Killing Capes (6 page)

By the time he returned to the civilized sections of the city, Dwight received his call from Wulf. The tyrant broke into a wicked laugh when he heard the final steps of his employee’s plan. It was insane, sure, but that was Wulf’s preferred style of genius. In the end, he agreed. None of this would be easy; it never was. Wulf’s patronage was for Dwight’s efficiency, not subtlety.

He assured Dwight that it would be taken care of, and collateral damage would be kept to a minimum. They settled on tomorrow night as the appointed time of Killstreak’s death. In the meantime, Dwight was free to scout the area and take care of any last-minute preparations. He settled on an early dinner with Ian instead.

Waiting for Ian’s arrival gave him a chance to sit and enjoy the view from the Welcome’s window. All around him, there were normal people – professionals, tourists, families out for the afternoon – living their mundane lives. Dwight envied them.

He wanted to feel safe with the illusion the Capes would protect him. Even before he had taken his first job as Wulf’s referee, he knew. They didn’t care about the people they saved. All they wanted was the rush of the fight and the gratification that the citizens were helpless without their heroes.

Dwight watched as three streaks jetted overhead. From the colors of the outfits, they must have been Guild members. The Justice Guild employed the majority of the city’s Capes. It handled their registration, training, and assignment for a cut of any royalties the crime-fighters earned. Each of them had the uniform: trim, blue, and white. The cape was mandatory for any first years. It provided some reassurance to the public that the new heroes were on the right team.

For Dwight, that cape was a warning: untested rookie – run while you can. These were loose cannons. All of them had something to prove, and would go to any lengths to get noticed. That some of them had powers that rivaled entire militaries made their ego-fueled drive even more terrifying.

Ian’s arrival followed the air show. His gaze intensely tracked the trio up the block, causing him to meet the diner’s glass door with his face. Shaking off the effects of the collision, he found his way to Dwight’s booth and sat down across from him.

He was still recovering from the mistake as he grabbed a menu. “Hey, glad to see you escaped your friend.”

“Rampage isn’t so bad; she’s just doing her job.” Dwight had wondered when this conversation would happen.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Not so bad? It regularly eats people. It’s a killer. A
literal
cold-blooded monster.”

“You really believe that crap? Sure, at one point she may have eaten someone, but those days are over. This just isn’t how these people work. Do you think the others would allow that kind of shit for one second if they keep her around?”

Ian tried to interject, “But the stories in the papers…”

Dwight had read the stories before, too; he knew better now. “Those are put there for the same reason Aurora Woman wants you to know she saved eight people last night, the same reason the Nightbender wants you to know that his powers are also his curse. It’s all fucking P.R. bullshit.”

Dwight continued, “Rampage stopped eating people the moment she got a day job with Wulf. You can’t run a corporation if your employee is dining on your staff. Frankly, there’s more risk of a disgruntled desk-jockey with an automatic weapon shooting up the office than there is of Rampage taking a bite out of the receptionist.”

Ian paused to think about Dwight’s meaning. “Anyway, how do you even know it’s a ‘she’?” He had made the smart decision not to ask Rampage directly during their introduction.

Dwight let out an exasperated sigh, “Ian, when the six-hundred-pound lizard-mutant tells you she wants to be addressed as a woman, you don’t argue with her.”

They both sat silently for a time. Ian had probably never thought about the Powers as real people. To him, they were likely the equivalent of gods to ancient man: stories of ideals played out for entertainment of the masses. In Dwight’s experience, that is how most of them wanted to be seen.

Finally, Ian spoke up, changing the subject, “I spoke to Mrs. Kelly about your situation.”

Dwight welcomed some good news for once; something that didn’t involve Powers or creative methods of murdering them. Agatha Kelly was their landlord. The woman had a supernatural talent for never actually being home and missing every phone call. “She actually answered for once?”

Ian shyly lowered his menu, undoubtedly sheepish from Dwight’s scolding. “She said that your girl would be fine in the building. No cost, no problems.”

Dwight was shocked, “How the fuck did you manage that?”

Ian smiled proudly, “I reminded her that you have some really scary friends who probably wouldn’t like to see you unhappy. She had been watching when Scaly took you this morning.”

“That’s fantastic!” Dwight felt suddenly lighter, happier than he had been in months. The constant hovering dread that something terrible was only a moment away took a momentary vacation at the thought of seeing Molly.

Their waitress finally appeared to take their orders. Dwight’s lunch, a gyro and fries, would hold him over for the rest of the day. Ian, on the other hand, went for the full on Heroes’ Welcome experience. His Justice Platter could have fed a family of four. Dwight wasn’t sure who else the meal could be designed for: marathon runners, maybe? His slim roommate tore through the entire plate before Dwight had finished his sandwich.

As they were finishing up, Ian defaulted to his regular topic of conversation. “Did you hear that someone killed the Immortal Phoenix?”

Dwight wiped his mouth with a cheap paper napkin. “I thought that guy always came back. Sort of ‘from the ashes’ nonsense, wasn’t it?”

Ian loved talking about Power gossip. Some of that garbage was actually useful in planning his jobs, though most of it was about Capes Dwight knew were beyond him.

“Someone must have caught him off guard. There’s no way he wouldn’t have self-destructed if he knew he was outmatched. I bet a speedster, maybe Killstreak, got him. They’ve been at each other’s throats since midtown last year.”

The rumor in Ian’s words was not lost on Dwight. As gruesome as the thought was, maybe there was some method to Wulf’s selection of targets. The man was a master manipulator. However, the chances that Ian, an unemployed fanboy, had cracked his grand scheme were unlikely. It was more probable that Ian fell for exactly what Wulf hoped the media and Capes would believe. Still, the possibility greatly amused Dwight’s dark sense of humor.

As Dwight pondered this new information, B dropped down heavily beside Ian. He effortlessly shoved the smaller man into the bench’s corner. “Oy, am I too late to eat?”

Dwight was more than a little frustrated at the thought of having another person tracking him in his off time. The Doc was understandable and harmless; with Wulf, it was just a given; but B was unexpected and unwanted. “The fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

B leaned back, attempting to flag down their server. “You fink I need telepathy or somefin’? You go to, like, three places, mate. I can do a circle and find ya at one of ‘em.”

Dwight was embarrassed; his partner was right. Since the divorce and moving in with Ian, his time off was mostly spent in this very diner or the apartment. He’d probably spent more time in Wulf’s office than he had in any real social situation in the past three months. “Okay, fine, but that still leaves the question: What. The Fuck. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

B laughed, “Easy, D, easy. I’m just ‘ere for a bite. I’m not tryin’ to interrupt your date or nuffin.”

Dwight finally thought to look over at Ian, who seemed to be whimpering to himself in what remained of his seat. “Ian, this is B, my co-worker. B, Ian, my roommate.” This was the second time today Dwight had introduced Ian to someone with no moral qualms about removing his spine. He would have to get Ian an apology pizza later. Nothing says “I’m sorry for bringing dangerous monsters into your life” like crappy cheese and low-grade meat byproducts.

His partner turned to the crying man beside him. “Oy, what do you do?” Something had piqued B’s interest in Ian.

Dwight did not have time to interject before Ian replied to the giant’s question, “I’m a software consultant,” he said timidly from his corner of their table. B looked confused. Ian had obviously dealt with the vagueness of his job title before. “I invented the program that ties bio-signatures to magnetic keycards; I get paid every time they print one.”

To Dwight’s surprise, B seemed to understand Ian’s occupation. “Right bit ‘a genius ya got here, D.” He was genuinely impressed.

They finished their meal, conversing irregularly about their respective safe topics. Ian mostly tried to press the conversation into the realm of his fanboy obsessions. Each time he brought up some part of the superhuman world, Dwight corrected their course. Something felt wrong with dinner conversation about people he made a career of exterminating. B mostly just laughed at the comically frail man who shared a shitty apartment with his partner.

When they were finally ready to go, B watched the check fall to the table without any effort to touch the paper. He glared at Dwight, “We still ain’t settled up from last time,” he crossed his arms as he got up, “You’ve got the next three.”

Dwight didn’t object; he wasn’t necessarily concerned with offending the big guy, but he needed B committed to his safety in the field. He dropped the appropriate amount with a decent tip for adequate service on the table, and followed out of the diner.

The three stood together on the busy city street. There was an awkward moment of anticipation; they would either collectively part ways or propose some other communal activity. Dwight had no real experience with adult friendship, and wondered how to go about telling B that he wasn’t going to invite him back for coffee.

To his surprise, Dwight was spared that embarrassing conversation. As he turned to speak, a streak from the sky descended on him. In an instant, he was hooked around the waist and carried away, his two companions left wondering what had just occurred. As his brain caught up to his rapidly rising body, he didn’t have to ponder his predicament for long. The thing he had been dreading for weeks had finally happened: Linda had found him. Her ebony hair fluttered in his face as they sailed over congested, late-day traffic clogging the street below.

Within a minute, they slowed over an uptown rooftop. Dwight recognized his surroundings. They were a short walk – or even shorter flight – away from the loft they had shared up until the separation. Linda carefully let him go a foot or so from the concrete. She landed a few feet away.

Her hair settled around her shoulders. She was in her full costume today, even the cape and mask. Dwight guessed those were in case she was recognized during the abduction.

He didn’t really care about her anonymity at this point. He never really cared for the outfit, either. The exposed thighs and window around her cleavage felt like poor tactical decisions. Even if she didn’t think about practicality, the leer of people like Ian was enough to make him ill. Linda always claimed it was good publicity. She was always more concerned with giving the public a show.

“You can’t just fucking pick me up whenever you feel like it!” he shouted at his ex-wife.

She was more than a little smug, just as he would have expected, “Sure I can. I can throw a bus if I want to.”

He felt himself shaking. He hated her sense of superiority more than anything else. “You couldn’t have just waited until I returned your call? I’m a little busy right now to be dealing with this too.”

She gave him a defiant smirk, “Busy? You were having dinner with my brother’s college roommate and some behemoth.” She practiced her stretches as she walked away. Reclining against a massive air conditioning unit, she continued, “When are you going to come home?”

Dwight was floored. Even after all of the legal proceedings, all the attempts he had made to make it clear that this was over, she still didn’t get it. “I’m not coming back. We’re done.”

“No, we’re not. You’re just having a thing.” She removed her mask, tucking it into her utility pouch.

Dwight’s frustration spilled over, “A thing!? You fucking cheated on me with Midas! You called me boring! You said you ‘couldn’t live like this!’ You said you’d never be happy with me! How the hell was I supposed to take something like that!?” The last time they’d been together in their home, she confessed her infidelity and misery at being married to him. “Couldn’t you figure out I didn’t want to see you when I stopped taking your calls?” he calmly asked, finally running out of adrenaline.

In the weeks that followed what he thought had been the literal end of their relationship, he came to terms with his lifestyle. The idea that he would never be anything “super” to the world at large stopped hurting when he had left. He had resigned to his unremarkable lot in life. It was a matter of bizarre coincidence that Wulf had offered him a job a few days later.

“I wanted to talk to
you
, not your strip mall lawyer or that old doctor woman.” She took a step toward him. “Come home, and everything will be like it was before.”

“And what? Just sit there while you go out and play your game? Wait until you get bored with me again and fuck some other Cape for a thrill?” He had known this was coming; there was only so long he was going to be able to avoid her before she took it upon herself to physically retrieve him. “I’m not some toy you can put away when you’re done playing with me.”