Painkiller (26 page)

She’d almost steeled herself to go into the restaurant to wait it out when she heard the rumble of a Harley coming down the street. She paused, playing incognito in the thick post-lunchtime crowd clotting the streets, eyes dancing to the source of the noise.

Dammit. It was Phinneus Chalke, riding his damned bike right up to the restaurant.

He parked sideways, his front wheel touching the curb, sandwiched between an SUV and a Honda, leaving neither room to maneuver in his direction. His grey hair was done up in a ponytail, and—were his eyes red? He smoothed his coat around him as he got off the bike, and Veronika caught a glimpse of his pistol at his side, hidden beneath the tan canvas duster.

She started across the street immediately. No way was Chalke getting first shot at Nealon. She’d been through way too much hell to just let him win now.

“Edward Cavanagh,” I said under my breath, a kind of muttered curse right up there with the F word to me.

“Yeah, Edward Cavanagh,” Harry said next to me, clearly just playing along. “Who the hell is Edward Cavanagh? You know, for those of us who have lives and other things to be doing instead of reading egghead crap off a computer like you kids do nowadays.”

“Or read a newspaper, like they’ve probably been doing since your day,” I snarked in return. “Edward Cavanagh was head of Cavanagh Technologies, the company that pioneered an anti-meta suppressant gas as well as another drug that could spontaneously cause normal humans to develop meta powers. He was trying to unleash it on the world when he got caught in Atlanta and thrown in jail by yours truly.”

“Rough deal,” Harry opined, picking up his napkin from the table and delicately tucking it into his pants.

“It looks like Cavanagh funded him on an ongoing basis,” J.J. said. “He was up to the hip waders with Jacobs’s research.” He scrolled down the screen. “Ooh, and I’ve got multiple visits by Cavanagh before his death, some lunch meetings the FBI was able to confirm …” He adjusted his glasses and looked up at me. “Cavanagh might just have been using Jacobs’s research in the suppressant and … uhh … power … serum? What do you even call that?”

“Egghead bullshit,” Harry said sourly.

“Upsetting the natural order of the planet in a heinous-ass way,” I said.

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Harry said.

“Whatever Jacobs was up to,” I said, looking at Reed, “if somehow he or Gustafson were going to unleash suppressant on us, given all the crap we’ve got coming our way, that could definitely result in a painful death.”

Harry looked at me through slitted eyes. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, can you give us something more specific?” Reed asked, voice hushed, elbow on the table. “Because, you know, ‘painful death’ doesn’t exactly narrow things down.”

I caught movement across the restaurant, against the background of the grey street beyond. The place was a little empty given it was now past lunch hour. Most of those who remained were the four people hanging out at the bar. I guessed a steakhouse at almost two p.m. wasn’t a big draw, even in Chicago.

The motion I saw was a guy in a long, tan coat, striding across the room while sparing a glance our way every few seconds. He had a long, grey ponytail and a mustache, but he managed to wear it without looking like a pedophile, so kudos to him. Without meta senses, it would have been impossible to see him looking at us like he was. With them, it was impossible not to.

“Business is about to pick up,” I muttered under my breath.

“I don’t think this place is going to get busy until at least five o’clock,” J.J. said, his face buried in his computer screen. “I mean, I guess I could be wrong, but—”

The guy in the coat cut across the room toward us, apparently abandoning all pretense of doing something other than coming our way. He slipped back his coat and his hand touched the gun at his hip. “Sienna Nealon,” he said from halfway across the room, “I’m calling you out.”

“Really?” I looked at him flatly, my hands beneath the table. “Because I just want to call the waiter over. I could go for some steak. I haven’t even eaten today—”

Phinneus Chalke looked at me, probably annoyed at my irreverent sass while he was pointing his pistol at my face. “I said I’m calling you out. I got a Peacemaker aimed at your brainpan, girl.”

“And I’ve got a CZ Shadow aimed at your nutsack and a Glock pointed at your heart,” I said, clinking the barrels of both the gun Harry had stolen for me and the spare pistol Chang had brought me from Minneapolis against the bottom of the table. “I’m guessing you’re pretty high on the power scale, Phinneus, but do you think your balls will grow back after I shoot ’em off?”

A slow smile spread across his face, which I found surprising, since I wasn’t bluffing about aiming a gun at his twig and berries. “You’re all right,” he pronounced.

“As a shot, I’m better than all right,” I said coolly. “As a person, I’m hell on my enemies. Harry?”

Harry stirred beside me. “Yep. He’s going to die the same as the rest of you.”

Phinneus seemed to split his gaze between me and Harry. “Graves, is that you?”

“It is, Phinneus,” he said. “I need a scotch.”

I resisted the compulsion to roll my eyes because I didn’t want to take them off Phinneus and his pistol, the barrel of which was looming awfully large where it was pointed at my skull.
Wolfe?
I asked.
Any chance we can stop a .45 Long Colt to the head?

Not likely
, the serial killer said; a little glumly, I thought.

“Harry,” Phinneus said, shaking his head slightly as he chuckled, “you’re making a bad bet on this one.”

“I ain’t betting, Phinneus,” Harry said, swirling his water glass around, clearly wishing it were something else, “and she’s not going to be the one that kills you. You’re going to die the same way she is.”

Phinneus looked like he was pondering that one over, poking his tongue at the inside of his cheek. “All right, Harry, I’ll bite. How am I going to die?”

“At my hand,” Veronika said, striding down the stairs behind Phinneus, her hands aglow. I heard movement up at the bar on the upper level; it sounded like the patrons were wisely leaving, probably without paying their tabs. What a bunch of sensible thieving assholes.

“Afraid not, Veronika,” Harry said, looking at the water in his glass before tossing her a look. “You’re going to die the same way.”

Veronika was wearing another classy suit, and she deflated. “You screwing with me on this, Harry?”

“You know I wouldn’t,” Harry said then broke into a grin. “At least, not like—”

“Mind on the game, Harry,” Veronika said, unamused.

“Here’s the reason I summoned you all here,” I said, pulling my Glock up and aiming it right at Veronika.

“You didn’t summon us,” Veronika said. “We got a message from—”

“Dr. Art Gustafson,” Reed said.

Veronika kept a straight face, but Phinneus blew it. “Shit!” he said. “The doc’s going to be pissed you figured it out. You were supposed to die before you caught up with him.”

“Way to give away the farm, idiot,” Veronika said, blowing air out her red, red lips. She refocused on Harry. “So, how is it you think we die, Graves? Is it that moron Fannon?”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “He’s about to have a personal tragedy that’s going to put the kibosh on his killing plans.” He drained the last of his water.

“I ain’t buying this,” Phinneus said, his grip still firm on his Colt Peacemaker. That barrel still loomed, pointed right at me.

“Just chill,” I said. “Give me five minutes and I’ll explain everything. If you don’t like my explanation, then … well …”

“What if I don’t want to wait?” Phinneus asked. He sniffed.

“Then I guess we’ll turn this steakhouse into a slaughterhouse,” I said coldly, staring right down Shadow’s barrel at his skull. If he was going to open up on me, I was going to make sure my last act was to wipe him off the earth in return.

“Slaughterhouse five!” J.J. shouted. Everyone except me looked at him, and he pointed to Chang, then me, then Harry, then Reed, and finally, at himself. “Because there’s five of us.”

“Why do you need five minutes?” Veronika asked, her hands still aglow with that hellish plasma. It was coloring the restaurant, reflecting off the windows behind her.

I looked sidelong at Harry. I hadn’t told him my plan for stopping Colin the Speedster, but he clearly had it figured out. “When is Colin going to—” I started to say.

“Right now,” Harry said, and pointed his hand to the left.

A pitched scream came from the hallway to the kitchen, followed by the sound of a body colliding heavily with several walls. Colin Fannon came bursting out into the restaurant from behind J.J., and he smashed through the nearest table, shattering the glassware and sending the whole thing toppling over. He was bleeding all over the place, and it wasn’t from his landing, either.

“Oh, yeah!” Augustus Coleman said, rolling up behind Fannon, his gun drawn and pointed at the speedster. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?” He waved his free hand and suddenly Fannon was enshrouded in shards of broken glass, a barrier like the one Augustus had put up at the back entrance. Clearly, Fannon hadn’t seen it and had charged right in, shredding himself without even realizing it until the deed was done. “How’d you like my little trap, Jay Garrick?” Augustus asked.

“I honestly thought you would have said Wally West,” Reed said with a furrowed brow.

Augustus puckered his lips, looking at my brother in disdain. “Pfft. I bet you think I’d pick John Stewart over Hal Jordan, too? Don’t be so one dimensional, Reed.”

“This isn’t a rave,” Kat Forrest called as she descended the stairs from the bar area, the last guest to leave the party, her pistol pointed right at Veronika’s head. “Put the glowy hands away, lady.”

“Slaughterhouse seven!” J.J. shouted, drawing every eye back to him. He looked at Reed and bumped him with an elbow. “I totally knew Kat and Augustus were here because they were on the plane with me. I was just, y’know, playing, so I wouldn’t spoil the surprise.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Reed said tightly.

“Sorry to drag you into this, Mr. Chang,” I said. “But I appreciate you pushing our meeting back to accommodate my special requests.”

“You calling me special?” Augustus cocked an eyebrow at me, clearly not taking it as a compliment.

“No,” I assured him. “I was totally talking about Kat.”

“Thank you,” Kat said brightly.

“Not a problem, I hope.” The lawyer looked more than a little discomfited. “I’m just going to sit here and hope not to get shot or … burned or … whatever you plan to do.”

“You best get to explaining, girl,” Phinneus said, looking impatient as Colin Fannon mewled in pain from the floor. “He says something’s going to kill us—” He nodded at Harry. “Let’s get some words flowing, because I got a bounty I would love to collect.”

“Every meta in this room is going to die, at the same moment, in the same screaming way,” Harry said, letting his empty water glass clink onto the table in front of him. “It’s less than twenty-four hours away, and it’s not … well … it’s not clear, exactly. Looks like … disease or something.” He frowned then shuddered. “Oh, I need that scotch.”

“So we’re all going to catch a nasty cold and croak?” Veronika asked, hands at her sides, giving Kat a hostile look behind her. “Pretty farfetched, Graves.”

“Not really,” I said. “How about this? We all get killed by a bioweapon designed specifically to target metas and no one else.”

“That’s not any nearer-fetched than what Harry suggested,” Veronika said.

“Is it more or less farfetched than a gas that takes our powers—” Reed started.

“Or a chemical that gives humans meta powers?” Augustus said, maintaining his vigil over Fannon, who’d gotten quiet and was listening, though his face was still contorted in pain.

The slightly smug look on Veronika’s face faded and she looked sidelong at Phinneus, who showed his first waver of uncertainty. There was something there, something that hinted that they knew something they weren’t saying. “Spill it,” I commanded.

Phinneus raised the barrel of his pistol back slowly, away from my head, and then returned it slowly to its holster. “Shit,” he said and looked like he was about to break into a cold sweat.

“Gustafson …” Veronika said, and now she looked rattled. “He … we all know him.”

“‘We all’?” Harry asked, surging ahead of me and stealing the exact words I was about to say. “Is there a club for assassins now?” He flashed a grin at me that told me he’d done that just to tease me, since he and I were the only ones that knew what I’d been about to say.

“Hah, that totally sounded like something Sienna would say!” J.J. was practically rolling with glee. It was like he didn’t even realize how close to death we all were just by being in the same room.

“Gustafson contacted us all once before,” Veronika said, putting her hands on her hips, which I interpreted as her version of disarming herself, a sign of peace. “We … contributed to a project that he ran here at the early stages of NITU’s startup. They were studying meta genes and powers when they first got the grant money, and the way they went about it was …” Her voice trailed off.

“They found metas for hire and paid them money for gene samples,” I said, and she nodded. “Did they pay you, too, Fannon?” The speedster gave me a hostile look, then looked away and nodded.

“Mmm,” Harry said, stretching his neck to see if anyone was still at the bar. “Looks like this place has gone all-you-can-drink. Just as well, because I doubt we’re going to get any of that bread we would have had to pay for.” He pushed against Reed, then slipped his way over J.J. and my brother in the most bizarre set of movements I might have ever seen.

“So Jacobs and Gustafson were experimenting with some sort of meta plague,” Reed said, shifting after Harry had climbed over him. “I guess based on Harry’s prediction … they found it.”

“That wasn’t what they were supposed to be working on,” Veronika said, and she was starting to get angry for the first time. “We donated—”

“You took cash,” I cut her off, causing her face to pinch in irritation, “technically, you whored yourself.”