Seven Wonders (5 page)

  Gillespie walked over to the first SUV, peered into the windows, then beckoned Sam and Joe over, away from the other police.

  "If they had some kind of teleport facility, why did they make such a show of arriving in these things, waving guns around? Why didn't they just zap straight into the vault, take what they wanted, and zap out again. Why the theatrics?"

  Detective Joe Milano considered for a moment. "Because the Cowl is an asshole, sir?" Sam sighed, but amazingly the chief allowed himself a small chuckle. Joe folded his arms and continued.

  "It's part of his modus operandi; it's how he controls this city – with fear."

  Gillespie's reflection loomed large in the SUV's tinted window.

  "So what did the Cowl want here anyway? What's in the vault?"

  But Sam was already shaking her head before the chief even finished. "Nothing of interest, sir. Cash, customer records, nothing else. But the Cowl didn't want the vault, he wanted Mr Ballard. The Seven Wonders had entrusted him with something. That's why they took him."

  Gillespie turned from the vehicle and popped another cigarette into his mouth. "The Seven Assholes."

  Joe nodded. "Yeah, the Seven Wonders. Since when do they go undercover? Their identities are secret, they make damn sure of that. We've got CCTV angles covering the whole branch, so we should have a good record of the guy that took out the Cowl and dumped him in the ocean. But… could it really have been Linear, on his day off, or something? We'll have his face on the tape, but he would have known his actions would reveal his identity. I don't see a member of the Seven Wonders pulling a stunt like that. They'd just sit tight and let people die before revealing their real faces. They've never acted like this before."

  Sam laid a hand on Joe's arm, a dangerous thought sparking in her mind. "What, you're saying we have another superhero in San Ventura?"

  Joe nodded. "Could be. The secrecy of their identities is paramount. Linear wouldn't perform on camera, even in the middle of one of the Cowl's schemes."

  The chief sighed, a deep, hollow sound like wind rushing through an underground cave. "That, detectives, is
all
we need. Now, go. Ponder on what you are going to put on your reports. I don't want to see you until tomorrow. Let uniforms clear this mess up. I'll get them to send you the bill."

  Dumping his unfinished cigarette to the sidewalk, Gillespie scuffed his shoes as he turned and headed back to his car. Joe unfolded his arms and walked off, leaving Sam alone by the SUV.

  She felt her heart race. To come so close, to plan everything so perfectly, only to be foiled by something they could never have foreseen.

  San Ventura had a new superhero.

  Then she smiled, just a little. Because if there was one thing guaranteed to piss the Seven Wonders off, it was a new hero on their turf.

CHAPTER THREE

Tony had always been frightened.

  A Friday, a couple of months back, and San Ventura at night was just as hot and muggy as San Ventura during the day, the only obvious difference being that it was dark. At 11pm the city was just hitting its stride, getting as busy as it was at midday with the surge of diners and drinkers, partygoers and clubbers, people hitting the night shift and people late leaving the office. At 11pm the night was young for a lot of folk.

  Tony was not one of them. Retail was hardly a bountiful career choice and he was resigned to taking as many extra shifts as he could to make ends meet. Friday night was no exception. As the city came to nocturnal life, just the same as every other city in the country, Tony's only thought was to get home as quickly as possible. Attract no attention, speak to no one, get on the bus, the subway, then home. Safe.

  Park Boulevard was illuminated as bright as day, the weird monochrome of the yellow sodium lamps on the main street outshone by the more natural white glow emanating from restaurants and bars. Added to this was the orange and red of neon signs, the blue from a few all-night internet cafes – there were three of them here, all in a row. Tony knew that they were all owned by a large Mexican who liked to be called Leroy in one shop, Jesus in the second, and Arnold in the third; Tony was half-convinced the man was a retired superhero with a quick-change closet between each of the premises. This part of town was practically floodlit.

  This was no comfort for Tony. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, he buried himself deeper into the shadowed corner of the bus shelter, unconsciously sucking his stomach in to reduce his profile as much as possible. It was a token effort, but Tony felt better, convinced that perhaps if he slowed his breathing he'd practically vanish. What a superpower that would be.

  In reality, the way he folded himself into the corner of the bus shelter just made him look like a crackhead on a comedown, but the effect was much the same. The three other people waiting at the shelter for the 300 to Maryville were judiciously gathered at the other end of the shelter, away from Tony, ignoring him completely.

  For just a moment, Tony allowed himself to relax and focus inward. He tried to cut himself off from the hustle of the street, find his center, and let his brain switch off after a particularly numbing day at the Big Deal megastore.

  He sighed quietly. Even the name of the store was appropriate. Big Deal. Sure, he was working with computers − selling the damn things. He'd had such ambition once. Computers, programming, IT, a trendy dotcom company and a lot of neatly stacked bundles of cash next to the bed he shared with a Californian beauty queen.

  But Tony knew that some dreams were never meant to come true. Six months into computer science at UCSV and his math gave out on him. Switching to an arts major, he lasted another two months before quitting altogether and deciding to focus on the important things in life: eating, sleeping, avoiding the dangers of San Ventura. And Big Deal was the state's largest electronics and home entertainment chain, so theoretically he was still in computers. So really, what he told his mom wasn't entirely untrue.

  Big Deal. Oh, how the name of the store mocked him. Tony never thought he'd be bothered by his lack of ambition. He really had no interest in career progression or business development or working any longer than the end of his ten-hour shift. But four years selling cheap bloatware PCs to unknowing soccer moms and their eager seven-yearold sons was becoming a real drag and the pay was lousy. And the lack of money presented issue number two.

  Tony pondered on this with just a hint of resentment as the 300 pulled up. He let the other waiting pedestrians board first, keeping a distance between himself and the young suit in front just slightly too wide to be natural. Even the bus driver seemed to see it, squinting slightly at Tony as he climbed the three steps, presented his pass, and slipped down the vehicle's aisle to find a seat on his own. He was in luck − back third, right-hand side. Tony swung onto the bench seat quickly, and sank into the corner. As soon as the doors of the bus clacked shut, the interior light automatically dimmed. Tony felt better already, off the street.

  Money. If Tony had money he could buy a car and not have to take first the bus then the subway and if he had money he wouldn't have to work in Big Deal but more than that he wouldn't have to live in San Ventura the most dangerous fucking city in the world and you think Mexico City is a piece of work or fucking Skid Row but neither of those places have their own fucking supervillain and…

  
Breathe, Tony, breathe.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, and decided that he was tired and brain-dead after his shift. Sure, San Ventura was a dangerous place, but if a couple million other people could survive it, so could he. He wondered if he needed to see a doctor, maybe get something for anxiety, but as the bus rolled gently around the city center he couldn't help but smirk at his own paranoia. Sleep was the solution. Everything would be better in the morning.

  Tony was jolted forward, the bus rocking on too-soft suspension as it came to an abrupt halt. Heart attempting to drill out of his chest cavity, Tony gripped the top of the seat in front and half-stood to get a better look out of the front window. A car beeped, and another responded, and somewhere outside a man was swearing. Then the bus jerked again and coasted forward, journey resumed.

  Tony flopped back into his seat heavily. Holy
fuck
. Getting freaked by someone cutting in? Maybe it wasn't a doctor he needed, maybe it was a shrink. No, OK, sleep soon, no problem, then tomorrow is Saturday and the sun will be shining and maybe I can even go down to the beach.

  Tony opened one eye. He knew it, he goddamn
knew
it. At the front of the bus, on a backwards-facing seat, was an old black man in a black suit underneath an overcoat. There was an old-fashioned hat, a Homburg maybe, perched on his head, and his hands rested on the black handle of a thick walking stick.

  The old man was
looking
at him. It wasn't a glance, it was a
look
. The man held it for maybe three seconds, then blinked and turned his attention to the rainbow fuzz of city lights that flickered through the window.

  OK, he didn't look dangerous, but looks were deceiving in San Ventura. He looked
odd,
which was reason enough to fear. Tony had never seen him before; he wasn't a regular on the bus and he hadn't noticed whether the man had been waiting at the bus shelter with him or had been on the bus already.

  San Ventura was not a city you took risks in. Tony thumbed the bell and immediately stood, awkwardly walking down to the doors by the driver as the bus lurched around a corner. Tony stood in the short stairwell and closed his eyes, nose practically touching the rubber flap that sealed the two halves of the door together. His stop wasn't for a while, but he had to get off the damn bus and lose the old man. Had to.

  Tony snapped his eyes open as the bus doors slid apart, cooler air suddenly rolling over his face. He took a second to check where he actually was, then hopped off the second-to-last step and stood, hands in pockets, until he heard the bus doors close and the vehicle hum off down the street.

  Tony was alone at this stop. This part of town was much quieter, a collection of nine-to-five businesses now closed for the weekend. The street was busy in one direction, people heading into the beating heart of downtown, but not so much in the other. Tony oriented himself and saw a subway sign down on the corner ahead. On this route he'd have to make an awkward train change, which would extend his journey time by quite a margin. But tonight that wouldn't be a problem.

  By the time he reached the station stairs, Tony was in a jog. He checked his speed as he approached, checked over his shoulder (just in case), then trotted down into the light.

  The A-line was heaving, as always, a combination of people coming and going as the day's train timetable drew to a close. Tony was happy in the crowd this time, as there were enough people to get lost in. He politely pushed himself to the front of the platform and waited for just half a minute before a train rumbled to a halt, the doors not quite in front of where he stood. Tony let himself be carried by the mass of people shuffling slightly to the right, and swung himself into the train car.

  The train was very brightly lit, and without thinking Tony headed straight for the semi-alcove provided by the curve of the wall and the sliding doors on the opposite side of the car. There were no shadows to hide in here, unlike the bus, but nevertheless he squeezed himself against the plastic frame of the car, hands in pockets and arms held tight against his sides. People filled nearly all of the space around him, packing the train almost as full as the five o'clock rush hour.

  Two stations later was his change. He wasted no time in moving between platforms, and safely inside the next train Tony returned to his corner and closed his eyes, counting the stops in his head as the train ploughed through them and feeling the other passengers thin out around him as the doors slid open and shut and open and shut.

  When Tony opened his eyes, he swore quietly under his breath.

  There, on a folding seat that was really only supposed to be used when the train wasn't quite as full, sat the old black man. Tony couldn't get a clear view, but as the train rocked he could alternately see the man under an armpit and behind a head, walking stick clutched so tightly the man's knuckles were bleached white.

  And he was looking at Tony.

  Fuck. This was trouble. Who the hell was this guy? Not just a crim, not a mugger, nothing so petty. Maybe a mark, a decoy, a finder, an old peaceful man working with one of the Omega gangs, the groups of violent youths who thought they were doing the Cowl's good works. Tony had been ID'd as a target. The gang would be waiting for him on the streets above. He could see it now, teenagers, probably not more than five years younger than himself but, really, just children. Dressed up like their hero, omega symbols sprayed onto their T-shirts. Damn it, every black hat in the city thought they were in the Cowl's gang. This old man, oh so innocent, must have watched Tony from the bus then got off at the next stop and managed, somehow, to intercept him from another subway stop farther uptown. It couldn't have been a coincidence.

  Tony focused on his breathing. The air was hot and damp, and in his tight corner filled with sweat and perfume. He tried not to move, not to draw attention to himself, for all the good it would do as the old man was still looking straight at him.

  The train screeched a little as it punched the bright light of the next station − Tony's stop − and glided to a halt. The car was packed but Tony wasn't really interested in being nice to little old ladies, not tonight. As soon as the doors were half an inch apart he dived forward, using speed to catch the other passengers by surprise so they offered no resistance, and slipped out first. Tony's thin-soled sneakers slapped the cement floor as he shot for the station exit.