Miracle's Touch Page 11

  Robert could see the inspiration in my eyes, I was sure, and he leaned forward in anticipation. “Yes?”

  “And Magnetaur’s minions had a robotic base, while this morning, we have ourselves a dead S.O.S. robotics researcher, the head of his division in fact, under mysterious circumstances.” I found myself tapping my coffee spoon on my lips instead of my pencil. “While it’s far from concrete evidence, especially the death by sex angle, the whole thing feels like it could connect together. If Hardware was about to go into full swing and he knew Magnetaur was gunning for you …”

  “It would behoove him to help,” Robert finished for me. “Even if Magnetaur failed, those bio-beasts must have had recording and monitoring devices, no doubt transmitting every bit of data they could collect from the attack last night. Either way, Hardware came out ahead.”

  Spinning the fork in my hand, I pointed it across the table. “So, how do we find him?”

  “I was hoping you might have some ideas about that yourself.” Paragon smiled humbly. “My methods of search tend towards overwhelming force.”

  I let out a thoughtful sigh as I mulled it over. “Well, I do have a few ideas, a few possible leads to check up on. After sorting out all the recent tech-related super-crimes that the Sentinel covered, there are a few possible matches for Hardware’s goons, things we can follow up on. There’s also the Omniarmor itself. No one knows where it went after he got busted.”

  “An interesting point, but if no one else has managed to track it down, how do you propose we do so?”

  “Well, there is a guy I know, well, knew.” I found myself chewing my lip anxiously. “John Munroe.”

  Robert’s face twisted into an ugly frown and I could feel distrust welling up inside him. “I don’t see how a dishonorable discharged Marine could be of much assistance.”

  “He was found innocent by a court of law, Robert,” I argued. “The military needed a fall guy, so they turned him into one.”

  A grumble came up from his diaphragm, and while I knew he was trying to put his trust in what I was saying, it wasn’t quite enough. “Perhaps I am naïve for thinking so, but I still put trust in those in charge of our armed forces. If he was court-martialed, then there has to be something to the allegations.”

  “I do too, but there are bad people in every group, every organization.” I shook my head slowly. “Trust me, I’ve felt them all too keenly these past few days.” Standing, I took a few steps over to Robert’s side, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Look, everybody deserves a chance for redemption, right? What harm can come from checking with him?”

  Before he even said a word, I knew Paragon still didn’t one-hundred percent trust my idea, but enough of him wanted to believe in me that he was willing to go along. “All right, Christine, if you think it might lead us to Hardware or the Omniarmor, it is worthwhile to check into.”

  I flashed him a reassuring smile. “Great! Trust me, John will help us.”

  I only hoped I sounded more confident than I was. I still remembered the dark glower on the ex-Marine’s face as he turned away from me after the court-martial and disappeared into the city.

  15

  If Halcyon Bluffs was where the rich and famous lived, Bricktown was for urban professionals, and Coastline represented suburbia, Happy Heights was the dark underbelly of New Harbor. It was where the poor and the disaffected were usually forced to live, and that attracted the criminal element to prey on them. Even when the crooks that holed up in Happy Heights didn’t mess with the locals, they used them as cover to blend in and innocents to hide behind.

  And if you were a blacklisted, court-martialed war hero that wanted to disappear from the world, it was the perfect place to go.

  However, when you’re trying to hide from a top-notch investigative reporter who knows almost everything about you and one of the wealthiest, most powerful men on the planet, you simply couldn’t hide for long. It took Robert and I about two hours working together, me remote logging into the Sentinel’s database and Robert making discrete calls with contacts of his, to find out where John Munroe, Jr. currently laid his head down at night.

  “I almost feel like I should send Fortress a message,” Robert mused as he rubbed his beard. “In a sense, that is his part of town.”

  “First, I think it’s a bit petty to divvy up New Harbor into territories like you’re a bunch of lions or something,” I grinned. “Second, it’s not like I’m going there to start a throw-down with some villain. I’ll be going there to talk to an old acquaintance.”

  Folding his arms across his broad chest, Robert hovered a little off the ground as he swiveled from the window he had been looking out of to face me at the computer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Christine, but you are using the singular right now. That would imply you intend to go to Happy Heights by yourself.”

  Hooking my arm on the back of the chair, I turned in the chair to look up at him. Worry began to gnaw at Robert’s feelings, with a faint echo of his loneliness coming back with it. “Well, I was seriously considering it. You said yourself you still aren’t sure if you trust John. Don’t you think he’s going to realize that? Plus, you’re not exactly inconspicuous as the most famous man in the city.”

  “While those are valid points, I still think this would be a bad idea.” Though he was technically flying, Robert was obviously digging in his heels. “Yes, you are a powerful woman, and yes, you can handle yourself. However, as we have seen, you aren’t bulletproof. If something bad does happen …”

  Well, he wasn’t wrong. Though I felt even more powerful than I did before, that was probably because of how amazing the last night and the day so far had been. Just being near Robert kept that electric tingle in my body and every touch was a cherished thing. Still, I had little doubt that bringing Paragon, the ultimate symbol of mainstream heroics, would either make John clam up or get us embroiled in more random trouble.

  “Maybe we can work out a compromise, then,” I suggested. “I think if I’m going to get him to open up to me, I need to see him alone, but I can think of a few ways you can keep an eye on me in case trouble does rear its head.”

  That seemed to placate Robert’s worries some. “Some kind of cellphone tracking, I presume? I can do better if you can delay your trip a few hours. I do own one of the most advanced scientific laboratories in the world.”

  That actually wasn’t what I had meant, not exactly. I had been about to lead into a question as to whether Robert could sense me the same way I could now sense him wherever he went. He didn’t seem to be able to, and I wasn’t sure if bringing up a one-sided aspect of our budding relationship would be a good idea at that exact moment.

  Instead, I grinned. “Fair enough. I go in, you keep tabs on me with whatever piece of tech S.O.S. gives you, and hopefully, by nightfall, we’ll have some answers about Hardware.”

  “Meanwhile, Dr. Archimedes and the NHPD will continue to try to crack the case on Dr. O’Brien’s death. If they make a breakthrough, that will help shine some more light on things..”

  “Then we’ve got a plan.”

  Two and half hours later, after a delightful lunch courtesy of Benedict’s remarkable culinary skills, I found myself with a near-invisible, combination tracker-communicator stuck in my left ear, riding in an Auto-Annie through the decaying streets of Happy Heights. Robert hadn’t exactly been happy about that either, offering access to any number of cars, but I pointed out again how much more conspicuous the fine cars in his garage would be in the slums. Besides, it felt a little wrong, a little like thumbing my nose at the poor people here, to drive some BMW turbo-electric in this part of town.

  Even the Auto-Annie seemed cautious, her robotic head whirling about more than was necessary, tracking every person shuffling down the street and oncoming car. I had my eyes peeled, my empathic senses spread wide, wider than I ever had. I guess practice really did make perfect. I could feel the hardship, despair, and sorrow that many of the people here felt, but it was mixed wit
h pride, joy, and warmth. Even in a place like this, the best emotions of humanity could still take root, and that put a strange smile on my face.

  The robo-taxi pulled to a halt in the shadow of an apartment building that had seen far better days. It looked like the Port of Tomorrow hadn’t delivered anything here since the Sixties, crumbling red brick soaring for five stories above me. As the Auto-Annie chirpily bid me farewell, I stepped out into its shadow, gazing up at the building’s stock of half-intact and half-boarded windows before letting my eyes travel up further, to where I could feel Paragon far above the clouds, stern, worried, and vaguely annoyed.

  He might like being challenged, but I had a sneaking suspicion I was challenging him more than he expected.

  Smiling to myself, I walked towards the front steps, stepping around the broken glass from a liquor bottle and picking my way up the more stable looking steps. A few kids ran down the sidewalk behind me as an older man with a face like shoe leather looked up at me with watery eyes from his post huddled up by the front door.

  “Spare anything for an old-timer, young lady?” he said with wavering tones, lingering wafts of beer rolling off of his breath and holding a mittened hand out to me.

  This man had given up hope, yet a tenacious spirit kept him from giving up entirely and dying. Sure, half of whatever I gave him would go to booze, but half of it would fill his belly. Maybe, someday, that hope could come back to him, something that wouldn’t happen if he starved to death.

  I dug into my pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, the last bit of cash I had, and not far from my last dollar in the bank. “Here you go, sir.” He eagerly took it, not so swiftly as to be too rude about it. “Keep your chin up. You never know when things will change.”

  As our fingers made the briefest of contacts, I felt a spark, more like the charge of my powers than static electricity, and the old man’s eyes seemed to clear, just a little, and his heart lightened more than I expected a ten-dollar bill would do.

  “Maybe you’re right, miss,” he said slowly. “Thank you, and not just for the cash. Your pretty smile woulda been a hand-out enough.”

  I laughed a little and nodded. “Good luck and take care. I’ve got an old friend to meet.”

  “A lady like you having a friend in this hell hole? I doubt it, but all the same, you take care too.” The wizened man started to stagger to his feet, something made far easier once I gently took hold of his hands and helped him up. “Oh, thank you again. The old bones don’t move like they used to.”

  That spark didn’t return, not from this contact, but whatever effect I had on him didn’t diminish as he started to make his way down the block. Glancing at him move with more spring in his step than I figured he had seen in a decade, I glanced down at my hand for a moment. What had changed inside me now?

  Well, whatever it was, it was a positive thing, not something to worry about, and I could dwell on it later. Right then, I had work to do. If Hardware was indeed responsible for Dr. O’Brien’s death, he had upped his game from ‘mere’ arms dealing to murder. I ... we, I reminded myself with a last glance skyward, couldn’t let more people die. Turning with resolve to the building’s scuffed wood-and-brass door, I let myself in.

  If anything, the foyer was worse than the outside. If the slum lord who owned the place even bothered to have a superintendent on-duty, they didn’t bother keeping up the place. The tile floor was chipped and muddy, what little grout remained now black. Trash overfilled the two dented cans on either side of the door, while a bank of old-fashioned mailboxes looked about as secure as an open vault door, rusted, dented, and mostly broken. The intercom mounted beside it only let out an occasional spark and buzz.

  I did myself a big favor and didn’t even bother checking to see if the elevator worked.

  The apartment number that my and Robert’s combined sleuthing had uncovered was 406. John may have wanted to go off the grid for the most part, but he wasn’t actively hiding his identity. He wanted to fade away, not disappear entirely, so unless there were another John Munroe, Jr. living in Happy Heights (which wasn’t impossible, of course), this would be the right place.

  The stairwell was up to the building’s lofty standards, but at least you technically can’t have the stairs be ‘out of order’, not without major structural damage. Making sure not to step into any of the more questionable piles of trash, I took the stairs two at a time, marveling again at how great I felt after two hard, long nights in a row. If I wasn’t worried about possibly running into someone on the stairs, I figured I could have leaped up the four floors in one go with how I was feeling.

  I didn’t run into anyone on the stairs or in the narrow hallway that ran the length of the fourth floor, but I could feel dozens of hearts throughout the building. They ran the usual gamut of the emotions I had felt during my ride through the Heights, but there was one, a close one, that stood out in stark relief to the others. Despair resided in it, but it was a long-buried thing, overlaid with shreds of pride, stubbornness, and a fierce, angry bitterness. A bitter pill to swallow, a concoction I knew could only belong to one man, and I might have turned away if I didn’t hear the yearning, almost snuffed, a clawing desire to reach up for the light. A last spark of hope, waiting to be kindled.

  Maybe I could get through to that hope. With brusque steps, I made my way down the hall to stop before the chipped red paint and tarnished brass numbers of apartment 406. Taking a deep breath and gathering my wits, I rapped gently on the wood, keeping in mind I could dent steel now. Still, despite my control, I managed to crack the outer layer of the cheap pressboard door.

  The angry part of the bitter pill spiked as footsteps echoed beyond the door and a moment later, I heard multiple locks fly open. Finally, the door flew open and I saw John for the first time in years.

  Needless to say, he did not look happy. “Who the hell …?” Narrow, stormy eyes widened a hair as he took me in. “… Christine Klein.”

  “John.” I nodded as I felt a brew of hurt, confusion, and curiosity roil in John’s cauldron of emotions. “Can we talk?”

  For a long moment, I thought he was going to simply slam the door in my face, but eventually, he let out a grunt and stepped aside. “Okay. Five minutes.”

  Well, it was a start.

  16

  John’s gaze followed my every movement, even as he closed and locked the door behind me, his stormy emotions matching the storm in his eyes. Unlike me, John Munroe looked almost the same as he had two years ago when we had last met. Exactly six feet tall, he was now a hair shorter than me, with broad, thick shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. The way his arms bulged against the Army surplus jacket told me he hadn’t stopped working out, even if he had let his white-streaked beard grow out along with his dark brown hair. I hadn’t fully grasped it before, but now, I realized just how darkly handsome John was.

  What had changed was the clothes and the lodgings. Beyond the grungy jacket, John continued the homeless veteran look with fingerless knit gloves, well-worn fatigue pants, and an off-color T-shirt. Still, despite that, the scent of clean lye soap lingered in my nose from when I passed him instead of the smell of the street, and the run-down apartment around me may not have seemed like much, but it was as clean as he was.

  The place was maybe three rooms, and that was calling the closet-sized bathroom a room. Threadbare beige carpet covered the floors, and the white walls were discolored with age. The main room was a combination living room/kitchenette, and the furnishings were minimal and obviously salvaged from second-hand stores and junkyards. There was no television or radio, the only outlet to the wider world being an old computer tower, quaintly separate from the desk it sat on.

  John gestured at the chipped Bakelite table and the two mismatched chairs around it. “Sit. I was just making coffee.” As I nodded, he glanced at me with a judgmental look. “I’d start talking. You’ve barely got four minutes left.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t much time, but John didn’t even h
ave to give me those minutes. “First things first then.” I walked across the living room to sit as indicated, looking up at him as he approached. “I’m sorry.”

  That caught him off guard, barely perceptible as he crossed over to the ancient coffee machine on the counter. “Apology accepted.” John turned away, focusing on the task of making coffee. “You know, I was angry after the court-martial. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe that the evidence you had found that saved me from jail would sway the Marine Corps. Maybe I did blame you for a while after, but that’s not fair, is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. Biting my lip, I looked out the cracked window over the slums. “I blamed myself too. If only I had done more, found one last clue …”

  John grunted as the hot drip of water filled the silence. “You did all you could. I was the one who failed, at the end of the day.” He turned back to me, stuffing his thick-fingered hands into his pockets as he leaned against the counter. “I didn’t figure out what Hardware or Omnitech were doing, not until you came to me with the start of your investigation. Can’t really blame the top brass for tossing me out on my ass, can I?”

  Self-loathing whirled with John’s bitterness, choking out his buried need for redemption. I turned my eyes back to him and shook my head. “Yes, you can. You didn’t collaborate with the bad guys, and when you did know what was going on, you did everything you could to help me, to stop all the madness before Hardware got his hands on that armor. How can anyone think otherwise?”

  His sharp chin clenched as his brow tightened. “I can judge myself. They were right to throw me out, and I was right to come to the armpit of New Harbor. It’s where I belong.” Anger fed to self-hate and back, a vicious cycle of destruction as he narrowed his eyes. “Christ, why are you even here, Chris? Were you feeling so guilty that you finally decided to wash yourself of this entirely?” He snorted. “I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve seen the company you keep these days.”