Killing Capes (5 page)

“It would be total anarchy. Imagine everyone on the wrong side of society fighting to their absolute limits to stay alive. There needs to be a point of surrender to protect the lives of people like you, the normals. If Powers were actually afraid that it was life or death every time we fought…well, things tend to get messy when some of us get desperate.”

It didn’t get any easier, hearing Wulf’s insane justification. Dwight had listened to it before, after his first job for the sociopath. “They either play the game correctly or I call the referee.” He pointed a slender finger at Dwight. “That’s you, Mr. Knolls. You’re here to keep all the little people safe from the dangerous Powers fighting their endless war. It’s fucking heroic, when you think about it.”

The entry to the office opened. Rampage stepped through the double doors. In one scaly hand, she carried a black briefcase; it looked like a child’s plaything by comparison. Making her way through the dim office, she dropped the case in Dwight’s lap, then proceeded to a row of chairs against the rear wall.

Wulf motioned for Dwight to open the case in front of him, “Go on, I don’t want you to think I’m planning on blowing you up or something. You’ve earned this.”

The case’s combination had already been set for him; he touched the release and the clasps let go. Dwight revealed the contents to himself and Wulf, who had begun leaning forward in anticipation. Inside, six tightly bound stacks of bills and a silver watch represented more wealth than Dwight had ever seen in one place. Wulf grinned with satisfaction. “I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your efforts. This is, of course, in addition to our previously agreed upon compensation. Those funds have already been transferred into your account.”

Dwight hadn’t even thought of being paid for last night’s job. In truth, most of his incoming money was appropriated by various auto-payment systems and his lawyer without even passing through his awareness. He couldn’t think of the last time he had been free to actually make use of his earnings.

Wulf gestured eagerly toward the watch, “Go on, Mr. Knolls, put it on.” There was obviously something more to the accessory.

However, Dwight knew not to refuse hospitality from Wulf. He unclasped the watch and fit it around his right wrist. Closing it down, he heard a click as it locked in place. The sound reminded him of shackles, marking him as Wulf’s pet.

“I included something else in there for you.” He waited as Dwight pushed the money aside. Beneath the bills, a simple manila folder, its contents already clear to Dwight.

Wulf sat back, “It seems your backlog is just pilling up.” Dwight pulled the folder out of the case and began going through its contents. “One of my own, I’m afraid.”

The police mugshot staring daggers through him belonged to Killstreak. Dwight had heard of him before; a “speedster,” Killstreak was capable of running at a supersonic pace. Thankfully, that seemed to be the limit of his powers. He was most known for using that speed in some of the most creative crime sprees the city had ever seen. Dwight couldn’t imagine what he had done to end up in this folder. He didn’t want to ask.

Dwight’s mind went to work on the more important details: namely, how the Killstreak would come to an end. On his throne, Wulf watched as his enforcer crafted his plan.

              In the end, Dwight gave Wulf a list of items he needed. Upon seeing the paper, Wulf let out a riotous laugh. He assured Dwight that it would be taken care of, and sent him on his way.

              Rampage traveled with him as he was brought back to the apartment. They had not exchanged a single word throughout the entirety of the trip home. Dwight sat there, trying to shake the discomfort of being in Wulf’s presence. He felt more relaxed within arm’s reach of a violent monster than with his boss. He reviewed the folder’s papers, studying Killstreak’s profile, patterns, and abilities. As it turned out, the villain was rather predictable.

              Killstreak’s signature crimson suit was designed to eliminate friction as he moved but also limited his senses. While at full speed, he only had about forty percent of his full perception. As he traveled at speeds above the sound barrier, he wouldn’t be able to hear while approaching his fastest pace. To catch him unaware, they would need to wait until they had him at a full run.

Dwight read the reports of his target’s activities for the past year. It seemed that Wulf had a hobby of documenting his employees’ movements down to the minute. Out of habit, Killstreak raced through the same routes each evening. Drawing a line from street to street, Dwight found the path he needed to execute his plan.

As the car pulled up to his building, Dwight returned the folder to the briefcase, along with the stacks of money. The blood money would have to wait while he got in touch with B and set up their evening’s work.

Dwight tapped on the face of his new watch with his fingernail. Given the detailed report he carried on Killstreak, he assumed the item contained at least a few methods of tracking and surveillance.

Finding what he guessed was the microphone, he spoke directly into the watch, “Call me in an hour; I found the spot.” He was absolutely sure Wulf would be listening.

Dwight didn’t bother to go home after being dropped off. Once the car was out of sight, he headed away from the apartment. He was sure that the Doc wouldn’t appreciate seeing him dropped off by Wulf’s Associates. Despite his new bugged watch, she would at the very least like to keep the illusion of exclusivity.

A short walk and a subway ride later, he was on the eastern outskirts of the city. The microcosm of warehouses and docks along the bay were a refreshing contrast to the sprawling metropolis he had come from. There was something about the air here that helped Dwight feel at ease. Making his way between the sheet metal buildings, he meditated on the intricacies of superhuman perception and the effects of high-speed travel. The workers passing him paid no interest to his presence there; they were far too preoccupied with their work to assume he did not belong.

When he finally arrived at the Doc’s sanctum, Dwight found the disguised keypad hiding in plain sight as an electrical outlet. Pressing on the bottom panel, the entire surface slid upward, revealing an unlabeled twelve-button touch screen. He quickly tapped in the sequence the Doc set up for him and waited as the overhead garage door crawled open.

Stepping through, Dwight noticed he was being watched by a handful of security cameras. They tracked his movement as he entered the stark white corridor leading to the Doc’s secret lair. Four nondescript doors on each side provided no clue as to which would lead to their creator and which would be a set of creatively fatal traps. To say the Doctor was paranoid would be an understatement on par with claiming that Wulf had a passing curiosity in dominance. Just once, Dwight had been brave enough to test one of the false options. The robotic sentry inside had nearly torn his arm off before the Doc called it off. It was a mistake he had no interest in ever repeating.

The third door on the left held the deceptive supply closet that marked the actual entrance to her lab. Dwight raised an arm to the shelf above his head and started blindly grabbing. When his hand finally found the spray can, he brought it down to his height and flipped it over. The switch built into the can’s false bottom triggered the entire room to rise up and reveal the second hallway. From here, there were more traps, but these would have to be activated by the Doc herself in the event of an intruder. More cameras watched every angle of the passage, tracking his progress and verifying his identify. At last, Dwight navigated the final turn that led him into the Doctor’s inner dwelling. The last door, guarded by a simple intercom, barred his way at the end of the winding path.

As Dwight reached for the button, the sharp buzzing and click from the door informed him that the Doc was already aware of his presence. He entered the lab, spotting the Doc at her lab station on the lower level. Proceeding along the catwalk, she did not wait for him to finish coming down before she began the inquiry he knew was coming. He’d need to appease her before he could get to the next job.

She turned in her seat, still holding some kind of machinery in her hands, “You have my data?” Her goggles were covered in black soot, obscuring her eyes completely.

“Sure, Doc, I took all your readings while I was in the box.” He found the small gauge he had been hiding in his pocket during last night’s job and tossed it to her. Surprisingly, she caught it in spite of her visual impairment and the fact that Dwight was still a good fifty feet away from her table. “Everything went off without a hitch.”

She hurriedly plugged the analyzer into the bank of computers tucked under her workbench. Her work station was lined with monitors and hanging cables; bits of half-finished projects and abandoned ideas covered every available surface in addition to those lying scattered along the floor. As Dwight traversed the minefield of discarded super science, the Doc pored over her data. The events of last night’s storm played back with amazing detail as she stared at her screens, mouth open in awe.

By the time Dwight made it to her, she was finished. She closed her mouth, wiping away a small amount of saliva with her wrist. The lab coat that she wore had both of its sleeves torn away. Underneath, the vintage band t-shirt she had on was probably purchased at an actual concert. It was faded with more than a few well-worn holes; the same could be said of her jeans. Patches of her dark skin showed through the windows of missing material.

The Doc was older than Dwight. The long grey hair tied in her ponytail and subtle age lines gave away her lifetime of experience, but age had not slowed the woman in the slightest. Dwight had never seen her actually leave the building, or anything that looked like a bed in the complex. She was fit, and more than capable of physically defending herself. The pictures and medals hanging in her tiny kitchen belonged to a world-class fighter. The athletic equipment in the small gym tucked beneath the stairs was clearly used and cared for.

She removed her goggles. Black circles left their imprint on her cheeks and eyebrows. “Linda called looking for you. I let Alice talk to her until she hung up.” Alice was the Doc’s artificial intelligence she had programmed to manage her day-to-day business. Apparently, that now also included screening phone calls from Dwight’s ex-wife.

Dwight sighed, “I told her I didn’t want to talk to her until she was willing to be flexible.” He stiffened, uncomfortable with this conversation already.

“Is this all really about Molly?” the Doc asked. She put the device she had been working with back on the table beside her.

Dwight thought for a second, “She’s all I really care about from that shit, and I can’t even see her.” He felt miserable thinking about his little girl alone in their former home.

The image of a young woman appeared on the monitor beside Doc Ellis. Her auburn curls shimmered with unnatural light. Dwight knew that Alice had recently been given access to teen romance literature. He imagined this was her effort to synthesize the fiction into her visualization. “Would you like me to play back the message? She had some very choice things to say about the length of your–”

The Doc cut her off, “No, Alice, that’ll be fine. Go back to your reading.” Perhaps the reading selection was inspiring some new ideas in the adolescent program. “Don’t worry about it, Dwight. She’ll be alright.”

“Can we change the subject? I’ve got enough to deal with from the actual monsters in my life. Linda can wait another day.” Dwight turned the power off on Alice’s screen. The A.I. was aghast as her image cut off. She reappeared on a nearby one almost instantaneously.

The Doc shrugged, “That’s fine, but when she starts demanding couples therapy from my construct, it does spill into the territory I refer to as ‘my problem.’ Get your shit together.” Immediately, she regretted the tone of those words.

Dwight looked away, sinking in the morass of painful memories that had been his dissolved marriage. “I did get a lawyer.”

“Then that’s all you can do right now. Come on, let’s focus on fun things, like how we get little ol’ you ready to test some equipment for me.” Her smile was infectious, that enthusiasm for doing the impossible in an afternoon.

He had been introduced to Doc Ellis before his first job for Wulf. Back then, she seemed unconvinced that even her technology would be able to support Dwight in his task. There had even been accusations of whether or not he would be able to figure out which way to point the weapon, or what to do with it before it overheated and exploded. And yet, he had impressed her by not only using her tools correctly, but managing to improvise the weapon’s destruction in self-defense when the primary use had failed. There was nothing the Doc loved more than improvisation in the name of science.

Now, they left her research area and headed into her tool shop. If the general layout of her home was a junkyard, this was a twisted vision of her madness. Various sharp implements hung from their perches in ways reminiscent of a butcher shop. Most likely, that is how any sentient machine she designed would view this room. However warped, Ellis took great joy in what she knew she could accomplish here.

Before coming, Dwight had sent pictures of Wulf’s reports to the Doc in hopes that she had something in mind when he arrived. Sure enough, laid out on the slab were two high-tech gadgets and a small pistol with a spool of wire attached to it. Ellis took position behind the table, as a salesperson would for their wares.

“Your toys, Mr. Knolls,” she swept her hands over the tools, presenting them with pride.

Dwight twisted his face at those words, “Please don’t call me that.
Wulf
calls me that.”

Immediately, Ellis understood, “Oh, sorry. Yeah, I can see that bothering you.” She repeated her motions, “Your toys, my minion.”

He returned a deadpan gaze of contempt. “Just go.”

She grinned at her own joke. “You’re no fun. Anyway, the first little bit of genius here is a tracker. It will show you images from Wulf’s satellite of any Power traveling over six hundred miles per hour; there are currently only seven Powers capable of it in the city. Next, it has a predictive algorithm that will tell you when to use my favorite part of your kit. Basically, just pull the trigger when it’s calculated he’s on you.”

Dwight pointed to the object she had skipped, the one that looked like a fat laser pointer with a single red button. “And this one?” he asked.

“Somewhat of an extra contingency thing. I’ve been developing it as a measure to help should you ever get into hand-to-hand with one of those mean mothers.” She sounded uneasy. “Press it against any part of them and push the button.” She held it up, demonstrating the reverse end being jabbed forward. “I can’t guarantee the results, but it should do the trick.”

She collected each of the items and dropped them haphazardly into a plastic grocery bag she pulled from her pocket. Dwight had grown used to clandestine cases and pristine presentations. The casual “Thank You” printed on the sack in tidy cursive was just her style. Ellis held out the bag for Dwight. “Be careful. I’m not sure about this one. He’s unstable.”

“More so than a degenerating immortal?” From his experience, all the Powers were unhinged; the only question was how far.

She rounded the table, still holding the container. “I mean it, Dwight, this one is different. Don’t take any chances with him.” She placed the bag on his arm, then led him to the exit. There were no secrets this time, no hidden doors. The side entrance was disguised from the outside to be completely undetectable, but it was a direct connection with her work area.

She held the door for him as he left. “Don’t be afraid to call if something happens.”

With that, she released the handle, and the door slammed shut. Dwight stood there, holding his shopping bag of nefarious tools, alone with the sounds of the harbor to see him home.