The Prospects (Short Story): Above the Stars (3 page)

“Lead the way.” After walking a block in silence Chak said, “Gotta say, I thought we were going to go at it back there.”

“Was that what you wanted?”

“When a fella’s mean to a lady, I want to hurt him. Didn’t think much past that.”

“If we fought, I’d end up in the hospital, you’d be in prison, and a whole lot more people would die from MacGuffin and the unknown killer.”

“All the same, not slugging me was smart. Not a lot of men can keep their head.”

“I spent a month in intensive therapy after Mind Dame turned me into a suicidal mess. The shrinks taught me lots of coping mechanisms.”

“Then you got torn apart and put yourself back together again too. If you can cope, how did you end up in a fistfight with Bart last week?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He said he kicked your ass. Didn’t say why.”

“It was over Knockout Rose.”

“Shapely redhead with the New Sentinels?”

“Used to be a New Sentinel. Now she’s with the Prospects, our experimental team. A goon slashed her face.”

“A few drops of my blood can heal that right up. I gave Bart more than he needed to reattach his arm.”

“But Bart didn’t want to share it because Knockout Rose spurned him. That’s why I slugged him.”

“Well, I ain’t the kind to let a lady suffer. If you need …”

“It’s handled. If you want to help, Gale Force has a broken leg.”

“Wouldn’t suggest that. My blood heals soft tissue damage pretty fast, but it makes bones fuse the wrong way. Bart had his arm’s bones surgically screwed together before the infusion to prevent that. Took a lot of surgery. Said it hurt like hell.”

“Too bad for him.”

“Get the feeling you don’t like him much.”

“And I get the feeling you don’t know him like I do. Stormhead ordered him to give your blood to Knockout Rose. He still tried to back out.”

“Wish I could say I was surprised. Bart’s horrible with women. I keep telling him to treat ‘em like people so he’ll figure out that’s what they are.”

“Not bad, coming from a guy who likes strippers.”

“What’s wrong with strippers?”

“It’s exploitation, don’t you think?”

“Exploitation? Let me ask you something, agent. Those shoes you’re wearing, where were they made?”

“Wherever Florsheim’s factory is.”

“Those places are full of sad-eyed children who look like Lam’s little sisters. They can’t buy the shoes they make because they need every cent for rice. Now tell me, do you hate those kids?”

“Of course not.”

“But you don’t care about ‘em, which is worse than hating ‘em because you never consider how they suffer so your tender tootsies dry. See, I do. That’s why I don’t wear shoes. A girl in America chooses to earn money by dancing without anyone touching her, that’s not exploitation. A bunch of kids slaving away to make something you get dirty so they don’t starve, that is.”

“I don’t have a healing factor. I can’t let my feet get cut up.”

“So tell me, would you look down on Lam less if she was making your shoes in Vietnam?”

“I’d look down on her less if she wasn’t so crude.”

“You paid for her lap dance.”

“Asshole.” Alex shook his head. “I can’t wait to wrap up this case and get back to New York.”

“Guess you’re not going to vote for me to join your team.”

“Bart’s the only one who wants you there. Harry hates you …”

“He hates everyone. But I liked his wife. Sorry I missed Mindy’s funeral.”

“… and Gale Force said she’ll vote however I vote. Stormhead wants a clear majority on any new picks.”

“I won’t beg. The New York Guardians are in shitty shape. You need me more than I need you.”

“We’re better off short-handed than stuck with a sex-addicted loose cannon.”

“I ain’t addicted, but without women what’s the point of being men?”

The cranes and freighters attached to piers that stretched into the Puget Sound lay before them. Max waved from a police car parked outside of the chain link fence topped with rolls of barbed wire.

“Agent O’Farrell, Chak.” He pointed to a sheet of paper in his hand. “I have a list of potential smugglers. We ran background checks and researched tax records to find some we could …” A gust of wind blew the list from his hand. “Ah, damn it!”

“Quick question, detective,” said Chak. “What’s the Azure Dragon?”

“It’s a constellation. I looked it up on Wikipedia.”

“Guess that makes you what Lam would call a ‘total banana.’”

Max snorted. “Not the first time I’ve been called that.”

“What does it mean?” asked Alex.

“An Asian assimilated into American culture. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.”

“That sounds racist.”

“Yeah it is.”

Chak nose twitched. “You smell that?”

“Smell what?” asked Alex.

“Iron and sulfur. Blood and fire. The stuff of MacGuffin.” He pointed to the furthest pier. “Over there.”

Alex, Max, and Chak ran against the wind to a small warehouse with walls of rusted corrugated sheet metal.

“Wait,” said Max. “We don’t have a warrant to search that one.”

Chak said, “Agent, you gonna arrest me if I bust in there?”

“Metahuman law says you can trespass if you have reason to believe a crime is being committed. But you are accountable for any damage to the premises or injuries committed if they outweigh the benefits of your actions.”

“Good enough.” Chak ran with the easy grace of a wild animal to a corner of the building. He effortlessly climbed the metal support to an open window near the roof and slipped inside.

“I heard that guy has racked up a hell of a body count over his career,” said Max. “Think he’ll kill anyone?”

“He might,” said Alex, “and if you, as an officer of the law, think he will, we have reasonable cause to charge in there without a warrant. It’s exigent circumstances.”

“Are you sure?”

“The occupants could press charges, but as long as our intention is to save lives they’d have to prove we acted maliciously, and since Chak is acting with reasons from superhuman senses we can’t be doing that.”

“That’s legal?”

“We’re bending the law, not breaking it. Trust me, I have a law degree.”

“Good enough for me. Let’s go.”

Alex, Max, and the uniformed policemen banged on the heavy reinforced sliding door at the front of the building. “Police! Open up!” Max shouted, followed with some phrases in Chinese.

Screams and bangs echoed inside the building.

“Gunshots.” Alex turned back to the uniformed policemen. “Get it open.”

It took three policemen to shove the door open. Alex and Max entered with guns drawn.

Several Asian men inside fell to their knees and put their hands on their heads.

Chak’s voice came from the other side of the wall. “Come on in. They ain’t gonna give us trouble.”

Alex kicked the office door open.

The room was filled with animal parts. Furry pelts of all colors, ranging from the black-and-white tiger to a golden lion’s skin, lined the walls. A crate filled with dried bear paws was near the front door. On the other side was a barrel filled with bones and antlers. Other animal parts, many Alex couldn’t identify, were scattered throughout the shelves and tables in the room.

Chak stood in the middle with a knife against a leathery skinned Asian man’s throat. To his right another man held his bloody hand against his stomach.

“What’s all this?” asked Alex.

“Smuggling operation.” Max picked up a black bear paw. “Soups made from these sell for a thousand dollars in China. Those bones are ground into medicines. I’ll bet that refrigerator in the corner is filled with gall bladders and glands. The tiger skin makes me think these guys deal with poachers from around the world.”

“All these animals slaughtered,” said Chak, “and Agent O’Farrell wants me to go easy on the people who did it.”

“Please,” said the man, “No English.”

“Guess he’s no good to us.” Chak pressed the knife against the leathery man’s throat.

“Don’t do it,” said Alex.

“Stop me if you can.”

The leathery man screamed. “Wait! I talk.”

The wounded man ran back into a corner. Alex approached him.

“Careful, agent,” said Chak. “He drew a gun on me. I slashed his tendons.”

Max drew a transparent capsule with a cube of MacGuffin from his coat. “Do you have this?”

“Yeah, yeah. We have.” He pointed to the top of the refrigerator.

Max pulled down an egg carton in front of an open window. “There’s about a dozen cubes here.”

“Idiots put it right by the fan,” said Chak. “Wind from the sea sent it all over the city. That’s how I smelled it.”

Alex said, “You sell it to people?”

The man nodded. “Sell to people who sell to people. They say give great high.”

“But you haven’t tried it?” asked Chak.

“I sell. Told sell for big money.”

“Who told you?”

“New man. Not meet him before.”

Chak sniffed. “I smell something strange. What else did you get?”

The man gulped.

Chak slid the knife’s edge against his skin.

“Tell him,” said Max. “Someone else is after you. We’re the only ones who can keep you alive.”

Alex went to a table. A knife stuck out half-buried in the steel. He grabbed the handle and pushed. The blade cut through the steel like it was butter.

Alex pulled the knife out. It was lighter than a feather. The curved blade was the off-white color of an animal’s claw. It felt as light as a fingernail, but it showed no signs of wear from cutting through metal.

The man said, “Behind tiger.”

“What could be so valuable you keep it behind a white tiger’s skin?” Max pulled down the tiger pelt.

His jaw dropped when he saw the scaly sheet that sparkled like a thousand effervescent gems packed tightly together underneath. A gentle tap of his fingertip sent a small wave through it, making everything shine a little brighter as the ripple past through. “It’s so beautiful.”

Alex also stared in fascination until gunshots and screams of “Stop! Police!” and “Incoming metahuman!” echoed from the entrance.

“Tranh Long?” The man in the corner’s lips barely moved.

Max tensed. “Who?”

“In Chinese,” said Chak, “that’s Qing Long.”

A hand threw the sliding door back with enough force to tear it off its rollers and send it crashing to the floor. A tall shaven-headed man who seemed too thin to muster that much strength strode into the warehouse. The dark blue shiny suit he wore had the cut and fabric of something from an expensive design collection, and the black shirt underneath had white buttons that sparkled like diamonds.

But what Alex really noticed were his eyes. Even from far away and with the sunlight at Qing Long’s back, they shone like two stars against a field of black.

A policeman raised his baton. Without even looking, Qing Long caught his elbow and threw him across the warehouse floor with one arm. He landed on the concrete floor with a loud crack.

Another officer drew his pistol and fired. Black holes appeared in Qing Long’s suit, but Qing Long didn’t even flinch. The cop quivered as Qing Long’s star-like eyes focused on him.

“Officers,” yelled Alex, “Fall back. Run!”

The officers and the Chinese men almost tripped over each other on the way out. The leathery man turned white with terror. The man with a cut hand scrambled to his feet and threw his shoulder against a poster. The plaster wall around it cracked.

Qing Long took fluid strides towards them.

Max drew his gun.

“Put it away,” said Alex. “We can’t fight him.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Give him whatever he wants.”

“That’s not exactly heroic.”

“We need to treat this thing like a force of nature.”

Max looked at his gun.

“Give it up, Dirty Harry,” said Alex. “That’d be as stupid as shooting a tornado.”

Qing Long entered the room. His eyes went past Max to the sparkling pelt on the wall. His perfectly straight teeth clenched. His growl had the depth of distant thunder.

Max pointed his pistol at Qing Long. “Put your hands …”

Qing Long grabbed Max’s wrist and shoulder and pulled in opposite directions. The pops of joints separating was louder than Max’s scream.

Chak drew his knife and leapt onto Qing Long. He wrapped himself around Qing Long’s head and slashed furiously while screeching. Shreds of cloth flew off of Qing Long. No blood showed against his golden skin.

Qing Long released Max. Chak dropped to the ground and rammed into the back of Qing Long’s knee. Qing Long’s leg didn’t buckle.