Hero Status Page 19

  Then I stopped. In the corner of the room, leaning against the nightstand, was a cane. With a pistol-grip handle, its silver metal was polished to a gleam, and I tossed aside my cheap plastic one to pick it up. It felt heavy and solid in my grasp, the type of blunt object I could do a lot of damage with. The handle unscrewed from the shaft, unsheathing an honest-to-goodness sword hidden inside.

  I smiled. It was the little, thoughtful things that really made a relationship. Thank you, Val.

  The other bedroom had a computer, and I used it to look up Purgatory’s address. I printed the map and grabbed the car keys from where I’d tossed them on the counter. Then I left to find my wife.

  Chapter 13

  Downtown was packed. All the family vacationers had settled into their hotels, and the night belonged to the drunken party crowd. Their clothes were a mix of dressed-to-impress, beachwear, and store-bought superhero costumes, and their blood-alcohol content was sky high. A car drove by with a girl standing up through the sunroof and cheering, and I walked past a guy in a Crimson Phoenix costume vomiting into the gutter. The dull beat of dance music grew to a pounding clamor anytime a door was opened, and everywhere people were laughing and talking and singing.

  I pulled the crumpled map out of my pocket, double-checked it, and walked down a small side alley. It would’ve been easier to use a map on the phone I’d found in the safe house, but even though Val must have registered it under someone else’s name, I didn’t feel safe turning on a GPS yet. You can call me paranoid, but you’d be wrong. It’s not paranoia when the government really is after you.

  Purgatory was a square, brick building that looked as if it might have originally been a restaurant. That time had long passed, and now it was crumbling and dark, the windows dirty, the old bricks faded and missing in spots. There was no sign on the outside, and I wouldn’t have known it was the right place if I hadn’t seen a picture on its website.

  I trod on cigarette butts as I approached the door, taking note of the peeling white paint and names someone had carved into it with a pocketknife. The auto-injectors felt heavy and obvious in my jacket pockets. They were both ready to go, and that was the last thought I could afford to give them. If the fact of their existence so much as popped into my head for a split-second when I was closer to Trick and Treat, the game would be up.

  I turned the doorknob hesitantly, but it wasn’t locked. I stepped into a small entryway, my senses assaulted with cigarette smoke and loud industrial music. The place was dim, but a sign on the wall said, “Purgatory,” in neon red, swirling letters. And if I had any remaining doubts as to whether I was in the right place, the muscular man behind the counter, wearing a black latex mask and no shirt, silenced them.

  “Twenty-dollar cover,” he said.

  After paying up and signing the appropriate wavers, I walked into the club. It was the kind of smaller, intimate venue where all the regulars probably knew each other. The walls were crimson, the floors and ceiling black, and the low lighting and smoky air made it hard to see clearly. A snack bar was in the back, and along one wall were tables separated into booths by black beaded curtains. The other was lined with your average BDSM equipment: a St. Andrew’s cross, a couple of cages, spanking bench, a rack of various whips and paddles, and several hooks on the walls for shackles and rope. I took a moment to imagine Val’s reaction if she were here. She’d either clap her hands together delightedly and drag me straight over to the shackles, or she’d cluck her tongue in disapproval over how worn-out they’d let some of their equipment get.

  “They” were an eclectic bunch of people. I’d been afraid I’d have at least twenty years on everybody in the place, but the ages ranged from a girl in a pink tutu and fishnets who looked barely eighteen, to a man who had to be pushing seventy walking around in hot pants. There was no mandatory dress code, thank goodness, and there were a few people besides me in casual clothing. A couple walked past me in jeans and T-shirts, looking perfectly ordinary, except that he was wearing a spiked collar, and she was leading him around on a chain. There was lots of lingerie and leather, of course, but in honor of the festival, they seemed to be having an informal superhero night.

  The most popular costume was—you guessed it—the Black Valentine. Was it any surprise Val was a hit with the bondage crowd? I spotted at least three of her, and the one on the dance floor even had her own White Knight. At least, that’s who I assumed he was dressed up as, but I didn’t remember my costume ever involving ass-less chaps. But my suit wasn’t the only one liberties had been taken with.The woman in the St. Andrew’s cross was wearing an even skimpier version of Starbright’s outfit—which was saying something. A Crimson Phoenix, Freezefire, and Mr. Tomorrow were all chained to the wall, taking turns getting flogged in front of an audience by yet another Black Valentine. The whole thing was oddly surreal.

  “Hey. You just gonna stand there drooling?”

  I guess I’d spent too long taking in the scene. A woman sitting on the leather couch next to the entrance was sneering at me.

  “Or were you planning on being the creepy voyeur in the corner for the evening?” she asked.

  She wore a purple corset and black panties, and her hands were tied in front of her in a French bowline knot. The bonds were hemp rope and had rubbed her pale skin raw and red.

  “Whose rope is that?” I asked.

  “Cale’s. Why? You want him to do you up?”

  I shook my head. “Tell him it needs treating. There’s no excuse for it scraping you like that. A couple hours of boiling, a wash, and some oil should soften it.” I paused. “Unless you, um, wanted it to hurt.”

  “No.” She raised her eyebrows, reevaluating me. “I’ll tell him. Thanks.”

  I nodded and walked to the bar before I could put my foot in my mouth again. A guy in an outfit woven completely of soft nylon rope bumped into me, but otherwise I made it there unmolested. The bar didn’t sell alcohol, since mixing intoxicants with kink was generally a bad idea, but so was mixing intoxicants with whatever drugs the doctor had given me. I ordered a water, sat down on an open stool, and surveyed the room.

  There were plenty in this crowd with tattoos and piercings, but not two thin, black-haired people who matched the descriptions of Trick and Treat. I checked my new Rolex. It wasn’t midnight yet; Trick and Treat could be late arrivals. The loud music and thick smoke weren't doing much for my pounding head, but I had a seat to rest on, and nobody was beating me up. I could wait.

  I sipped my water. Besides the door I’d come in through, there was one exit in the back by the bathrooms. Maybe forty people were in the building altogether. I spotted one man with a knife on his belt, and there were several dungeon monitors around the room for people to call on if something went wrong during play. If things did get bad, I had to take into account all the people who were tied up in one way or another. Best to avoid anything that would send people stampeding for the exits if I could help it.

  These were the matters occupying my mind when the woman from the couch sat down next to me. The ropes were gone from her wrists, but the skin there was still pink and tender.

  “Hey,” she said. “I talked to Cale.”

  It took a second for me to get back into the frame of mind for small talk. “What did he say?”

  “That I should buy my own rope if I’m so damn picky. Cale’s a jackass. I'm Lindsay.”

  She extended her hand, and I shook it. “Dave.”

  “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “No, I…” I floundered for a lie, but why bother when the truth would work? “My wife keeps enough equipment at home that we don’t really need to go out.”

  “Yeah? Cool. She coming tonight?”

  “She can’t make it. I’m looking for two of her friends, actually. You don’t know a couple called Trick and Treat by any chance, do you?”

  “The twins? Yeah, everybody knows them.”

  So they were twins, not a romantic couple—at least, hopefully not. I
wondered if their telepathy was a shared power. If I knocked out one, would it disable the other? Not that I was going to risk trying it, but the idea was interesting to consider.

  “Will they be here tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they should show up any time now. At least, I hope so.”

  I hoped so, too. If they didn’t show… my stomach twisted into a knot just thinking about it. They were my only lead. They had to show.

  I chatted with Lindsay to pass the time. She’d grown up in Ohio, moved to Miami when she was twelve, and worked as a bank teller. She was a little worried someone at her job would find out about her extra-curricular activities and she’d get fired. She asked about me, and I said something vague about being retired before steering the conversation back to her. A few more minutes, and I’d learned she had an ex-boyfriend who was a “dickwad,” a dog named Didi, and a huge horror movie collection.

  “But what about you?” she asked. “You said you’re retired. What did you used to do?”

  “I worked for the government,” I said, which wasn’t a lie.

  “Like a CIA agent or something? That’s awesome. Is that why you have a cane? Did you get shot?”

  A completely thoughtless question, and one I got all too often. I wondered how she would react if I told her the real story, but I was spared the trouble of coming up with a lie when every head in the room turned.

  I felt it, too: the mental compulsion. It wasn’t a precise command, just attention… interest… attraction. If Val had done it, I would have never been able to tell it wasn’t natural. Trick and Treat were going overboard, like hunting deer with a bazooka. There wasn’t a person in the room who wasn’t drooling over them.

  They were just as Ruby had described: tall, thin, and pale, with heavy makeup and lots of attitude. He wore leather pants and a fishnet shirt. She had on striped leggings, a miniskirt, and a bikini top. They sat down at a table that was immediately vacated for them, and a man came out from behind the bar with drinks they hadn’t needed to order.

  The DSA put out public service announcements on how to identify telepaths using their powers illegally. Every day, they got calls from people who thought their neighbors, bosses, or significant others were reading their thoughts or using mind-control. Almost a hundred percent of those claims were false, but the DSA had to take each one seriously, because a real criminal telepath—someone who used his or her power over others’ minds for personal gain or just to hurt people—was a very, very scary thing. Just look at Val, and she limited herself with a (admittedly loose) code of honor. Somehow I doubted Trick and Treat had even that much self-control.

  Without so much as a backward glance at me, Lindsay stood up and made a beeline for them, a dreamy smile on her face. At the same moment, three others did the same: another woman and two men. This wasn’t a Hollywood club. The patrons were regular people of varying ages and body types. But the four who went to Trick and Treat? They were some of the youngest, most traditionally attractive of the bunch.

  I took deep breaths and suppressed my emotions; I didn’t want them sensing me just yet. Their table filled with laughter, talk, and groping, and I was the only one watching who wasn’t doing it with envy. I didn’t know whether Lindsay and the others were usually doms or subs, but they were certainly submissive now. Lindsay and the second summoned woman were sitting on either side of the guy (Was he Trick or Treat?), holding drinks up to his lips, and the two summoned men were kneeling in front of the girl. She (I decided to call her Treat for convenience) took the red candle from the table and dribbled hot wax onto the bare chest of the man closest to her.

  Now, this was a BDSM club, and some people enjoyed that sort of thing. The man’s eyes closed, and he sucked in a breath that was half pain, half ecstasy. But without consent, it wasn’t play; it was sexual assault. Trick and Treat were using mind-control, leaving me sickened at the thought of how far they might have gone on nights before this. Add that to the fact that Trick was casually unlacing Lindsay’s corset, and I decided I’d seen enough.

  I took a roll of hundreds from my pocket and tossed it onto the counter. The cashier tore his gaze away from Trick and Treat and stared.

  “You doing a tab or trying to buy the whole place?” he asked.

  “Neither,” I said. “It’s compensation. I’m about to ruin your business for the night.”

  I made my thoughts loud. Trick and Treat had psy-assaulted Ruby and Moreen. They’d probably killed Harris. I wasn’t going to let them get away with anything else.

  The twins jerked up straight, their heads swiveling toward me in unison. An instant later, their power enveloped my mind. My body tensed, and a single, clear command took hold of me.

  Come here.

  I crossed the room. They immediately relaxed, the panic that had taken hold of their features replaced by smug smiles. Trick draped his arms around Lindsay and the other woman, and Treat pointed a manicured black nail at the floor with a smirk.

  On your knees.

  I dropped to them in front of her, and pain shot up my leg like someone had just hit me with a baseball bat.

  “Shit!”

  Trick and Treat flung their hands to their own knees, their faces contorting identically like something out of a slapstick comedy. They’d gone way too deep into my head for such light control, the rookies.

  “Shut up!” Treat said.

  “Who is he?” asked Trick.

  They probed my mind clumsily, and my receding headache came back with full pounding force.

  “Oh my God,” Treat whispered.

  Trick laughed, and they shared a look of disbelief at their good luck. I guess it wasn’t every day a famous superhero stumbled right into your hands. They went silent and leaned toward one another, their expressions growing pinched as they telepathically debated what to do with me. I focused on the pulsing pain in my knee and the cold worry in the pit of my stomach. They’d given Harris a brain hemorrhage with their powers; rookies or not, they could do the same to me.

  The rest of the club seemed oblivious to us. I didn’t know if it was because Trick and Treat were telepathically redirecting their attention, or if the sight of a man forced to kneel in front of someone was just too common here. I was more worried about Lindsay and the others. They were staring motionlessly ahead like toys someone had turned off.

  I focused my thoughts on inconsequential things. The beat of the music pounded in my ears, and each breath I took was tinged with smoke. The smell of cologne, sweat, and leather reached my nose. Most of my injuries were blissfully numb. I could get used to that feeling, but somehow I doubted it would last very long.

  After a few minutes, Trick and Treat leaned back with smiles on their faces. Lindsay and the others returned to life, all giggles and grins, and I remained on the floor.

  “You’re going to make us a lot of money,” Treat told me with a flirty smile.

  “But get ready to be our bitch first,” Trick snorted.

  The guy from the snack bar dropped by with drinks that looked alcoholic, and I might as well have been a piece of furniture for the way everyone ignored me. Trick and Treat raised their glasses, sharing an intimate look across the table.

  I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves….

  I slipped my hands into my pockets.

  “Cheers,” said Trick.

  “Cheers,” I agreed, plunging an auto-injector into each of their thighs.

  I was fast and knew what I was doing, but even if I’d fumbled over the motion, I would have probably been fine. Trick and Treat gaped at me, unable to comprehend why I wasn’t still under their control. It took several long seconds for them to finally react.

  “Fuck!” Trick surged up, tripped over his chair, and grabbed the beaded curtain to steady himself, tearing it down. Treat clenched her leg, her face even whiter than before.

  “What did you do?” she shrieked. “What is this? What did you do?”

  Exatrin’s effect wasn’t instantaneous. I�
��d been worried they’d think me dead in the time it took for the drug to fully neutralize their powers, but they wasted their time panicking like amateurs.

  Lindsay and the others started to snap out of it, looking around like they weren’t sure what was going on. A couple of them got to their feet. Trick saw them and squeezed his eyes shut. When he looked again and nothing had changed, his mouth opened but no words came out.

  Treat thrust a finger at me. “Help! Stop him! Help!”

  Someone grabbed my shoulder from behind, and I pushed whoever it was gently to the floor. The people Trick and Treat had summoned backed fearfully away, all except Lindsay, who was frozen in place. Trick and Treat tensed, like they wanted to run but didn’t dare.

  The music stopped abruptly, uncovering the crowd’s worried murmurings.

  “Somebody help!” Treat cried, a teary-eyed damsel in distress all of a sudden.

  I turned my back on Trick and Treat to face the crowd. The dungeon monitors were pushing past people to get to me, but the rest were staring. Hands covered mouths and people grabbed reassuringly at whoever was nearest. They were only confused and worried now, but it would turn to full-blown panic if I wasn’t careful.

  I’d developed a nice loud, authoritarian voice over the course of my career. Superheroes tended to need it.

  “Everyone, please proceed calmly and orderly to the exits,” I said. “And someone call the police.”

  A few people started to move, but most weren’t sure what to do. Then one of the monitors finally broke through the crowd and swung at me.

  I didn’t want to hurt him too badly. He was just trying to protect people from a man he thought was a threat. I stepped aside and tripped him with my cane, sending him crashing into the next table over.

  Trick and Treat tried to run. I grabbed Trick and threw him into his sister, knocking them both to the floor.

  The room broke into a frenzy. People ran for the doors. A few tried to be heroes and came at me, but they weren’t fighters. The first jumped forward to tackle me, and I used his momentum to slam him into the wall. The second threw a punch. I side-stepped, hooked his arm with my cane, and took him down. The third was Mr. Ass-less Chaps White Knight. I just gave him a push, sending him flying across the floor.