In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition (20 page)

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.

“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.

It was perfect.

And so I forgot myself.

I kissed her.

It was the first kiss all over again, every bit of it.

That surprise at how natural it feels. That thrill as your lips touch, as you perceive your partner’s warmth. The way your arms encircle her, pulling her close. The pleasure and danger of that first intimacy. Overture or finale, you don’t know.

I pulled back, waiting for the slap.

She looked at me openly, surprised and something else.

“Is that the best you can do?”

I shook my head. “I
can
do better.”

She smiled and slipped again into my arms. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Chapter Nineteen

I’d actually thought I’d never see the Scarlet Fox again. After we’d met in the museum, I kept looking for her. It wasn’t as bad as stalking, but I did keep my ears open for any jobs that sounded like her
modus operandi
and my eyes on treasures that might interest her. I lurked, hopeful, but stopped shy of setting a trap.

That would have been pathetic.

I figured I was kidding myself. Not in the area of possible romance–there’d been a spark there, that was for certain. No, the fact was I’d never catch her. Nighthaunt hadn’t, and where he failed it wasn’t likely I was going to succeed.

I busied myself with a handful of civilian jobs, and then patrols at night. Days spent sorting tax receipts demanded action as an antidote. Most of the time I found it in busting up heists or stopping rapes and assaults. I liked taking down drug dealers because they always had stacks of money laying around and never complained loudly when a couple packets went missing.

On nights when I couldn’t find action, I used to go out dancing. Not Emerald Room dancing, just club dancing. I’d find a place that offered a free lesson with cover. Mostly swing and salsa, with a scattering of other things. Everyone gathers in a big circle, we learn a few steps and change partners. If you pay attention, you learn a few names. If you come back, you recognize regulars, but mostly you just have fun. A couple hours dancing can be a great workout and given a choice of skinning knuckles on some goon’s face or spinning a woman into a dip, I’ll take the latter.