Corpies (Super Powereds Spinoff Book 1) (28 page)

It was the first true break he’d caught all day. Dealing with last night’s messages had necessitated several calls to Lenny, who was less than thrilled by Owen’s request, as well calls to Zero and Topsy. While it was nice to speak with his old friend, Owen couldn’t help noticing the weariness in Topsy’s voice as they’d gone over their calendars to find a mutually open date. It hurt to hear his former partner so drained, and it was made all the worse by the fact that Owen knew he very well might be adding to Topsy’s stress.

Dealing with Zero, at least, was a straightforward affair. Things with the boys were fine, thankfully; what Zero needed was a favor. The man was professional through and through: he said what he wanted then immediately entered negotiation mode to get it. That in itself wasn’t impressive, but it spoke to Zero’s understanding that this was the strategy Owen would respond best to. Knowing how to come at people was nearly as important as what was said when the dealing began. Thankfully, Owen wouldn’t have to deal with Zero for a little while, so it meant he didn’t have any conflicts for dinner.

The Sleek Minx was an upscale restaurant, though not so refined that they actually imposed a dress code. It was the sort of place where one who underdressed was browbeaten and silently shamed rather than flat-out refused service. Owen drew a few looks as he walked through the front door; he’d donned a button-down and a nice pair of slacks but refused to trade in his boots for something more appropriate. If there was a chance this night might end in a fight, Owen wasn’t going to be caught trying to maneuver in some slick-soled wingtips.

No sooner had the host looked up from his podium than a knowing look spread across his gaunt face. “You must be Mr. Micah’s guest. Please, follow me.” The host turned and began heading down a hallway, barely even waiting for Owen to realize he was being led.

As the two walked, Owen took in the ambiance of the restaurant. It was an older building, lots of molding along the walls and ceiling, with every wall painted the same shade of ivory. The large tables had white sprawling cloths and ample space between them; this was not the sort of establishment that crammed in as many diners as possible. Each table was a small island, and no doubt the cost of eating at it reflected that. Here, they clearly courted guests of high quality rather than quantity.

Jeremiah rose as Owen approached, reaching over and shaking his hand. “Nice to see you again.” Before the handshake was even done, the host had melted away, resuming his place at the podium down the hall.

“You, too.” Owen took a seat, which Jeremiah mirrored. He felt pleased to notice that his chair was a touch larger than the others in the restaurant. It was nice, being able to sit comfortably for a change. “Also, Mr. Micah? Got a thing for prophets I take it?”

“I simply like to commit to my themes,” Jeremiah replied. “I feel many of our kind are too lax in that practice. You have to find the fun where you can. Wine?” He gestured to the open bottle which was chilling in a bucket next to the table. From the level remaining, Jeremiah had already gone through a fair bit by himself.

“No, thanks,” Owen replied.

“Ah right, where is my head? You’re a beer man. We’ll have to get you a menu when the waitress comes by. They have some excellent craft choices.”

“I’m not really here for the beer,” Owen said.

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of why you’re here, but if you’ll recall I had you show up incognito, which means we are ostensibly two friends sitting down for dinner.” Jeremiah’s tone never lost its cheerful tone; his smile never wavered. All the same, Owen took the hint.

“Right. Maybe I’ll try a glass of wine after all.”

Jeremiah smiled, plucking a glass from the table and pouring Owen a generous helping. Once he tasted it, Owen was surprised to find it wasn’t all that bad. Not a beer, but not terrible.

“Now then, would you like to know why we’re here?” Jeremiah asked.

“Is it safe to talk?”

“That’s my job to worry about, and I assure you we’re fine. I called you here for two reasons: the first being that there was an interesting break-in at a cutting edge lab two days ago. That in itself isn’t so strange—thievery and corporate espionage do occur—but what’s fascinating is that the robber didn’t loot the place. Only a few easily-replaced prototypes for a new type of high-powered portable battery were stolen, along with a generous amount of data. This speaks to someone stealing knowledge, not equipment.”

“You just said corporate espionage,” Owen pointed out. “Maybe someone is trying to get a leg up on their competitor?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “This was a facility under government contract, one of those that technically don’t exist. Any technology replicated or gleaned from their research will have whatever company releases it brought up on charges ranging all the way to treason. Adding in that the technology didn’t have many weapons-level applications, at least none that trump what’s already out there, and it seems to me like someone was looking to build a better robot. This is largely conjecture, of course, but you did request to be kept in the loop as much as possible. My loop often includes speculation and dead ends; such is the burden of those in my field.”

“No, I appreciate it,” Owen said. “You never know what clue is going to be the one that cracks things open. I assume that’s why we’re here tonight? A lead on someone that might be able to confirm some link?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, nothing like that. We’re here because of the second reason I wanted to meet you for dinner,” Jeremiah replied.

“Which is?”

“Which is simply that you likely wouldn’t have come if I’d just asked you out on a date.”

52.

               Owen pushed his chair back from the table carefully, making sure not to destroy either one of them and inadvertently cause a scene. “Cute trick, but I have real work I could be doing.”

“I know perfectly well that you do, just like I know that you’ve got the scent of those robots and aren’t likely to let it go. You hardly became renowned for being the kind of man who backed down or gave up. Seeing as I’m the one who is most likely to actually run them down, and I do have a few more tidbits to share, perhaps you should at least be polite and hear me out.” If Jeremiah was at all bothered by Owen’s reaction, it didn’t show.

“You tricked me. There’s not much more I need to know.”

“Come now: of course I tricked you. For one thing, that’s my job; it would be like me getting mad at you for lifting weights. Anyway, we both know you wouldn’t have come if I’d been upfront, and for all the wrong reasons. Let me make a new proposal: hear me out on why I used subterfuge. If, at the end, you see no truth in my reasoning, then we’ll part ways and I’ll keep you in the loop on your prey. If, however, you can acknowledge that I might have been just a bit right, you stay and finish dinner.”

Owen wavered for a few seconds then slid back up to the table. Much as he disliked being kept in the dark, Jeremiah wasn’t entirely wrong about that being what Subtlety Heroes did. Sometimes they needed to move others into position without being able to share information on why. After a few years, most of them thought nothing of light trickery and manipulation. One had to look at their intentions to get a measure of them, and the only way he’d know Jeremiah’s was to listen.

“Talk.”

“Very well.” Jeremiah plucked the wine bottle out of the ice bucket and topped himself off. “I tricked you into coming here, in this context, because we both know you’d have turned me down if I was upfront. Now, my ego is quite healthy and I don’t mind rejection, but only if I’m actually the thing being rejected. Ever since you came back you’ve clearly been shutting away your personal life, trying to make all of who you are about the job. The reasons are obvious: you don’t want to give the media any fuel and you’re probably a bit gun-shy after what happened with your last public tryst. I’d bet you even emotionally abstained during those years running the bar, keeping your heart locked away.”

Owen’s eyes, trained on Jeremiah’s face, narrowed. He’d never given Jeremiah his real name. Even if he had, the bar, Tartarus, was run under so many fake identities and shell companies that it should have been impossible to trace back to him. Being a Subtlety Hero was one thing, but this was a step beyond.

Jeremiah raised his brows and smiled in response. “What? Did you really expect me not to be a bit curious? Even before I actually met you, the rumors of your return were more than enough to provoke a touch of research. I couldn’t make sense of it all, however, until that day in the bar. That was when I figured out what would motivate such curious, seemingly single-minded behavior. That was when I saw all the guilt that’s weighing you down.”

“I’m not. . . I feel bad for leaving others in the lurch,” Owen replied. “People probably got hurt because I wasn’t there. I should feel guilty. That’s what you feel when you fuck things up.”

“And I have no doubt your penance will be a long one,” Jeremiah said. “But you’re allowed to be more than just the servant of the masses, you know. It shouldn’t be the only aspect of your life. You get to be a person, to have a life. If all you are is the job, then you lose touch with the things worth fighting for. This is a talk we usually give rookies; I shouldn’t have to remind someone like you.”

“I know the talk, and I know the points.” Owen reached over and actually took another drink of the wine. It was better than nothing. “I’m just not there.”

“Let me guess: you’re afraid if you do find romance and the media gets wind, it will kick up the same shitshow as before? No, that can’t be all of it. You’re the type that always takes on a challenge from others. Hmmm.” Jeremiah drummed his fingers on the table, gaze never wavering from Owen. “You’re scared that it will break you again. You don’t even have a reason why you think it would, but the idea that you might run a second time, that
you
might be the one who destroys you, is probably one of the only things you still feel genuine fear over. That’s why you’re just the job. If nothing else exists, nothing can make you run.”

“Do people really go in for all your psycho-analytical bullcrap?”

“Some do, most don’t,” Jeremiah admitted. “Few people find the truth palatable. Perhaps that was why I found you worth pursuing: you do not strike me as one to shirk easily.”

“Yeah, about that pursuing. I’m flattered, but I doubt this will work out,” Owen said.

“So sure already? We have barely scratched the surface of getting to know one another. It certainly can’t be a physical rejection; I still keep a fit shape and my handsomeness is objectively undeniable. Or perhaps you simply prefer men more rough and tumble like yourself, rather than the stuffy intellectual types.” Jeremiah grinned.

Owen had to admit the young man was handsome, if a bit cockier than was warranted. Still, it didn’t change the fact that there were serious obstacles in their way.

“You forgot to add in that you’re at least ten years younger than me, and that we both work in jobs that are incredibly demanding, not to mention dangerous as hell.”

“I see. You’re afraid to get close to me because you’re afraid you’ll then lose me.” Jeremiah finished off his wine and set down the glass. “Very well, I think that’s enough offense for this meeting. Since I assume you’ll have to yield my words held some truth, and as such you are now obligated to stay for dinner as a man of his word, let us make another new deal. I promise to keep the dinner on friendly terms, sticking to platonic subjects and business at hand, if you’ll make me a promise in return.”

“What’s the promise?” Owen asked.

“Promise me that, should you actually find that I’m not your type, you won’t make the next man whose eye you catch jump through so many hoops to win your affection. Self-denial is all well and good, but no matter how strong you might be, you’re still human. Don’t neglect a whole part of who you are out of fear or guilt. Besides, the next fellow to fancy you likely won’t be as dauntless as I am, so your rebuffing might actually hurt.”

“I’ll do my best.” Owen kept his tone neutral, but the conversation had definitely stirred up questions he’d been avoiding. To say nothing of the fact that Jeremiah was right: he was trying to do nothing but live the job. How many rookies had he watched burn themselves out like that? And what made him think he’d be any different when he’d already folded once before?

“I suppose that will have to suffice,” Jeremiah said, breaking Owen out of his thought spiral. “At least until I think the time is right to ask you out properly.”

53.

It was getting late in the evening by the time Owen finally made it back to the building’s massive penthouse that he’d begun to think of as home. True to his word, Jeremiah had shifted down the over-the-top advances and focused on delivering pertinent information about the robot attacks. There hadn’t been anything groundbreaking, but that was to be expected at this point. If those running down the leads found anything juicy, there would have been a call to action, even if Owen wasn’t included on it.

Still, the food had been excellent, and Jeremiah was right about the quality of the restaurant’s craft beers. Overall it would have been a pleasant night out if not for the whole awkwardness of the dinner’s beginning.

Owen tried not to dwell on said awkwardness, or on how right Jeremiah might have been, as he walked through the front door. Most of the lights were out, save for a small one in the kitchen and the massive glow thrown by the television screen. On it, a virtual character in a skimpy outfit was striking an overly-muscled man with her sword. It only took Owen a few seconds to recognize the male character, and the moment he did, a long groan escaped his mouth.