of the other neighbors will pool their money and hire some help, make some improvements. They’re going to make their own little care facility right there for their parents. If you have a village, it can raise a kid, or take care of a grandparent.”

“Very good idea.” I leaned back against an empty display case. “This is what we’re going to do. I will advance you the money. Your grandfather’s equipment will go into our vault. I’ll restore it, we’ll display it.”

She turned and looked, then smiled. “Right there, next to the Golden Guardian’s armor?”

“Absolutely.”

“Not everything works, you know.”

I smiled. “I’ll get things operational. It will be an honor.”

“So, the stuff’s on consignment?”

“No.”

“But then…”

“You, young lady, will come to work for Castigan. You will sit here at the reception desk. You will greet customers, you will tell them to go away, you will tell them Castigan is out and, generally, you’ll get to be as obnoxious as you want. Every time we say ‘no,’ the price goes up.”

She frowned. “I don’t know if I can be obnoxious.”

“You can try. It’s fun.” I smiled. “Perhaps it will be better if you’re the good cop to my bad cop. That’s fine. You will also do some preparation of exhibits. Do you know how to place things for online auctions?”

“Sure. I’ve done that with some of Pop’s autographed pictures.”

“Good. Just remember, Castigan is a stone-cold bastard, you hate working for him and would quit save that he has more money than Nicholas Haste and compensates you generously.”

“And we don’t sell any of my grandfather’s stuff?”

“That will be your call. It’s
your
stuff, after all.”