In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition

  “No, but we’ll talk about your choice of wallpaper later.” Her voice tightened. “What happened?”

  “I chased him. He got the drop on me. He’d have killed me save for the intervention of a friend.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Pride.” I shrugged. “There was a guy, David Hackworth, once described fear this way. He said every man has a bottle inside himself. Some have a big one. Some have a small one. Doesn’t matter. All the fear collects in there and a guy can be fearless while it’s collecting. And then one day, the bottle’s full. That’s it. Game over. He’s done.”

  I looked up at her. “My bottle’s full.”

  Selene’s gaze did not waver. “It’ll drain out again.”

  “It’s a one-way bottle.” I opened my arms. “I violated our agreement. There are the keys.”

  “Keep them.”

  “But…”

  She smiled carefully. “I’ve been where you are. You know I’ve gone out with Vixen a couple times. You have one strike against you.”

  “And I get three?”

  “You get two. You’d only have gotten one, but you came clean.” Her eyes half-closed. “I expected some backsliding, and I already knew about you and Bennie.”

  “He called?”

  “A courtesy. He has quite an art collection and I’ve done work for him.”

  I shook my head. “My fear bottle is full, but my stupid bottle isn’t. He doesn’t see me and randomly call someone who’s appraised art for him. I didn’t tell him about Castigan, so he has no reason to connect us.”

  “I also did the alarm system in the Mausoleum and at Haste Manor.”

  “Nice dodge.” I fixed her with a stare. “He knows I’m Victoria’s father?”

  Selene nodded slowly. “After it became apparent I was pregnant, he did the gallant thing. He offered to marry me and raise Victoria as his own child. It was a tempting offer, and one he repeated several times over the years.”

  “And you didn’t accept because?”

  “Victoria would have been raised as his daughter. I’d fought against him. I didn’t think his lifestyle would be good for her.” Selene sagged against the door jamb. “I tried to shield her from what we were. He would have conspired with her.”

  “So he called you to warn you that I was back in town?”

  She nodded. “I thanked him for the news and said I’d already been informed. Then I called Grant and straightened out that arrow of connection. If Nick calls Grant he won’t know the deception.”

  I shook my head. “Nicholas Haste and Grant Stone. There was a time they ruled this city, one by day, one by night. No one knew who they really were.”

  “That was a long time ago, a time perhaps best forgotten.”

  “You better hope not.”

  She frowned.

  “Think where you’re standing, my dear. If the old days are forgotten, Castigan is done before he starts.”

  Selene laughed. “Good point. Of course, with that wallpaper, you could be done already.”

  “What are you talking about?” I made to move past her, but she stopped me with a hand to my heart. “Did you already change it?”

  “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” My brows furrowed. “What am I missing? Why are you here.”

  “I’m here because I’m impressed with everything you’ve accomplished.” She smiled happily. “Excluding the wallpaper, what you’ve done is brilliant. You’ve been working hard.”

  “I have tons more to do.”

  “But not tonight.” She gave me a shove back toward the elevator. “The car’s waiting downstairs. Your clothes are in it. You will change on the way.”

  “To?”

  “It’s a surprise, but you’ll enjoy it, I promise.” She herded me into the elevator and sent it down. “All you have to do is to remember back to when you knew how to have fun. Think you can do that?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Fantastic.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Women will swoon, men will weep and we will have more fun than allowed by law.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The elevator that whisked us from the ground to the one hundred and second floor of the world’s tallest building opened into the Emerald Ballroom. Though it had been completely refurbished a half-dozen times, it retained the powerful elegance and grace of the original Art Deco styling. The bowl-shaped room had tables and booths on tiers centered around a vast wooden dance-floor. At the north end, backed by a huge window that revealed the city in all its nighttime glory, a big band played on a stage.

  It was as if the elevator had not only carried us to the heavens, but had transported us back in time. I remembered the last time I’d been there. I’d been younger. Selene had been on my arm, but never had she looked more beautiful than she did now.

  I’d pulled on a black suit with a white shirt and an emerald green tie which matched my eyes and the hue of her gown. The tie had a slight wrinkle in it, since she’d used it to blindfold me while she changed into the strapless gown, with a tight bodice and flowing skirts. And sequins, so many sequins that as she spun across the dance floor it looked as if a million flash bulbs were going off.

  The maitre d’ conducted us to a table on one of the higher tiers–so much better to see and be seen–and brought a complimentary bottle of champagne. Selene nodded at a few people as we walked to our seats arm in arm. Heads everywhere bent together, starting the whispers which would soon spread beyond the ball room.

  She smiled across the table. “They’ll be wondering who you are.”

  “So, who am I?”

  “Castigan, of course. Half the people here are your target clientele.”

  “Cool. Business. Got it.” I smiled. “It’s show time.”

  The maitre d’ came and gave Selene a card. “He has invited you and your guest to join him at his table.”

  Selene studied the card, then nodded. “We will, for a moment.”

  “Very good, ma’am.”

  Acting my part, I took Selene’s hand and tucked it inside my left elbow, then paraded her across the empty dance floor. We ascended two levels. The man who’d sent the card stood and slid out from the booth, leaving behind another man and their two wives. The older couple, including the man who stood, appeared to be roughly our age. The other couple was younger and while well-dressed, appeared a bit too churchy for the surroundings.

  I recognized our host even before I heard him speak, and kicked myself because I’d not made the connection before. A couple inches shorter than me, and twenty pounds heavier, his dark hair had thinned into a comb-over that looked like a barcode tattoo. He’d gotten a bit jowly as well.

  Selene hugged him, then turned to introduce me. “Castigan, this is His Honor, the mayor, Gregory Greylan.”

  Greylan, with a big smile on his face, extended his hand.

  I just looked at it as if a doctor examining a grotesque deformity. The hand hung there, then it wavered for a moment. Which is exactly when I looked up into his eyes. “Ah, forgive Castigan. He does not shake hands.”

  Greylan’s smile remained pasted in place. “This is my wife. Dear, you know Selene Kole.”

  “Always a pleasure, Selene.”

  “Indeed, Delores.”

  I had to marvel how both women sounded warm and sincere, but mutual contempt poured off in waves.

  I bowed to Delores and extended my hand. She placed hers in it and I kissed the air above her knuckles. “It is a pleasure to meet the woman who has given this city’s mayor such a delightful family. It pleases Castigan to see he is so well supported.”

  Delores, a woman with corn-silk hair and a corn-fed waistline, blushed.

  The other man, younger and, like his bride, dark-haired, did not offer me his hand. “William Wright the third, Police Commissioner. This is my wife, Jennifer.”

  Jennifer smiled demurely, but kept her hands in her lap where there was no risk of their being kissed.

&
nbsp; “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  The Emerald Room staff brought two chairs and we joined the Mayor’s party. Some small talk ensued, but I remained silent throughout. This was, in part, deliberate, but I was also distracted.

  The deliberate part was simple. I had long ago developed the technique for making people believe I was insane. It’s great for playing a homeless vagabond, making stake-outs a piece of cake. Usually no one notices you, and when they do, you get tips.

  Insanity had even more promise as eccentricity. With these two, I’d just dial it back a little. No need for strait-jacket-and-shock-therapy insanity. The truly insane can be dangerous, but eccentrics can be controlled. My targets had to feel safe, superior, and that I was no threat.

  I’d already started the ball rolling by referring to myself in third person. Using a single name helped, too. Made me crazy or an artist. Disengagement from the discussion was another thing–Castigan was in his own little world. A few misperceptions and few ridiculous mistakes, and I would be set.

  Then the mayor looked at me. “Do I know you, Mr. Castigan? Have we met before?”

  “No, your honor, you have not before met Castigan.”

  But I’ve met you, Redhawk.

  Without the lifts and the wig and the chin prosthetic, he was hard to spot. On the trip we took together he’d been Dick and I’d been Harry. He’d been a nice enough guy, though definitely on the vanilla side of things. He wasn’t someone I would have hung out with.

  Even before I’d cracked the mayor’s secret, I’d known the other man was Colonel Constitution. It didn’t hurt that the original had been in C4, so I knew he was Bill Wright. His grandson stood ramrod stiff and held himself even tighter than the old man ever had. I bet his wife starches and irons his tighty-whities, too.

  “Well, what brings you to Capital City, Mr. Castigan?”

  I waved a hand. “Castigan, just Castigan. Empty honorifics mean nothing to Castigan. And why is Castigan here?” I canted my head, studied the mayor first, then the police commissioner. “No, no, you are nothing.”

  Both men looked surprised.

  Delores spoke up. “Did you mean to say ‘nothing?’”

  “Oh, so kind lady, thank you. Castigan, he is sometimes unsure of words. No, gentlemen, apologies if you thought Castigan thinks you are nothing. No, far from it. You see, Castigan means to say you are nothing of the superhero. You know them, you tolerate them, you work with them, but you are not like Castigan’s people. Castigan’s people are consumed by them.”

  The two men shared a conspiratorial glance when I said they were nothing of the superhero. That took care of their feeling superior. A superhero’s natural state is one of fear that he will be discovered. I’d just tossed myself into the class of the clueless who can’t see through their tissue-paper identities. I became harmless, they felt safe and terribly clever.

  Selene laid a hand on my knee. “Castigan is a dealer in hero memorabilia. He handles very expensive pieces. He’s an expert and has uncovered many forgeries.”

  “It is Castigan’s vocation, dear Selene, and his passion.” I smiled. “Castigan is a citizen of the world, and now he comes here, to its crown jewel, to live. He is genius, no?”

  Asking folks to praise you is a clear sign of eccentricity. They complied, despite wondering if I even knew what day of the week it was.

  Greylan steepled his fingers and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We were having an interesting discussion. You are aware of what happened at the Hall?”

  “Yes. Great shame.”

  “Commissioner Wright is advocating the creation of a new supergroup. Under Colonel Constitution we would create the Capital City Costumed Constabulary. We would bring the independent heroes in under his aegis and seek to prevent future disasters. Thoughts, Selene?”

  “Organization is not always a bad thing.”

  The Mayor’s wife wrinkled her nose at the reply, slipping her hand onto her husband’s arm.

  I spoke up quickly. “Castigan would not favor it.”

  Wright poked a finger at me. “It’s the only way to control the sort of ruffians who pay no attention to the law.”

  “This may be true, but Castigan does not support it. Castigan thrives when there are many heroes. Here we would have few. Colonel Constitution and then the group. And the outsiders.”

  Wright’s nostrils flared. “In this battle there is no room for outsiders. They are for us or against us.”

  “Castigan has heard this before. Castigan would point out that ‘us’ and ‘them’ are highly subjective.” I glanced at the mayor. “Would there be a grant of extraordinary police powers to this organization?”

  “For the duration of the emergency, perhaps. Network tracing, that sort of thing.”

  “By this you mean monitoring communications covertly?”

  Wright kept poking with that finger. “It’s the only way to catch the criminals out.”

  “Then a thousand times no. Castigan will not be monitored.”

  Wright’s eyes tightened. “If you do nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.”

  “What Castigan fears is those who decide what is right and what is wrong. Think of your peanut butter. It is illegal now. Before, no. So, one day it is legal, the next it is not. Right becomes wrong. Castigan did not think he had anything to be afraid of, and then he does.”

  Silence fell. I’d gone too far in arguing a point. I’d confused them. They’d thought I was naïve and in my own world, but I had a grasp on theirs. Wright’s alarm meter was getting ready to redline.

  So I looked up and away from Selene and held a hand up as if motioning someone to be quiet. “Not here, mother, Castigan is enjoying his time. Yes, they are nice people. Yes, mother, Castigan will be nicer.”

  The silence continued, but awkwardly now–the only change being the blank stares on the assembled faces.

  I smiled. “Do not be alarmed. It is only the ghost of Castigan’s mother. If it was Uncle Yuri, then there would be trouble. She just comes out whenever she thinks Cossacks are going to raid or something equally dire.”

  They all got very polite very quickly. Delores even made sympathetic noises toward Selene–all the while being happy I’d been visited upon her. I wasn’t sure what was going on there, but I could guess.

  Wright got smug again. His wife mumbled a prayer to keep Uncle Yuri away.

  The band began to play a waltz. Selene took my hand. “Castigan, be a dear. Let’s dance.”

  “It would be Castigan’s pleasure.”

  Selene smiled graciously as we got up. “It was nice seeing you all again.”

  I guided Selene all the way across the floor and took her in my arms. That surprised me, the feel of her, the scent of her hair, her warmth. We started dancing. Twenty years vanished. We moved as one, circling and swirling like contented fish in a gentle current. I’d not danced in ages but it came back quickly.

  The song ended too soon, and she pulled back immediately. Smiling, we returned to our table, then sat and sipped champagne.

  “You are simply wicked. You know that.”

  “It’s always good to have the opposition underestimate you.”

  “Opposition?”

  “You don’t think that recreating C4 to save the city would boost the mayor’s profile and win him the next election?”

  “Term limits. Greg can’t run.”

  “Okay, for Governor then.”

  “Sure, but it doesn’t answer the question.” She watched me above the edge of her champagne flute. “Or does this have to do with those things you won’t tell me about?”

  “Good point, maybe they’re not the opposition.” I reached out and took her hand in mine. “Just a piece of the past that should stay there.”

  She slipped her hand from mine. “There are a lot of things that should remain in the past.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll leave them.” I smiled. “But you said we’re celebrating, right?”

  ?
??Absolutely.”

  “And what are we celebrating?”

  Her eyes grew distant. “Being alive. Not being sad that we’re not young anymore.”

  “Perfect.” I offered my hand.

  We returned to the floor and melded with the music. She moved exquisitely, light and deliberate. The slightest touch propelled her into turns. I spun her out and back, took her through a grand, whirling tour of the floor. Like the ball in a roulette wheel we circled in the opposite direction of the other dancers, threading our way between them to the heart of the floor.

  We didn’t leave the floor for a long time, though we weren’t always dancing with each other. A variety of men asked Selene to join them. I picked out the women whose husbands wouldn’t dance if Baron Samizdat was prodding them with a chain-saw. Within a couple of steps I knew how experienced they were, and then lead them through a fun array of moves.

  I remembered what a teacher had once told me about dancing. “The lead’s job, gentlemen, is to make your partner feel she is the most beautiful woman in the world.” I undertook to do that with all of them, gracing them with smiles, whispering encouragement, thanking them profusely. Not only was it fun, but Castigan became a charming character. Women have a greater tolerance for eccentricity than men–at least as long as it’s not dating their daughter.

  But Selene was the one I wanted to be dancing with. It had little to do with my other partners’ skill level or enthusiasm. Dancing with her was like that night we met in the art museum, where we flowed so well together. Broken moves finished with a laugh and then were reworked into something stylish. A few dancers could follow what we were doing, and only a couple or two tried to match us.

  Not William Wright, of course. He danced with his wife only so I’d not ask her to dance. He had all the skill of a man walking over broken glass, and dancing actually seemed more painful to him. His wife endured it, however, looking at him with worshipful eyes that made me wonder how they had met or what drugs he was feeding her.

  None could match us. We knew it. We showed off, just a bit, as we had in the old days. Time peeled back, and it was just Selene and me. No one else mattered. We existed outside the constraints that which had kept us apart.