Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

4: Fight Dirty

You don’t believe me. No one ever believed me. I came to terms with that many years ago. You lock me in this asylum and call me a lunatic, a madman, but it is of no consequence. You ask me again who I am, so I will tell you. I was the pilot of the HMS Cheetah in 1701. We had narrowly escaped attack by pirates when a storm took our mainmast and wrecked her off some uncharted island in the Caribbean. Only I survived. To this day I cannot explain the effect the island had on me. Perhaps there was some radioactive substance there. All I know is that I prayed to the Lord God to survive, and I did. I survived for two hundred and fifty years.

—Transcript from psychiatric evaluation of [NAME REDACTED]

***

Niobe gunned the engine. The road peeled away in front of them as they pulled out. The police were taking the Northwestern highway, the one constructed to maintain a line to the ports after the bomb hit. So Niobe pulled back onto the same route they’d taken to get here, cutting through side streets and making their way north.

“How many do you reckon?” Niobe said as she pulled sharply around a corner.

Solomon gripped the dashboard and wedged his legs in place to keep himself upright. “Gotta be half of Met Div out there. I saw a bunch of Tactical Unit vans.”

“Crap.”

“Tell me about it.”

A lone early-morning driver leaned on his horn as Niobe brought the old Ford sweeping past, missing by inches. The Ford was older than most, but she still had some guts left in her. The streetlights flashed above as they raced down the street.

She squinted north and made out the police dirigible floating over the main checkpoint to the Old City. It had its spotlight on, guiding the ground teams in. She couldn’t see the coppers now. Too many miles and buildings between them. The police had a head start, and their road was easier. The coppers would beat them there. Damn it, damn it, damn it. The Metahuman Division of the police weren’t known for friendly community policing.

She didn’t have a clue what the raid was about, but that didn’t matter. To Met Div, one meta was the same as another. If they were going in with numbers like that, they were doing something that was going to cause trouble. And Gabby was home alone. Bloody hell. She glanced over and saw the lines running through Solomon’s stubble. He’d pushed his mask up to massage his forehead. His wife wasn’t a meta and his three kids hadn’t starting showing signs yet. But that might not be enough to protect her from Met Div. It just meant his family had no way to defend themselves.

While they drove, she filled him in on what Frank had told her, more to distract herself than anything else. It seemed to loosen the tension in Solomon’s back as well. He whistled when she mentioned the dollar figure Frank had given her.

“He must be some kind of business tycoon to have that much cash to throw around. Or a bank robber. Were you there that time that math whack-job tried to rob the Reserve Bank? What was his name, again?”

“Captain Calculus. No, that was before my time.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Kate doesn’t like that I still run around in a costume. But that might change if I can bring home enough to get the kids through uni and have enough left over for a colour TV or fifty.”

She nodded and shifted gear to take another tight turn. “It’s not the money I’m worried about. I don’t like the feel of this. He’s keeping too much back.”

“So do most of the people we deal with. Secrets are part of the game. Hell, I’m your partner, and I don’t even know where you live.”

That was true. It wasn’t personal. It was just reasonable caution. He never pried, though, which she was thankful for.