Killing Capes (4 page)

Ian swallowed hard, “Rampage is outside. It said it wants a word with you.” There was a hint of apology in his voice, as if he thought this was a death sentence.

Dwight uncocked his gun and returned it to its holster. “Oh, that’s fine.” He had expected Wulf to send someone serious to retrieve him, but a full Power was actually quite flattering. “Thanks for the message. Tell
her
I’ll be right out.” He shut the door in Ian’s face.

Sending his roommate to play telephone with one of the worst villains the city had ever seen was amusing. He could visualize Ian’s pants-wetting terror as he relayed the information to the eight-foot-tall lizardwoman. Rampage wouldn’t hurt Ian, not while she was under orders from Wulf. Now, what she did when she was off-the-clock was her own business.

Dwight was not the least bit concerned for Ian’s safety as he gave himself a quick sink shower in his private bathroom and changed clothes. He paused to examine himself in the mirror as he considered whether or not there was time for a shave. His stubble would be socially acceptable for at least another day, but while taking a comb through his deep-brown hair, he had a moment of concerned vanity. Upon close examination, he found two thin patches of gray at his temples. He was not a young man anymore. His shoulder confirmed this, as he pulled his jacket over his spreading bruise.

When he finally entered the living room, he saw that Rampage had let herself in and was helping herself to Ian’s leftovers from the comfort of the sofa. Ian was seated as far as possible from the creature, still playing his game. There was something funny about watching Ian finally get face-to-face with an actual Power, never mind that this Power happened to be a documented cannibal.

Dwight sat down between them. “Hey, lady, how’s the grub?” Dwight wondered if the lizard’s taste buds functioned like a normal person’s. Obviously, if that had been the case, she’d consider eating the greasy, unwashed Ian as an alternative to the cold, stale takeout she was currently tearing through.

She stopped long enough to answer, “Tastes like shit. How can you humans eat this crap?” At least the lizard had the good manners not to talk with her mouth full; perhaps he could enlist her aid in educating B.

Ian kept playing his game, trying to ignore the man-eating monster in his living room. He reached a point where the action stopped. A cut scene triggered in which his Cape, a frost-type identified by his logo as Coldsnap, was ambushed in a sewer. A digital rendition of Rampage burst from the murky water, taking a savage swipe at Ian’s character. Coldsnap barely dodged the claw and rolled to the side. Ian paused the game, realizing that the actual Rampage was intensely watching him.

“You win this and I’m making you my second course.” She tossed the entire container in her mouth and chomped down, swallowing it in a single gulp.

Rampage’s preferred method of transportation was a heavily-modified pickup driven by one of Wulf’s Associates. All of them wore the same style of business suit; Wulf had an obsession with maintaining order, and so created a color code for them based on position. The cleaners wore gray, navy for muscle, black for drivers. Dwight sometimes mused what color Wulf would put him in, if he was ever required to wear the uniform.

Rampage’s dark blue outfit would have appeared comically small on her gigantic frame – that is, if laughing in any way at the eight-foot-tall lizardwoman wasn’t a death sentence. The garment had unmistakably been constructed for a normal-sized person. Consequently, Rampage’s huge body burst through the seams, leaving it a tattered wreck.

The driver paid no attention to either the man or lizard climbing into the custom rear cabin. The design made the vehicle into more of a limousine than a truck, its flatbed replaced with extra seats and accommodations for its passengers. Rampage filled the back seats facing the driver. Dwight took a position opposite her. This hadn’t been the first time one of Wulf’s Associates had come to retrieve him, though this was certainly the most intimidating. Ian watched them from their apartment’s window as they left. Dwight gave himself fifty-fifty odds as to whether Ian was currently looking for a new roommate.

Rampage pulled the custom rear door shut with a heavy thud. They were already moving as Dwight began searching for a seat belt. His sofa, as it turned out, was not designed for safety. The mutant pointed a clawed finger at the refreshment table on the side of the cabin. “Water, Mr. D?”

“You know, being chauffeured around by a cannibal half-lizard isn’t the best way to show appreciation for a job well done. Wulf could have just sent a car.” Dwight fished a bottle from the cooler and twisted the top off. “I don’t need to be fucking scared into line. I know to follow the boss’s instructions.”

The hulking creature leaned forward in her seat, “You misunderstand. I’m not here because he’s worried about you behaving. The boss is protecting his assets. He doesn’t want his prize killer getting offed in retaliation.” She reached forward, across the impressive distance of their ride, and pressed a claw into Dwight’s chest. “If I wanted to scare ya, I’d have bitten an arm off, for starters.”

The pressure became painful, “Retaliation? For what?” Dwight asked, “No one knows who was on that rooftop. If anything, it would be B that they would come after. Why not guard him instead of making my roommate piss himself?”

“B doesn’t need protection. You’re the normie in all this.” The force of the nail at his chest pinned Dwight back into the cushion behind him. “Personally,
we
don’t give a shit what they do to you. You’re just lucky Wulf likes your work.” Rampage let go and returned her hand to her lap.

Dwight touched his chest; a trickle of blood ran from the hole forced through his shirt. “I swear, if any of this comes back on me-”

Rampage interrupted, “You’ll what? You’re Wulf’s toy in all this. Another weapon in the man’s game.” She grunted and went silent. It was clear that the lizard was done with this conversation. She glared out the window at the passing city streets.

Dwight decided it would be in his best interest to do the same. It was approaching eight, when the wage-slaves of New Haven reported to their cubicles to run down the hours of another day. He didn’t envy that life. There was constant danger and misery in his existence, but at least he knew what he was doing had some lasting effect, even if it was a terrible one. Better to be a monster than a ghost. Sitting across from Rampage, Dwight thought about which of them was more dangerous.

The creature broke the silence as they pulled up to Wulf’s building, “And I ain’t a cannibal. I’d have to eat my own kind for that, and there ain’t nothing else like me out there.” The car stopped, “Get out, meat.”

Dwight did as she said, letting himself out of the vehicle onto the front landing of Wulf’s StarPoint Tower. Taking in the impressive scene in front of the street, he couldn’t help but look at the enormous statues lining the walkway. These had been the great protectors of the city, each built to honor some fallen champion – how ironic that they stood in front of the headquarters of the criminal tyrant of New Haven.

Rampage followed, the vehicle bouncing on its suspension as her weight left it. They traversed the path up to the entrance without another word, Rampage at the front. As she walked, Dwight couldn’t help but study her movements. She had a slight limp in her right leg, the remnant of some past battle. The scales at the rear of her neck had a slight discoloration to them, and seemed to be slightly thinner than the rest of what covered her visible body. Dwight imagined himself striking the beast’s leg to knock her forward, then piercing those scales with a gleaming blade.

He physically shook off the thought. “What the hell?” he said aloud. Rampage ignored him. As they approached the doors, the lizard dug a small keycard from her vest pocket and swiped it through the reader beside the door.

Inside, the lobby was decorated to induce a sense of nostalgic awe. Memorabilia of some of the greatest crimes ever committed within New Haven’s borders filled display cases lining the cavernous room’s outer walls.

Dwight recognized a few of them. He briefly stopped in front of a piece of cloth hanging from a broken post. Even Dwight, as unimpressed with the Capes as he was, didn’t need to read the plaque to identify the original Justice Guild’s banner, torn and riddled with holes. It was taken during the first Powers War, when every villain in the city rose up in a single night of carnage. They said that three hundred Capes were killed in the few hours the actual fighting took place. There never was an accurate account of how many normal citizens had perished in the battle and the mass fires that followed.

There were more: a piece of wreckage here, a ripped cape, or some broken weapon there – all prizes of a war his kind wasn’t meant to be involved in. They were trophies of something he was supposed to duck and run from. It made him sick the way all this played out around him. He wanted them all to just leave.

Rampage nudged his shoulder. “The boss is waiting. Best not to give him time to think about what to do with you for being late.”

Nodding, Dwight continued with the lizard to the bank of elevators. He realized that there weren’t any employees entering the building as there had been with the other companies on their route. This was StarPoint Industries; there were no cogs in this machine. There was only the Wulf at the top.

Wulf’s office would have made Fortune 500 executives salivate; it was easily the single most exquisitely detailed room to ever occupy New Haven. The floor-to-ceiling windows held glorious views on three sides; over the bay, the morning sun filtered in through dark blue shades. It gave the entire room an otherworldly quality, as if the tower was orbiting a distant, alien star. Wulf’s solid black marble desk sat twenty feet from the entrance.

A glass dome lay on its stone surface. Beneath it, a sizable, distinctly-inhuman skull held watch over whoever dared pass into Wulf’s lair. A line of six suits of medieval armor occupied the outer walls on both sides. Each held a different weapon, their sharpened points held at the ready.

Dwight had heard the stories about Wulf’s rise to power within the city’s superhuman community. The man’s only known ability was that the bastard was completely unkillable. He didn’t have super strength, speed, or flight. He wasn’t a martial artist, and he didn’t possess anything that would make him even particularly lethal to the empowered. What he had was toughness, determination, and a long enough lifespan to make his ambitions attainable. Supposedly, he had been around since the Dark Ages. The knight’s armor in his office had, at one point, belonged to his closest followers – but that had been another age. Each succumbed to conflict or their own mortality long ago. Once, Dwight heard that Wulf was a member of the Spanish Inquisition. Another story placed him at the heart of the Manhattan Project.

Wulf’s takeover of StarPoint put him forward as the premier villain in New Haven. Pulsar, the entity with the power of a dying star, had founded the corporation as a front for all their criminal activity back when it mattered to disguise those sorts of things. When Wulf appeared on Pulsar’s doorstep to challenge them for control, the CEO couldn’t resist; they wagered the company in a battle against the “normal” stupid enough to insult their might. While Pulsar unleashed all of their fury against him, Wulf simply stood there burning.

Completely engulfed in blue fire, his flesh turning to ash as quickly as it regenerated, Wulf calmly walked toward Pulsar. By the time he was within arm’s reach, the entire courtyard was a raging inferno. The concrete became molten lava; the stone statues that lined the front of the building splintered and crumbled under the intense flames.

As Pulsar’s energy finally depleted, their body exhausted from the effort, Wulf struck. He grabbed Pulsar’s face with both hands, his thumbs jammed into the stellar villain’s eye sockets. There was a sick, wet pop and the fight was over. Wulf, a naked, blackened wreck, stood triumphant over the corpse. Afterward, he had Pulsar’s body destroyed, and claimed the skull as a trophy. True to their deal, Wulf was given control of StarPoint, and had held that throne ever since. No one had come close to defeating him in over three decades, though the contest remained open: anyone who managed to kill Wulf could have the crown.

Wulf directed all the city’s villains through sheer intimidation. No Power came to New Haven without a visit from Wulf’s Associates. He liked the fresh meat to know who ruled this city. Even visiting Capes were expected to make themselves known to their king. There were rumors that each of the superhuman teams was forced to pay yearly tributes to Wulf.

One of Wulf’s aides followed Dwight into the office. As he approached the lavish chairs set before Wulf’s desk, he could see that the man was not pleased. His boss’s slim, handsome features were painted with concern. He wasn’t yelling; no, Wulf didn’t yell. Wulf methodically paced back and forth behind his throne, slender fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was listening to something in his earpiece. Wulf’s gaze hadn’t yet fallen on Dwight as he quietly moved into the seat to wait.

Wulf’s pacing stopped abruptly. From the contempt in his eyes, it was clear he was done listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. “Mr. Horowitz, you have thirty minutes to get this mess sorted out. Either those items are returned to my warehouse within the hour, or I will see to it that my Associates strap you to the next one we make use of.” He tapped his ear once to disconnect the call without waiting for a response.

Dwight thought now would be the appropriate time to announce his presence, “Lose something?” he asked.

Wulf held up a swift finger, stopping any further conversation from his guest. He fished his phone from the pocket of his white business suit. With a few quick taps of his free hand, he placed another call.

“Yes, see to it that Mr. Horowitz finds his way into the building incinerator.” There was a pause as he listened, “Yes, even if the items are returned. Send a message to the others.” He yanked the device from his ear, then tossed it on the desk without looking. It slid to a stop against the glass dome.

The assistant let out a soft cough to draw his employer’s attention, “Mr. Wulf…” he said sheepishly.

“What?” Wulf hissed. He jerked his face toward the aide, his face painted with hate. The instant he recognized Dwight sitting at the desk, he shifted. Immediately, the unleashed frustration was gone, washed away under Wulf’s patent relaxed menace. Through that smile, some of the most powerful beings in existence had met their end, “Mr. Knolls, so good of you to come.” He gracefully slipped into his chair. There was no wasted movement with Wulf; it was all part of his performance, his mask. Wulf slid a hand through his immaculately styled gray hair; despite its color, Wulf’s face belonged to a man in his early twenties. To the unknowing eye, he appeared to be the younger of the two men. He gave Dwight a slanted grin.

Dwight despised that smile. It meant Wulf knew he had him under complete control. “You didn’t have to send the croc to fetch me. I was going to come.”

“You misunderstand; I just wanted to guarantee your safety.” Wulf tapped on the tablet lying on his dark desk several times, then spun it around so Dwight could see. The word “Manhunt” filled the screen. “You and your partner killed one of the most beloved defenders of New Haven last night. More than a few of the old guard have already declared you dead. Consider yourselves lucky that I enjoy your results.”

Dwight picked up the tablet and quickly read through the article. It had been published hours after the Phoenix’s death. A few lines in, he detected Wulf’s deception. “You moved the body?”

“Well, not me. The Cleaners, Mr. Knolls. It seems that the Immortal Phoenix was caught unaware in a jewelry store robbery. Someone must have finally got the drop on the bastard; caved his skull right in.” Wulf was grinning, hands crossed on his desktop.

Wulf changed the subject, “I just want you to know how much I admire what you do. The balance that we keep is something I take very personally. What do you think would happen if every Cape just went around killing whoever committed crimes in New Haven?”

Dwight knew this was a rhetorical question and opted not to answer. Wulf looked disappointed in his unwillingness to play along.