Chapter 8

Perry dragged himself out of the mailroom toward the elevators. Long fucking day. Zamora had been just as much of a shark as he suspected, and she really hadn't liked his insistence that he didn't know why the bomb package had seemed threatening. She'd played his 9-1-1 call for him to explain, and he could only be glad he'd been too incoherent to make sense. He'd spent an hour being alternately yelled at and frozen in liquid nitrogen, and only his terror of what someone evil might do with his sole useful ability had kept his lips sealed.

She'd asked where he'd spent the night and if he had an alibi, then told him she already knew where he was and he'd been blowing up a lawyer, hadn't he? He'd spilled the beans about staying at Deckard's. She'd seemed a bit stunned. He hoped Deckard wouldn't be mad. Or, you know, get in trouble. He wasn't sure how much of a big deal it was.

Then Perry's supervisor docked his pay for that hour. Which was probably illegal, but he had no energy to fight with Mr. Brown for a measly nine bucks and change.

Tonight, the elevator was a far more appealing option than the stairs. Transparent might be a color, but it was an exhausting color, and he'd peeked into every package he'd delivered today. Which meant he was looking forward to getting into Deckard's shower first thing, because coming face-to-face with a deflated prepubescent-female sex doll, red lips in a permanent O, had temporarily yucked his yum. He'd mention that one to Deckard, if he figured out how, in case the millionaire in question wasn't sticking to sex dolls.

No bombs, though. No glitter. That was a win.

His phone pinged as he reached the Hoffward's back hallway. ~Waiting in the alley. Are you done?

He typed back, ~Yes and then ~Thank you, because having Deckard there made the day almost bearable.

When he pushed the metal door open, the air outside held the damp heat of summer and a miasma of car exhaust. Still, after a day of not daring to step out of the building, it was free-ish air and he took a long breath.

Deckard leaned against his cruiser, arms folded to show his biceps below the short sleeves, and long legs crossed at black-booted ankles, shades over his eyes, his blond hair ruffled.

Mmmm. Yum reengaged.

Nix bounded toward Perry but she had her vest on so he didn't try to pat her.

"Hold your hands down for her to sniff," Deckard told him, straightening. "I want to make sure you didn't come into contact with anything."

Perry couldn't admit he'd spent the day peeking, so he held his hands low. Nix gave him a good sniff, palms, fingers, shoes to wrists, and then returned her attention to Deckard.

"Good job. Come." Deckard fished out some kibble from his pocket, fed Nix, and let her into the back of the car, closing the door after her. "Let's head—" The next instant, Deckard lunged at Perry, knocking him sideways into the wall by the door. Perry heard a splat and a laugh as Deckard whirled them left and down to the pavement. Then running footsteps echoed down the alley.

"Stay here!" Deckard leaped up and took off after the fugitive.

Perry glanced at the splat of glitter glue on the wall at his head height and decided he wasn't going to let Deckard face a weirdo like that alone. After all, it wasn't like that gun fired real bullets. He struggled to his feet and dashed after Deckard, who was rounding a corner into the cross-alley.

Perry was fifty feet back as Deckard drew his gun and shouted, "Police, freeze!"

The person fleeing, wearing the full latex orange fox head, yanked open the door of a black sedan, leaped inside, and gunned the engine, waving at them as they peeled off. Deckard sprinted the last few yards, aiming at the car as it pulled away, but the car hit the road and swung right out of sight while he lowered his weapon without firing.

Perry panted up to him. "Why didn't you shoot?" Things I never thought I'd say.

Deckard glared at him. "Because a civilian followed me into a potential firefight after I told him to stay put?"

Perry felt his face heat.

Deckard waved to the mouth of the alley where pedestrians had leaped out of the way of the speeding sedan. "Also, bystanders in the line of fire." He holstered the gun, got out a radio, and began snapping out information in a mishmash of real words and codes. He turned to Perry. "You didn't see the license plate, did you?"

"Uh, no." He hadn't even thought to check. Or… crap, I could've turned the back of the car pink and made it easy to spot. He was really not cut out for this hero stuff. "I'm sorry."

Deckard gave him a negligent wave as if to say he hadn't expected much from Perry and finished his call. When he stuck the radio back on his belt, he tapped Perry's arm. "Back to the cruiser. Help's on the way. We'll see what the building cameras captured."

"Why do we need help? He's gone, right?"

"He, she, they, yeah. They're gone. But we don't know if they're working alone."

Perry shivered and tried to check their surroundings without looking too obvious. "They're not going to hurt us with glitter, right?"

"Depends what it's mixed with."

"Oh." Perry trudged alongside Deckard, his burst of energy fading. "That guy ran like a man."

"Don't be sexist, Perry."

He turned in surprise to find Deckard smirking at him.

Deckard bumped his shoulder. "Remember what they say about assumptions. Stay sharp."

"I don't feel sharp. I feel like a sagging blob of not-sharp." Perry sighed.

As they approached the cruiser, Perry saw Nix barking inside, her paws on the back window, slobber smeared across the inside. Deckard broke into a jog. "Come on. You can sit in the back and tell her we're fine."

"And then go home and shower."

"Uh, not yet." Deckard crowded behind him, urging him forward.

"Why are you pushing me? Not that I don't like your manly chest against my back."

"Heh. Get in, first."

Once Perry was in the car, with Nix bouncing in his lap and treading on all his soft bits— "Dammit, Nix, ouch. Chill."

Deckard told her, "Down," and she lay across Perry's thighs, panting heavily.

Perry rubbed her head. "You were saying?"

"Yes, well." Deckard leaned low, his body blocking the door, eyeing Perry, and ran a hand through his already messed-up hair. "Why was Fox-face waiting there with a glitter gun?"

"I don't know?"

"He was waiting for someone, right? And there aren't a lot of choices. Mr. Brown gets off an hour earlier than you. Kyle goes out the front way to catch the bus. The cleaning staff use the side entrance by the laundry. Deliveries are long over. Security shift change is at ten p.m."

"Was he waiting for you to pick me up?" Perry didn't like the idea of someone gunning for Deckard. "Is that glitter dangerous?"

"The last batch had acid mixed in. Wouldn't kill you but could cause a nasty burn. But Perry, no one knew I was coming to pick you up except us."

"I told Zamora I was staying with you," Perry admitted. "I'm sorry. She's hard to keep secrets from. I didn't mean to tell."

"It's okay." Deckard put a comforting hand on Perry's shoulder. "I told my team, too. So okay, you, me, and my people knew. Still, how would Fox-face find out?"

Perry felt his mouth drop open. His stomach crawled. "You have a leak in the police department?"

"No. Well, maybe." Deckard pressed his lips together sourly, clearly not liking that idea. "But there's a simpler solution." When Perry's tired brain didn't pipe up with an answer, Deckard said, "The perp's not after me, they're after you."

"Oh, no." Perry shook his head. "That makes no sense at all. I'm nobody. Unless they want the fox mask a more natural shade of copper, because that was cartoony-fake orange yuck, what would they want from me?"

"I don't know." Deckard lowered his voice. "You foiled their plans once. Maybe they want revenge. Or maybe they hate superheroes."

"I'm hardly super or a hero."

"Don't put yourself down." Deckard hadn't let go of Perry's shoulder and he gave him another squeeze. "Maybe they're planning to go after the judge again and worry you might block them."

"Maybe they like horrible shades of orange and are worried I'm going to re-colorize them." Perry hid his trembling lips with a fist. No one had ever put him front and center in their plans and wouldn't it be ironic if a homicidal maniac was the first?

Deckard laughed as if Perry was actually being funny. "A terrible threat, I'm sure. Don't worry too much. I swear, I'll keep you safe."

Given the acid-laden paintball that had hit a few feet from his head, Perry wasn't as confident as Deckard seemed to be, but the thought was still comforting. Nix licked his wrist and that was comforting too.

A siren wailed toward them. Deckard straightened, closed the door to keep Perry safe— or locked in, he realized, but he had nowhere he wanted to go right now— and turned toward the newcomers.

The next hour was tedious, especially after Deckard disappeared inside with Nix. Perry browsed on his phone between answering the same questions over and over. No, he hadn't seen anything suspicious. No, there'd been no packages for Justice Campbell. No, he had no idea who the person in the fox mask was.

His phone battery hit seven percent. The cruiser gas gauge dropped below a quarter from powering the AC all that time. Deckard said something emphatic with hand-waving to Zamora, then opened the door. "Hey there, mailrooms and downstairs are done, but I need to sweep the upstairs hallways with Nix, just in case the perp was here for a different reason and happened to shoot at us." He turned a dark look on Zamora. "The detective could run you over to my place."

"I'd rather wait." Much rather. Even locked in the back with a dead phone.

"Or she could take you to a hotel or motel, if you prefer. She might even chip in a few bucks."

And a police guard? I doubt it. "Do you want to get rid of me?" Maybe Deckard was tired of sharing his space with Perry and this was his subtle way of saying so.

"No, not at all." Deckard frowned. "If you want to wait, you tell her so. And make sure she sticks around till my sweep is done. I don't want you out here alone."

"Um." The idea of dictating to Zamora how she used her time was not an appealing one.

"Never mind." Deckard strode off, spoke to the small cluster of remaining cops, and came back with a tall guy in uniform. "This is Officer Hills. He'll keep an eye out till I come back."

"Okay." Perry watched out the open door as Deckard and Nix vanished back into the building.

"Don't worry." Officer Hills had a deep voice. "No one's getting to you on my watch, long as you stay in the car like you're told."

"All right," Perry agreed. He'd wanted to ask if he could sit up front, but he had a feeling that wasn't generally allowed and he didn't want to get Deckard in trouble.

Officer Hills was still staring toward the Hoffward's back door. "That's one strange guy, that Sergeant Deckard." Perry bristled, ready to defend him, but Hills added, "Cute dog, though."

"Very cute." Probably best to stop with that.

Hills pushed the car door shut and leaned against it, scanning the area, which gave Perry a decent view through the window of his ass in loose uniform pants, not bad but not some kind of treat, not after Deckard's. Since he didn't want to drain his phone, he stuffed it into his pocket, leaned his head back, and tried to doze. The back seat was hellishly uncomfortable. He wondered if that was deliberate, or just a feature of being hard washable plastic. Which reminded him why the back seat of a cop car needed to be washable, which was not a comfortable thought. He pulled his feet up off the floor and tried not to think about what might be down under there.

Despite everything, he must've dozed, because he woke to Deckard's voice saying, "Thank you. All clear. I'll take over now."

Hills' bulk disappeared from the window and Deckard opened the door, leaning in. "Hey, Perry, hanging in there?"

"I guess." He shifted and winced. "I think my ass went to sleep."

"Come on out and I'll get Nix squared away. Then you can ride up front."

As Deckard got Nix situated and fastened her car safety tether, Perry stretched, hearing his shoulders pop— I'm too young for popping shoulders— and walked around the back to the passenger side. He opened the door and froze. "Um. Deckard?"

"What?" Deckard shut Nix in and hurried his way.

Perry pointed at the front seat of the cruiser. There, on the dark gray upholstery, sat a small white square of paper with the initials SPAM in embossed print.

Deckard grabbed Perry's arm, pulled him back, and peered in. "What the hell? Who put that there?"

Perry was hit with a fit of the giggles. "The tooth fairy?"

"Is that a real supe? I mean, superhero?" Deckard stared at him.

"I don't think so. I mean, a power tied to kids' dead teeth? Then again, the world's a weird place. Who knows?"

Deckard looked around wildly, spinning on his heel. "Hey, Hills!" he yelled. "Get over here!"

Hills, who'd been about to drive off, parked and got back out, jogging up to them. "What, sir?"

"You see that paper?" Deckard pointed.

"The one that says ‘Spam?' Yes, sir."

"How did it get there?"

"Uh, someone put it there?"

"It wasn't on that seat when I was talking to Perry," Deckard told him. "So between when I walked in that door and now, who had access to the front of this car?"

"No one, sir. I was here the whole time, and I swear no one came near." He eyed Perry. "Except Mr. Crawford."

Perry gestured at the metal mesh between the back and front compartments. "That paper's flat. How would I smoosh it through the little holes?"

"Rolled up tight?"

Annoyed, Perry pointed out, "You had access too."

"I was never near that side of the car."

They glared at each other.

Deckard put up his hands in a time-out T. "Okay, enough. Thank you for your time, Officer. I may have more questions after I review the door camera."

"You won't find anything wrong."

"I agree." Deckard's tone had gone soothing. "But in case there's sign of someone sneaking around."

"No one opened the door. Sir." Hills sketched a kind of salute, stomped over to his car, and drove off.

Deckard blew out a breath and looked around the almost deserted alley. Only one marked car remained, parked down along the building. The cop inside seemed to be taking a nap. Perry wished he was too, but the SPAM note had revved his heartrate back to DEFCON 3. Maybe 2. "Now what?"

Deckard pulled a transparent baggie out of a pocket. "I'm going to take pictures and video. Then we bag it in this, and read it."

"I like having a plan."

Deckard filmed the note, the seat, the door, then opened the baggie wide and scooped the paper inside. "Right." He passed it out to Perry and turned, filming him as he flipped the plastic-encased note over.

The back side read:

Peregrine Crawford, your name is now confirmed on the list of active superheroes. Good luck with your quest. Beware of the Lithomancer. You may call on the usual resources of SPAM at need.

April

Perry blinked at the note in his hand. "The Lithomancer? Usual resources? As opposed to what, unusual resources? I don't even know what SPAM is."

As he said the words, the plastic bag in his hand squirmed and he almost dropped it. He hung on to the zipped corner as it sagged from his fingers. Empty.

"Motherfucker!" Deckard exclaimed, staring but still filming.

In the onslaught of weirdness, hearing Deckard lose his cool made Perry unreasonably happy. "You know that word's now going to be part of the evidence forever, right?"

"Fu— udge. Right."

Perry held the bag up in front of his face and peered into it. Through it. Yep. Empty. "I guess that explains where the last note went."

"But not how." Deckard took a last closeup and turned off his camera. "We'll get the lab to analyze the inside of that baggie but I bet they don't find anything."

"I could do a search for note-teleporting superpowers," Perry suggested. "Except, crap, I need to charge my phone."

He lifted a foot, but Deckard barred him from the car with an arm. "Don't get in. We're going to have to dust the car for prints."

"Is there any point?" Perry was ready to collapse in a nice, soft seat.

"Protocol. Procedure. Fuck, probably not, but we'll do it anyway." Deckard tugged at his hair. "You know, I was happy when the strangest thing we were dealing with was a perp who liked glitter."

"Me too," Perry agreed sadly.

To his surprise, Deckard slung an arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug before calling for backup. Again.