Super Trouble (6 page)

Kim
swaggered into The Hole in the Wall with a smile on her face and a .44 strapped
to her hip. Activity in the bar suspended in a way she’d been convinced only
happened in cheesy movies.

“Hello,
boys.”

She’d
been here before. The Hole in the Wall was a well-known villain hangout,
decorated with framed, yellowed photos of every outlaw who’d ever robbed a
bank, held up a train, or led a posse on a wild chase, with particular honor
going to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. She’d had her share of
pseudo-villain informants over the years and she’d never gotten a second glance
from the less-than-savory crowd at The Hole when she came in hunting a story. But
that was before she had powers and everyone assumed she was going to go full
hero with them.

En
masse, the population of The Hole eyed her warily. One particularly weasel-like
specimen cringed and huddled lower over his beer at the bar as producers and
camera men swarmed around him in an impressive ballet, avoiding one another’s
sight lines as they went for the money shot. 

She’d
promised she wouldn’t stalk Little Vic.

She’d
never said anything about confronting him in one of his known hangouts. The
Volt himself was here every Friday to bask in the glow of his own celebrity,
making the once quiet bar into something of a tourist destination.

Vic
didn’t look like he was enjoying the spotlight tonight, cowering there
anticipating her boot up his ass, but the man hovering nearby with a cell phone
in one hand and an iPad in the other looked like he was about to wet himself
with glee—the producer most likely. He waved one of the cameramen toward her,
then held up both the iPad and the phone to record additional footage.

Everyone
knew about her past with Little Vic. The producers would probably promo the
hell out of this meeting for weeks before the air date, saving the juiciest
parts of the confrontation for sweeps.

She
didn’t care if she made the channel a mint. She’d sign any waiver they put in
front of her if she got a little face time with Vic—and she had every intention
of making sure this meeting had
plenty
of drama.

She’d
had to wait three nights for it to be Vic’s usual night at The Hole. Three
nights of restraint. Three nights of flinching at every icy chill that touched
the back of her neck. She was becoming paranoid at every cold breeze, spinning
around and searching the shadows every time she shivered—which, in February,
was a lot of paranoia.

She’d
called Justice and passed the time by chewing him out for siccing Frost on her,
but she hadn’t even been able to stay mad at the dope. He was just so damn
nice
.
Far too nice for her. Mirage was doing her best to corrupt him, but he’d always
be a Boy Scout and Kim would always be drawn to the promise of darkness that
lurked beneath the surface in Frost.

Shit.
She needed to stop thinking about him. He was gone. Again. No amount of
fantasizing about cold breezes was going to bring him back.

If
he’d still been following her, he definitely would have stopped her before she
walked into The Hole. Nope. Frost was history and Kim was on her own. Like
always.

The
cameramen wove around her as she approached the bar, keeping her steps nice and
slow, letting them get her from every angle. She made sure her coat fluttered
back to reveal the holster carrying her .44 and the super Taser. The Taser
would be useless against Vic—he was a natural conductor, the freaking Volt—but
a gun was a different story.

“Hey,
Vic,” she said, all friendliness, as the guy on the barstool next to him
scrambled to vacate the space. “Long time. You look good. Healthy.” She dropped
onto the newly available seat. “Is that a new watch?”

Vic glanced
guiltily at his wrist and the fancy designer watch that probably cost as much
as most compact cars. “Uh, yeah. Hey, Kim. What are you doing here?”

“I
can’t just want to see you? My old buddy Vic? After all the time we spent
together, I think I’m hurt.”

“Allegedly,”
he mumbled into his beer.

“What’s
that?”

“The
time we
allegedly
spent together. I was found innocent.”

“You
were acquitted, honey. No one would ever believe you’re innocent. But see,
that’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to be innocent. Not anymore. You can’t
be tried again even if you take out a full page ad in the Sentinel bragging
about the fact that you abducted me and held me prisoner for three days. So why
play with words, am I right? Honesty is good for the soul. At least that’s what
Captain Justice was always telling me.”

“Heard
you guys split up.”

“We
did. Funny how getting thrown into danger once a week can wear on a
relationship. You’d be surprised how quickly that particular adrenaline rush
gets old.”

“Uh
huh.” Vic eyed her nervously, clearly not trusting her good cheer. Smart man.

“But
that’s all in the past now, isn’t it, Vic? I’m a big bad super these days. Just
like you.” She cocked her head, pretending to consider. “Gosh, Vic, do you
think I’m tougher than you now? Scarier, even?”

He
swallowed with effort. “Word around town is you want revenge.”

“Is
that what people are saying? Naw. Just answers. I’m here to shoot the breeze
with my old friend The Volt. All I want is a little honesty for a change. Is
that so much to ask?”

Vic’s
skin began to take on a distinct greenish cast.

“Don’t
puke on me, Vic. I’m a TK. I’ll redirect any projectiles coming my way back at
you and it won’t be fun for either of us.”

The
producer twitched, looking like he might pass out from joy at the prospect.

“What
do you want to know?” Vic whispered, clearly not sharing his handler’s
enthusiasm.

“I
want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Why
did you kidnap me? What was in it for you? You never made any ransom demands. You
weren’t using me as leverage against a hero as you tried to destroy the world
because one—I wasn’t dating Justice yet so I was pretty random as hostages
went. And two—you never wanted to destroy the world. You were just a dweeb with
a little bit of static electricity in his touch who wanted to be famous. So
why
me
?”

He
shrugged, his eyes skittering away from hers along the bar—which was rapidly
clearing out as the denizens of The Hole exercised the excellent survival
instincts that had kept them out of Area Nine, the facility where supers who’d
been naughty were sent, never to be heard from again.

“You
were a cute reporter. If I had nabbed you—and I’m not admitting anything—I
probably would have figured that it would get good coverage in the press.”

“You
shouldn’t lie to me, Vic.” She flicked her fingers and his empty beer glass
levitated off the bar before catapulting end over end and smashing into the far
wall with enough force that it was reduced to glass dust.

The
bartender didn’t even blink. He was too busy taking cover in a back room. She
and Vic were alone in the bar now, except for his camera crew which swarmed
around them eagerly.

“It
isn’t a lie,” Vic mumbled, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. She
wondered if the cameras would pick that up. High def panic.

“Who
paid for your legal team, Vic?”

Oh
yeah. That hit a nerve. The green tinge to his skin became more pronounced and
he gagged slightly, but didn’t say a word.

“You
know what I used to think?” she asked conversationally, as if her companion
wasn’t about to blow chunks all over the bar in a fear reflex. “I used to think
there was some kind of super villain club and bagging me was the price of
admission. Funny, right?”

Vic
tried to laugh. It didn’t work out for him. He sounded like someone was trying
to gag a donkey.

“But
lately I’ve realized I was making things too complicated. No clubs. No
initiation rituals. Just one guy paying a bunch of you idiots to do his dirty
work for him.” Kim clapped Vic on the shoulder and he
eeped
, shrinking
down beneath her hand. “I’m betting he never even told you why it had to be me.
But he rewarded you for a job well done, didn’t he?” She smiled, showing all
her teeth. “Nice watch, Vic.”

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What’s
his name?”

“Whose
name?” Vic squeaked, feigning ignorance that would have been much more
convincing if he hadn’t looked like he was about to wet himself.

Kim
heaved a dramatic sigh. “Let the record show that I asked nicely first.”

“First?”
he yelped.

She
palmed the revolver, pulling it smoothly out of the holster—and taking a
distinct satisfaction in drawing like a gunslinger in the middle of The Hole in
the Wall. Nothing like a little atmosphere to really make a moment come
together.

Smiling
sweetly, she aimed the barrel at the center of Vic’s chest. He went from green
to chalk white in a heartbeat.

“What
do you say, buddy? Are you faster than a speeding bullet? Wanna test it?”

Chapter
Eight: Bringing a Gun to a Super Fight

Frost
groaned and separated himself from the shadows of the booth where he’d been
lurking and listening. He’d been quietly tailing Kim for days. As soon as he’d
realized where she was headed tonight, he’d taken a short cut and slipped in the
back of The Hole in the Wall. He’d found a booth where he could keep an eye on
the spectacle that was Little Vic, but where Kim would be unlikely to spot him
when she came in.

He
needn’t have worried about concealing himself from her. She’d seemed to have
eyes only for Vic.

Frost
was almost offended she hadn’t sensed him even a little bit.

He
hadn’t moved when she arrived. Waiting. Willing to let her prove she was just
interested in talking to Vic. He’d held his position as the lowlifes in the bar—none
of whom had recognized him beneath the grungy grey hoodie he wore—scattered
like rats on a sinking ship when Kim started her chat with Vic.

He
was beginning to think Kim had told the truth, that she didn’t really want
revenge after all. Then she had to go and pull a gun.

Frost
sighed and flipped back his hood. “Put down the gun, Kim.”

“Hey,
Frost. You’re late.” Her gaze didn’t waver from Little Vic, but the producer
began frantically waving the second camera guy to include him in the shot. “And
you’re right that I don’t
need
the gun. It’s just for symbolic effect.”
She smiled darkly. “What do you think, Vic? Is my symbol effective?”

Frost
had a feeling the gun was more so she wouldn’t be helpless if he froze her
powers again—though he could easily freeze the firing pin so the gun wouldn’t
fire.

But
Vic didn’t know that. And he didn’t seem confident of which side Frost was on. At
the moment, Frost wasn’t one hundred percent certain himself, though he was in
favor of making sure no one got shot.

“I
can’t tell you,” Vic whimpered, swallowing convulsively and staring at the gun—which
just went to show he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. The gun wasn’t the
deadliest thing in the room.

“What
if I guess? You just give me a signal when I’m getting close,” Kim said. “Does
this mystery benefactor have anything to do with that bar you went to the other
night when you ditched your camera crew?”

“What?”
The producer squawked before slapping a hand over his own mouth and waving for
them to proceed.

Frost
took advantage of the pause to move closer, so he was in range if he needed to
grab Kim and teleport them out of there.

“What
was that place called?” Kim pressed. “Tony’s?”

Vic
was shaking his head, the twitching of his features making him look even more
like a weasel. “It won’t do you any good.”

“So
not the bar itself. Someone you were meeting there?”

“You
can’t get to him,” Vic insisted, growing more agitated.

Kim
gasped, triumph gleaming in her eyes. “So there is a
him
.”

Only
years of stoic practice kept Frost from showing his own surprise. Holy shit. She
was right.

“Who
is he?” she demanded, leaning forward now. If Vic wanted to get rid of her,
he’d just royally screwed himself. Kim Carruthers never gave up when she caught
the scent of a hot story in the air.

“No
way,” Vic shook his head frantically, falling backward off his stool. “I like
my life. I like being
alive
. We’re done.”

Kim
hitched up the gun, wagging it before his eyes. “We’re done when I say we’re
done.”

Frost
sighed. If not for the cameras, he might have been tempted to let her go on
threatening Little Vic, see if the little weasel gave up any more information,
but what she was doing was wildly illegal and he couldn’t just stand by and let
her continue—no matter how tempting the prospect was.