Part Eight

Vic was required by her job to spend a large part of her working hours in the offices the Bureau of Special Resources maintained at the Detroit federal building. Most of the rest of her payroll time was occupied with training. The smallest part was acting as a Federal Agent in the field for the Bureau. On starting her job full time, Vic was surprised at how little of her professional day involved actually being out somewhere actively working a crime. Some weeks she didn't spend any time actually stopping or even looking for criminals. Even when the local police occasionally asked for her help with non-super matters.

Most of what time she did spend in the field was assigned to investigating situations where powers had been used, or were only suspected of being used. Often, Vic was required to gather evidence to determine whether they had even been used at all. If there was evidence of illegal use, then she was expected to bring the user in, or help other LEO to bring them in. Either way, she often worked with local police on the investigation. Which in most cases meant being there when someone with powers was asked to come in for questioning, during the questioning or both. Vic's area of responsibility was far larger than just the city of Detroit, also including a considerable radius beyond the city limits. However, most of the cases she worked were inside the metropolitan area.

Even in cases where actions of the power user were legal, the individual was often reluctant to give a formal statement. In some cases they did not want to cooperate with law enforcement at all. Considering how some supers had been treated within recent memory, that was understandable, if unfortunate.

Vic was usually able to persuade these people to go through the formal process, by informing them that part of her job was to make sure their rights were respected. A mark of the growing respect the local police agencies and individual officers had for Vic was that they often called her supervisor to specifically ask for her help. A mark of the respect she was gaining with local and regional super communities was that they not only trusted her to watch out for their rights, but they often called Vic for a case involving one or more supers before the cops did.

In this particular call from the local police, however, there was little doubt that the powers had been used and the use was definitely not legal. Someone had apparently done a "drive-by blasting" from a moving vehicle, aiming at - but fortunately not hitting - a crowd outside a movie theater. Whether this had been a personal ability or a mad science invention, there were definitely powers involved. Unless the shooter had somehow gained access to a Shilmek energy rifle, and those generally required the user to be a low-level physical super to safely operate, anyway. The people attacked were waiting in line for an afternoon matinee where, as a promotion, an appearance was being made by the two leads of the featured movie. No-one knew why the attack had been made; nothing about the movie was powers-related. The best guess was that someone with powers had a grudge against one or both stars.

"The biggest problem we have," said Sergeant Dunbar, senior cop on the scene, "is that the best witness - at least so far - is someone who was just exiting a store in the direction the vehicle fled. He had the most warning and the best look. However, he insists the suspect drove off in a Toyota Jeep."

"I think I see your problem," said Vic, with a grimace. "Eye witnesses..."

She was in her armor - more for show than function - but was carrying her helmet to make communication easier. Dunbar kept it to himself, but he was astounded the woman could move so smoothly and quietly, with hard armor over most of her body and an array of martial arts weapons attached on top of that.

"Yeah. We kept pointing out that Jeep and Toyota were different companies, but he insists it was a Toyota Jeep. When we persisted in trying to get a better description, he just got mad and clammed up. We're trying to find traffic or security camera videos. That's not as easy as they make it look on TV.

"Anyway, we did get agreement that the person who performed that attack did so by blasting from his fist. Not a device."

"Right," said Vic, with a sigh. "That does narrow the search a bit. Well, good luck with the security cameras. I'll take a look at the damage on the building and send photos of that to Bureau experts. If they can identify anything specific about the energy blast that could further narrow the field of suspects."

"We're probably both gonna need a lot of luck," said the Sergeant, with a tired sigh of his own.

Vic used her Bureau-issued brilliant phone to take photographs of the scene and send those to both the local offices and the main offices. She also dictated notes of her observations and what the witnesses told her, and sent those along as well, with promises of copies of the police reports to come later. Then she called Michelle.

"Looks like I'll be getting home late," she said, once her wife picked up. "Big mess downtown at a theater promotion."

"Yeah, that's been on the local radio and TV," said Michelle. "As it turns out, I'll be late, too. One of our regulars had a minor emergency, and needed to reschedule. Since there were powers involved at that theater situation, I figured you'd be called in, so I volunteered for the late job."

"I love you," said Vic, with great feeling.

"I love you, too. Keep me posted."

"Will do."

"You still driving that old wagon?" said Dunbar, after Vic hung up.

"Oh, yeah," said Vic, with affection.

"Huh. You're getting to be a real Columbo."

"A which, now?"

"Detective from an old TV show. As part of his characterization, he always wore a rumpled raincoat and drove a tiny, old car."

"I'll have to look that up," said Vic. "Later. Right now I need to finish here."

Vic didn't need long for that work. However, as she headed for her Corolla wagon, one of the uniforms on scene stopped her. She told Vic that the Sergeant had some new information for her.

"We got lucky," said Dunbar, as Vic approached. "One of the shop owners just across the street has an outside security camera which caught the action. He let us view the recording and make a copy. Turns out the suspect vehicle was a late model Toyota RAV4."

"Those don't even look much like Jeeps!" said Vic, outraged.

"Yeah, but they're SUVs, which is probably what the witness meant by 'Jeep.'"

"Did you get the plates?"

"No. Couldn't see who was in it, either. The angle was wrong and the side windows were tinted, anyway. The video was also black and white. Still, with that recording and the witnesses pretty much all agreeing that it was olive green we can make a start."

"Good news. Well, please keep the local office of the Bureau posted."

"Will do."

Vic was about to leave - again - but as she turned away from the Sergeant she heard something over the radio in the his car. A report of a burglary at an all-too-familiar address.

"That's my apartment!" she said, startled. "I mean, if I heard that right..."

The Sergeant called in for a repeat of the location.

"That's it, all right," said Vic, with a growing sense of unreality.

"We're finished here. Go on. I'll tell the responders that you're on the way."

"Thank you!" Vic called over her shoulder, as she hurried away.

Vic called Michelle as she ran to her car, to make sure her wife was still at work. Then she buckled in and drove.

Vic was tempted to use her lights and siren, but refrained. She even kept mostly at or under the speed limit and made all legally required stops.

There was a police presence outside the apartment building - far more cars and officers than Vic was expecting for a simple burglary, including many which were unmarked, which made her wonder if something more serious had happened than she had heard on the radio - but they weren't stopping entry or exit by anyone. There also weren't any ambulances or fire trucks. However, as Vic approached the apartment she did have to identify herself. Seeing that she was still in her armor and had her badge clearly visible, Vic found this irritating. Of course, there were still many police in Detroit who didn't know her.

"Vic Peltior," she said, pointing to her badge. "I was investigating the power assault downtown when the call came through. This is my apartment."

For some reason they found this confusing. Even much later, some of those involved in the investigation thought Vic was there because someone had used powers in the burglary.

Inside, photography and other evidence gathering was underway. Which explained the extra unmarked police vehicles outside. The place was definitely a mess, and several things had obviously been destroyed, including their plasma TV. Their DVD collection had received particular attention, with many discs taken out of their jewell cases and scattered on the floor, then apparently stomped on. There was a great deal of broken plastic, some of it ground into the carpet. Feeling sick at the violation, Vic made photos of her own, taking breaks to report to her immediate supervisor at the local Bureau office and Michelle.

"So far this looks more like vandalism than robbery," Vic said, to the plainclothes Lieutenant who was in charge, once they both had a moment to spare.

"Whose place is this, anyway?" said the Lieutenant - a clean-cut white man who looked too young for the rank - obviously puzzled. "The evidence people don't usually turn out this many this quickly for a simple robbery."

"It's my place," said Vic, flatly. "This could be an anti-super hate crime, or revenge against me as a law enforcement officer."

"Your place?! Uh, yeah. I guess that explains it. Where's your husband?"

"My wife is at work, fortunately," said Vic, tightly. They were in the bedroom, so she moved to the dresser and picked up the framed wedding photo there. "See? There's other photos of both of us around the apartment. Make sure everyone here knows what Michelle looks like."

"So... You're the husband?" said the Lieutenant, now thoroughly confused. "Sorry; I thought you were a girl."

"I am a woman and a super," said Vic, almost shouting. "If you can't get such simple facts straight, recuse yourself and let someone competent take this case!"

"Now, just a moment!"

He was talking to Vic's back, as she left the bedroom, already dialing.

"Bruno?" said Vic. "Yeah, update. Looks pretty certain the place was ransacked rather than burglarized. Either it was someone thinking that drug dealer still lived here and trying to find his stash, or an indirect attack on me. Yeah. Thank you."

She listened a moment more, nodded, and ended the connection.

"Okay, everyone, listen up! Go ahead with your jobs as you usually would, but be aware that if you uncover evidence this was a hate crime against the people in this apartment it will become a federal case! So call the FBI immediately with any evidence to that effect. Thank you!"

She turned back to the Lieutenant, who looked confused. He probably expected some sort of attack against him on the part of Vic, but she was focused on more important matters.

"Has anyone informed the building manager about any of this?" she asked.

"Of course," said the Lieutenant, stiffly.

"Good," said Vic. Though she made a mental note to also speak with Zandelo later. Given the competence - and social awareness - demonstrated by the Lieutenant so far she wouldn't count on the manager being given an accurate report of the crime.

* * *

Getting the various bureaucracies involved in the matter of the monsters on the ships to agree on a plan of action took much longer than had the actual work of securing of the ships. Worse, until Denmark and the UN and the US all reached agreement, the injured on the two ships had to make do with what medical aid the members of the two US teams could provide, with Runner using her healing on those who were the worst hurt.

On the one hand being cautious about what was done in this matter was definitely warranted, and those who had fought the monsters and their victims could understand that. There were physically dangerous alien creatures with mind control powers involved. However, with the main excitement over, the juvenile secured and the adult confirmed dead this now seemed like the time for quick action to rescue the ships and their crews. The enthralled people - including RedBird, who was also pretty badly injured - had been freed from domination by Sharma and Runner. The first super team had also been revived, and was now able to help at least to some extent with the situation. They confirmed that between RedBird and the ship crews they had been quickly subdued and their helicopter pushed overboard.

Fatalities seemed to be limited to five crew on the recovery ship. Which was unfortunate, but since they had likely been killed and eaten before the first helicopter recon that was probably unavoidable. That still wouldn't stop people - including the supers involved - from trying to figure out how things could have been done better.

Using advice from various sources the combined groups of supers were able to drug the younger monster without serious risk to it. Finally, as the sun was setting, several amphibious T.O.W.E.R. helicopters came racing towards the scene.

"Where did those come from, anyway?" said Jet Jaguar, as they were informed of the approach of the aircraft. "T.O.W.E.R. doesn't have any land bases within their range."

"T.O.W.E.R. has a single large warship," said the Black Mask. "That's all the UN would authorize, so they made sure it was as flexible as possible. It's a nuclear-powered submarine aircraft carrier. One reason for the delay was probably so it could get close enough for those helicopters to reach us."

"Weird," said Jet Jaguar.

Colonel Philemon, the commander of the responding T.O.W.E.R. forces, ordered the supers - including those from the first team and RedBird, all of whom were injured to varying extents - to board the on-loan helicopter and leave. Bowman responded reasonably that this would leave the younger monster unguarded, and stop the treatment of several injured civilians.

The Colonel dithered, then had a team rappel down onto the Greenland Coast Guard ship, while the other helicopters hovered nearby. This first-in team included medics to tend the wounded. With a proper on-scene evaluation and handover - and after making sure all those who had just come aboard were protected against domination - the Intrepids and the Assembly, plus Runner, were again ordered to board their helicopter and leave. The four supers who had been on the scene before them were now requested to stay. As was RedBird, who claimed to have no knowledge of what happened after he had reached the ships. This was strange, since everyone else who had been dominated remembered - and was ashamed of - what they had done.

"I hope we're doing the right thing," said Thunderer, as they flew into the darkness to the east.

"Don't worry; they'll be in touch," said Rapscallion. "If only to send us the bill."

* * *

Vic waited until the cops were finished, then changed into civilian clothes; she even put on her hair extension with the lightened tips. She went downstairs to the manager's headquarters. She was surprised to see no-one in the outer office. At her call, however, she heard the manager respond from his inner office, telling her to enter.

"Please close the door," Zandelo said, looking very nervous, as Vic entered. "I can't believe you actually came down here."

"Well, I told the local cops I'd talk with you about the break-in."

"Better and better. I'll have police as witnesses that you planned all this."

"What?" said Vic, confused.

"I can't believe you were dumb enough to actually come in here, you fucking fed," said Zandelo, as he pulled a revolver from his desk and stood to aim it at her. "Now I just tell the police you forced your way in here and attacked me. You're already known to have a grudge against me. I'll just tell them you accused me of being behind the break-in."

Vic sighed. Well, at least he was smart enough - or just lucky enough - to point a gun at her from far enough away he might actually get a shot off before she got to him and took it. Then - snarling - he walked around the desk to get nice and close. He was also still talking instead of just shooting. Breaking Tuco's Rule. Vic didn't really mind having a stupid opponent, but sometimes she wished they were smart enough to surrender then talk.

"I can't believe you want to kill me just because the police are investigating you."

"It's what you deserve for ruining my real estate scam!"

Ah, so there was more involved than just getting a cut from the drug dealer.

"My only involvement in that was being a victim of it!" shouted Vic, genuinely angry.

"You mouthed off to the cops about it. So when I heard you and your bitch were looking again, I worked it out so that you got Joey's old apartment! Only you ruined that, too! I couldn't even get you killed!"

Which meant he was also behind the assassination attempt at the concert. Great. Her building manager was an actual psychopath, likely with ties to organized crime.

"So, in your mind, not letting someone kill me is a crime on my part," said Vic. She shook her head, not sure she believed what she was hearing. "You could have run that apartment scam for years, made good money from it long-term. Instead you got greedy and petty and ruined it not only for you but all your cohorts. You'll be lucky if they don't pay for a hit on you while you're in prison."

"I'm pointing a gun at you!" he all but screamed.

"Oh; thanks for reminding me."

Vic was not overconfident. However, she was confident in her abilities. That confidence proved warranted as she spun out of the way the gun was pointing and stagger-stepped in quickly, to jam her left hand down on the gun, the web between thumb and fingers blocking the hammer, before the man could pull the trigger. She then twisted the gun away from Zandelo and tossed it into the corner. He went face down on the floor and had his hands flex-cuffed behind his back before he realized things were not going according to his plans.

Vic - with a silent prayer of thanks the idiot hadn't thought to start with Michelle - got out her cell phone and made the call. Absently sucking on the bleeding web of her left hand as she waited for someone to pick up.