Seven Wonders (10 page)

  The Cowl flinched backwards, and felt the alley wall against his back. How was this possible? Clearly the old man thing had been an act.

  The Black Angel looked around and scooped his hat up, replaced it on his head, then bent down and picked up his walking stick. The wheezy, brittle chuckle sounded again.

  "You're doin' good, son. Real good."

  This was a mistake, the Cowl knew now. Underpowered and injured, he should have brought Blackbird and taken the old man in an instant. No games. No terror. Just in and out, job done. With Blackbird's help even a superhero as powerful as the Black Angel wouldn't have stood a chance.

  Back against the wall, the Cowl felt for the armored compartments around his belt and, after depressing a catch, slid out a short, shaped handle. Another flick, and a blade materialized in the air, twelve inches long but blue and translucent and not quite
there.
He swept it in front of him and the non-existent blade trailed blue and white mist.

  The Black Angel looked up, still smiling, but the laugh was gone. His eyes were on the weapon. Neither moved or said anything for a moment, until the old man removed his hat and scratched his head, then replaced it.

  "There's another hero in the city. You've met him once, in the bank, but the Seven Wonders don't know about him. He's not like them, believe me, and he'll be nothing but a world of hurt for you. In fact, he seems to have some of the powers you so carelessly mislaid. Been watching him a while now, even before he got all special. Got a touch o' the second sight, see – even saw my end comin', tonight. But I reckon you might have a match sooner or later. Take some advice and consider your ways."

  "Thanks. I'll think it over."

  The Cowl stepped forward. There was no time for any of this. He had a schedule to keep and already this particular expedition had gone on far longer than he'd anticipated.

  The knife arced in the air, each cut and slice leaving a trail that lingered on the retina for longer than it should. The old man dropped first to his knees, then forward onto his face, and lay unmoving, and Death's Head Angel was no more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

There was a pop, and the audience
oohed
appreciatively. Aurora sent another glowing ball of energy up towards the ceiling, this one a spinning teardrop of many colors. It went out with a bang, and as the leader of the Seven Wonders took a deep bow, the crowd showed their appreciation with applause. Aurora stepped back and joined the clapping as the mayor of San Ventura took to the stage. It was cheesy shtick, but everyone loved it. Especially on a night like this.

  "Thank you, everyone," said Curtis Leonard Smith III, thrice-elected mayor and as impressed by small tricks as anyone. "A toast, now, to the brave men and women of the San Ventura Police Department, in whose honor we are gathered tonight. Policing in this city is a unique challenge, and has been since the first powered criminals appeared in our fair city in 1958. Now, more than sixty years later, San Ventura is safe, is secure, and is happy, protected by the best law enforcement agency in the country. To the Shining City's finest, the SVPD!"

  Joe raised his glass to the mayor's toast, broad grin on his face. Sam winced, and joined him out of politeness only. She was self-conscious enough as it was in the backless, sleeveless cocktail dress, and really didn't want to draw any more attention than she already was by not at least
pretending
to join in. She'd seen the looks all night. Even now, Dennis and Watts from the fourth floor chugged back the free champagne, thinking the glasses obscured their wandering eyes from her notice. Wrong.
Pricks.

  Joe drained his glass and gave a satisfied sigh of appreciation. He held it by the stem, looking around for one of the roving waiters to receive another.

  "I can't believe you bought that bullshit, Joe."

  Joe's smile didn't falter, his eyes still tracking the packed hotel ballroom. Sighting his prey, he adjusted his bowtie just a little and waved his glass in the air, waggling it by the stem in a faintly ridiculous "More please!" gesture.

  "I don't." His teeth remained set in their smile, a gleaming band of white against the dark brown of his face. "Thing is, Sam, I know when to play the game and how to act like I mean it." He paused as an attractive waitress barely in her twenties switched his empty glass for a full one. Joe's grin stretched a little farther, and as the waitress walked away his gaze lingered on her rear, just a little. Sam caught the look and slapped him on the shoulder. Joe took a sip and turned to his friend and colleague, abandoning the fixed grin of his ventriloquist act and dropping his voice to a discreet whisper.

  "This is the annual police charity ball. We all have to be here, Seven Wonders included. We know the mayor and the commissioner are in their pocket, and there's nothing we can do about it. We're also in the chief's little black book of naughty people, so we don't want to get noticed. We want to fade into the background and get this stupid charity event over and done with, and then front up with our case before we turn into pumpkins. Do you get it now, Detective Millar?"

  She did, and she swore at Joe. She was sure his surprised reaction was also fake, as it didn't stop him bringing the glass to his lips and taking another gulp of champagne.

  He was exactly right, and she should have known he was playing from the moment they walked in together. There was a reason that she and Joe stuck together both on and off the job. His ability to juggle difficult tasks and unusual requests, all the while presenting the facade that he and Sam were just a couple of regular cops doing their normal job, enabled her to continue work on her "extra-curricular" activities. It was a risk, but they'd managed for a couple of years. In reality, all it meant was longer hours for the both of them as they kept the official detective work up while Sam continued her investigation into San Ventura's most infamous criminal, the Cowl. SuperCrime, it turned out, was mostly clean-up, which meant she had to follow her own lines of enquiry if she was going to nail the bastard.

  Which, it turned out, their chief had known about all along. And given that he hadn't given any indication that he did until the failed operation at the bank, perhaps they had tacit approval. The Cowl was a problem for everybody and Sam knew the chief wanted to get rid of him as much as she did.

  Well… maybe not as much as she did. Sam sipped her champagne and pushed dark memories out of her mind.

  "Captain Gillespie, how are you doing, sir?" Joe's hand steered Sam by the elbow around a ninety-degree arc so the pair were facing their boss. Gillespie looked just as fierce as always in black tie, and cast a quick look over Joe and Sam with a sour grimace before nodding in greeting.

  "Good evening, detectives. I'm glad you were able to drag yourself away from your desks to be here."

  Sam did her best to look demure. "Of course, sir, we've been looking forward to this for weeks." Joe nodded with a smile, and raised his glass. Sam wondered how much he was going to drink tonight. Or her, for that matter.

  Gillespie's glass was full to the brim; Sam suspected it would remain so all night. The chief turned slightly and whispered something to a tall man behind him, with his back turned. The man immediately spun on his heel and joined the conversation.

  "Detective Milano, Detective Millar, I would like to introduce the police charity's largest benefactor, Geoffrey Conroy. Mr Conroy, these are two of my finest detectives. Sam has been in the SuperCrime department for six years now, Joe for four. They're inseparable, and quite the dynamic duo."

  The man was tall and had broad swimmer's shoulders that filled his expensive jacket admirably, despite one arm being held in a rigid cast. His chiseled features, an echo of 1940s Hollywood glamour, were marred only slightly by two dull black eyes. His tuxedo was expensively nondescript, save for a small gold crucifix lapel pin.

  Sam knew exactly who he was. Everyone in the city did.

  Conroy smiled and raised the glass in his free hand.

  "Is that so, captain? Enchanted, Miss Millar. Detective Milano."

  He bowed to Joe, and delicately took Sam's hand. Sam shivered slightly as one of the wealthiest men in the world, one of the most successful CEOs of one of the most successful industrial tech empires, kissed her hand. The smile on her face, for the first time that night, was now completely genuine.

  "That's some cast you've got there, Mr Conroy." Joe prefaced the statement with a low whistle of appreciation. The billionaire industrialist grinned broadly, the lines around his eyes creasing into the dull purple bruises that circumscribed each. Conroy waggled the tips of his fingers, the only part of his left arm that was left out of the cast. Despite herself, Sam found the way the immaculate dinner jacket hung loosely over one shoulder rather rakish. Feeling her cheeks redden, she buried her nose in her champagne flute.

  "You ever been waterskiing in the Virgin Islands, Mr Milano?"

  Joe shook his head. "A detective's salary doesn't usually stretch that far, I'm afraid. Although if you want to have a word with my chief here I'm sure he'll be all ears."

  Conroy laughed. "It's amazing at this time of year, let me tell you. But if you do get down there, just make sure you pay attention to your instructor. Or… well!" His fingers waggled again, and his laugh was shared with Captain Gillespie. Sam felt one eyebrow go up on its own. Gillespie, laughing? Wonders would never cease. She turned back to the billionaire.

  "I'm glad you could still make it, Mr Conroy. That eye looks fresh and sore." Sam hoped it was a polite observation. Socializing with the city elite was not her favorite pastime, nor her most practiced.

  Conroy nodded behind his drink, presenting Joe and Sam with just the waggling crystal base.

  "Uh-huh." His voice echoed in the flute. "Took the fall yesterday, just got back this morning. I might be busy and rich and have, oh, sixteen hundred invitations to charity balls and auctions and bake-offs every year, but the most important is the SVPD Benevolent Fund. No way I was going to miss this. It's been in my iCal for eleven months!" He laughed with Sam and the others, but stopped to press the side of his empty but still-cool champagne glass to one black eye. "Ouch. But please, if you'll excuse me, it looks like I'm wanted."

  Joe and Sam waved him off as Conroy bowed again and ducked off to talk to a young woman in hotel uniform, who was discreetly waving a white envelope to get his attention.

  The trio stood in silence, avoiding eye contact for a while. Sam really needed another drink but there was no sign of a nearby waiter. If anything, the captain's customary scowl grew ever deeper.

  Finally a waiter arrived; Sam and Joe switched their empty glasses for full ones while Gillespie actually took a real sip of his drink.

  "Will you guys relax? You come to the ball every year. Does it always have to be like this?"

  Sam turned but found Joe heading to the buffet. Under Gillespie's withering glare, she felt even more ridiculous in the little dress.

  "Sorry sir, it's fine, really. No, really." She sucked on her fresh glass and found it emptied faster than she had intended. She gulped the mouthful awkwardly and hoped the chief hadn't noticed. "I've never met Mr Conroy before. Not in person, anyway. He's not what I expected at all."

  Gillespie grunted, and, having now broken his no-alcohol rule, allowed himself a generous mouthful of drink. "He's rich, he's young. Ish. Good-looking. Some people have it all, I guess."

  Sam raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, chief. He was nice."

  This raised a smile. "Yes, he's nice. Looks like he sure must've taken a tumble. The perils of the rich and famous, eh, detective?"

  Sam clinked her glass with his in mock toast. "Who'da thunk it?" She spun idly from side to side on one heel, turning enough to see Joe heading back toward them at some pace, holding his cell phone to his ear with one hand and balancing a pile of food on a far-toosmall plate with the other. As he approached he looked up, shaking his head at his partner as he finished the call.

  "What's up, Joe?"

  Joe pocketed the phone. "Sorry to bust up the party, but we're needed back at the precinct. Body's been found in an alley off Main and Descartes. Homicide are on the way but Jackie Chan wants us to take a look. Irregular, could be one for our department."

  "Main and Descartes?" Sam flapped her arms against her sides. Work, just as she was beginning, perhaps, maybe, to enjoy herself. "Well, great. Sorry sir, duty calls."

  Gillespie nodded. "That's not far. Check the scene and if it's not too much of a mess, come back here and send out Starr or Luigo. I'd rather have my two best detectives here representing the department than spending too much time on a routine case. And don't forget, we have an audience with Aurora at 11pm sharp. That's something we can't miss."

  "Understood, sir." Sam turned to leave. Joe looked at his plate, reluctant to abandon the luxurious surrounds for the cold night. Gillespie held out a hand. Joe glanced between the chief's pale palm and his plate, before finally surrendering to his superior.

Joe met Sam in the lobby just outside the ballroom, where she was waiting for an attendant to fetch her coat from the cloakroom.

  "Wait a second…"

  "What?" Sam kept her eyes on the retreating form of the attendant as he disappeared into the cloakroom.

  "Did the chief just call us his best detectives?"

  "Don't worry, he was joking."

  "The chief never jokes. It's those eyebrows. They're an alien parasite that exerts some kind of mind control."

  "Is that a fact?"

  "Sure is, partner. Aurora told me himself."

  "Oh, Aurora now? Well, I'll be damned." Coat retrieved, Joe helped her into it and patted her on the back.

  "Yep," he said. "We go way back. First-name basis, y'know. And besides, 'Aurora's Light' is a real mouthful."