Part Five

This particular Friday was turning out to be a bad day for Vic. Though not as bad as the early morning had been for some of Detroit's female, late teen inhabitants. Vic arrived at work to find a note already on her desk to see her boss.

"Tell me about your late night call, yesterday," said Drake.

"I was in bed, sound asleep, when I got an emergency call. The night manager of a bar downtown called 911 to say that a mind-controlling super was having his way with young women, and since supers were suspected to be involved the cops called me.

"I was the first LEO on scene," said Vic, tiredly. "I was therefore in charge until I turned command over to someone else, a pair of Detroit cops who showed up shortly after I did. I found no signs of super activity, so I let them take lead. After I left they, in turn, let those two cops we've had problems with before take over - at their insistence - with them claiming seniority and loading the girls - who were all unconscious by this time - into their squad car. The first two cops figured that since the girls were victims, the other cops would handle things properly and take them to the hospital. They were wrong."

"I want a detailed report in writing," said Drake, seriously. "However, you need to give me a verbal report here and now. Okay, start over, and give me more details."

Vic nodded, took a deep breath, and began again. This time more alertly.

"I was looking for a rogue super who was mind-controlling young women. At least, that was what was reported by the night manager of the bar I was called to. Instead, I found an underage young woman unconscious in a restroom, with some barely more conscious friends who were trying to revive her. I could tell by the scent that she'd been given a large dose of rohypnol, even though it is supposedly odorless to most people. I was about to call an ambulance, when a couple of city police officers arrived, responding to a call about illicit drug use at the bar.

"I told them the young woman had been date-rape drugged, and to call an ambulance and get her to a hospital," said Vic, angrily. "I also told the other three girls to get to a hospital. They looked pretty out of it. The cops said they'd make sure everyone got there. Then I left the restroom, to continue trying to find the reported super suspect. With no luck. Said mind-controller was probably a figment of the manager's imagination, a misevaluation of the situation with the rohypnol. After taking charge, the second pair of cops took the young woman and her friends to jail instead of the hospital and put them in the drunk tank. The first girl was dead the next - this - morning, something I didn't hear about until I called to check on her before leaving my apartment. Trying to find out what had happened is one reason I was so late to work. Those calls are how I learned about the rest of this mess.

"Two of the three teenage girls she was out with were also dead. They and several others from the bar were all put in the drunk tank on the orders of the second two cops. The fourth member of that underage group - who were just some college kids out for an evening of fun, as far as I have been able to find out - was still unconscious when the cell was opened by the day shift, and they discovered those three were dead and that the survivor was unresponsive. They sent her to a hospital. Where she tested positive for rohypnol. Yes, she'd been given enough that some was still in her system. Unfortunately, she had the typical amnesia caused by the drug and has no idea how she and the others ingested it."

"The 'senior' officers you mentioned are the same two who declared that regenerator dead?" said Drake, to make certain he had things straight.

"Yeah. The police chief and mayor keep insisting the offenses haven't happened. They've already said there was no incompetence involved in this case. That there was no reason to suspect those girls weren't simply drunk. They seemed more interested in making a statement about the immorality of teenage girls having a wild night out than in the poisoning of some of those same girls."

"I take it you haven't seen the press conference the mayor and chief of police gave on this matter," said Drake, sourly. "They came very close to blaming the dead girls for being murdered by whoever drugged them. There have actually been several mysterious cases of teenage girls who died while at or shortly after leaving a bar, where the deaths were blamed on the girls not being used to drinking. We have urged the Detroit police department to take another look at those cases, but so far are having no luck."

"Isn't there anything we can do about them? Uh, I mean the rogue officers. Though..."

"Not for this latest bout of lazy incompetence," said Drake, as angry as Vic. "Remember, also, that there has been a complete change of administration since you started work here, and the problems continue. However, we can use this to push what they did in the regenerator case forward in federal court. For that we have clear evidence of willful neglect of a super in distress, a civil rights matter. We can also blame both the past and current mayor and police chief for not firing them because of that. Now, you go and write your formal report. I'll make sure it gets to the right people."

* * *

"Part of what is wrong is Detroit's continuing budget problems," said Cal, when Vic explained her lateness and the call to the boss' office. "However, there is more going on than simple incompetence and the difficulty of replacing those officers. It's almost as if they have some sort of immunity, and know it, and therefore just don't care how they are perceived. It's possible there truly is nothing going on except incompetence. Maybe they just have been lucky, so far. However, the way they flaunt their misbehavior..."

Everyone in the small office knew about the matter with the drugged girls by lunch. They all had reactions similar to those of Vic and Drake. Meanwhile, only one local TV news department had noticed the deaths, and the station was blaming those on the apparently non-existent super mind controller.

* * *

"Cal says not to attribute to malice what can be accounted for by incompetence," said Vic, to her boss, as she turned over her detailed report that afternoon. "Or maybe put the blame on someone taking advantage of others' oversights. Though to me it seems some people on the force and in the city administration have what they consider valid reasons for deliberately mistreating some people. Something beyond mere laziness."

"You have to be careful in using motive to figure out who might have committed a crime," said Drake.

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone can make mistakes," said Drake. "Even the Mob. They just don't admit it. Though they'll often punish the people who make the mistakes. One case I know about was from a few years ago, when I was still with the FBI. Someone killed a family's dog and left the dismembered carcass on their front yard.

"The family was Black, and everyone else on that street was White. They thought they were being threatened because of that. It was reported as a hate crime, and sent to the feds. However, the FBI quickly found the perpetrator and he turned out to be a small-time hood who was supposed to give an organized crime warning to a local, petty criminal. Who had recently moved from the home where the family now lived. So the 'warning' reached the wrong people. The guy who killed the dog didn't last long in prison."

"Boy, do I know that feeling," said Vic, remembering the first few months she and Michelle had spent in their apartment. "I mean, having the wrong people miss that someone has moved."

"Just keep in mind," said Drake, dramatically, "that whoever committed a crime may simply have made a mistake in some part of the act. Or picked a victim at random. Though, yes, establishing motivation can definitely be useful in figuring out who is guilty in most cases."

"Somebody making a mistake like that may be why we can't make any progress in some of our cases," said Vic, nodding. "There's no actual connection between perp and victim."

"Exactly."

* * *

Meanwhile, some people were making plans for an upcoming holiday.

"You don't mind that the guests we've invited are all people we know from the business?" said Randy.

"They are such interesting people!" said Karen, grinning. "Besides, Christmas is for friends and family. Including your folks. In our case, Thanksgiving is for other people we know."

"Especially given all that those of us in the hero business have to be thankful for," said Randy, with feeling. "Just make sure you have plenty of dark meat. For some reason most supers seem to prefer that. Tiger usually eats an entire turkey drumstick, plus rolls and gravy, all by himself. So, also lots of gravy."

"I know, I know..."

"The Black Mask loves your mashed potatoes, Rapscallion likes my cookies..."

"I wouldn't take that as an endorsement," said Karen, smirking. "My cousin has... poor taste. Literally."

"Lots of people like my cookies," said Randy, defensively.

"Yes, dear," said Karen, grinning.

* * *

The week's Monday briefing for the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources brought the usual batch of bureaucratic requirements and a sprinkling of dire news. However, one item which was part of the latter stood out.

"I'm sure most of you know that Lightning Wire flew in Friday morning for their arraignment," said Drake. "They chartered a light twin turboprop plane just for this trip. They flew out again Saturday morning. However, it hasn't hit the news yet that their plane apparently exploded shortly after takeoff."

"I know they were in a hurry because a storm was moving in," said Dela True, looking startled. "They weren't hit by lightning, were they? 'Cause that would be too ironic."

"Whether they hit something - or somethings hit them - or it was a bomb or just a bizarre accident is still unknown," said Drake, carefully straightfaced. "However, there were no storms in the area at that time and nobody reported any lightning until a couple of hours later. Also, there was nothing on the radar which wasn't supposed to be there."

* * *

"What the Hell is this?" said Vic, confused, after reading - with difficulty - part of a hand-printed letter.

"Hey, that was addressed to me," said Michelle, after looking at the envelope.

"Sorry. Must have sorted it into my stuff by accident. This letter, though..."

"Oh, those are just from some kid who thinks I'm holding you back," said Melody, taking both letter and envelope from Vic. "He sends about three a month."

"Well, from what little I could understand, this guy could be dangerous. He says you have to die! To 'free' me!"

"He's just a kid!

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do," insisted Melody. "Look at the way he carefully printed every letter, and the misspellings, the grammatical errors..."

"The kind of adult who would write like that is also the kind who would make senseless threats," said Vic, the voice of experience. "He's also the kind who might just act on these threats. Please, let me take this in."

"Okay, if it means that much too you," said Michelle, though she was obviously unhappy with doing that.

"Hon, it's not that he means that much to me," said Vic, passionately, "it's that you mean that much to me. This is probably from a kid, and if that's the case you have my word I'll tell them to drop the matter. On the small chance these are actually from an adult who means to harm you, well, there's legal measures we can take at the Bureau."

Michelle sighed and nodded.

"Now, you said there were others?"

"A few. They've been coming here since a couple of months after we moved in. I just throw them away. I think there's another one still in the trash."

There was. Vic grabbed it, then carefully put both into zippered plastic bags.

* * *

"Yeah, soon as I saw the return address I knew who it was from," said the FBI lab guy Vic took the letters to. After showing them to her boss, of course, who called the head of the local FBI office to grease the wheels. "This nut is in his thirties, is a grade school dropout and drug addict, hasn't committed any acts of violence - that we know of - but has several felony convictions for theft and malicious threatening."

"Not just implied threats?" said Vic.

"No, he spells things out. These letters are definitely actionable, but I honestly don't know what good that would do. This guy has sent threatening letters from jail."

"He doesn't hurt people, though," said Vic, thoughtfully and feeling a bit relieved. Though only a bit.

"He may have some sort of sexual fixation on you," said the tech. "That is, he thinks that by getting rid of your wife he'll free you from being 'trapped' by her and you'll discover you like men. Especially him."

"Ugh," said Vic, with a grimace. "Now I'm remembering what Energia told me about the threatening letters she got. That guy somehow got hold of a magic rock, and hurt people through incompetence."

She gave a short, wry laugh.

"He found out the hard way that being a hero isn't all that easy."

"You are blessed, to know such people," said the Lab guy, quietly. He sighed, and got back on topic. "This guy hasn't directly hurt anyone that we know of. However, he is probably responsible for inciting others to specific acts which have hurt people."

"Who would listen to someone like this?!"

"Drug addicts while high, people looking for an excuse to hurt someone, et cetera."

He actually said et cetera. He also assured Vic he'd pass along this latest offense.

"With luck, this will get him arrested and jailed again. Maybe forced to get help, this time."