The Super Killer

Ch. 17

When Palmer reached his table at the restaurant Per Super Se in Metropolis, he made sure to sit next to the window. My window. It was his favourite view because it felt like he was looking down on the world. On a clear day he could even see Manhattan. But today, the view was of a raven practically stuck in place, as if suspended in air. Its long wingspan was spread out, and Palmer could see the subtle adjustments each feather made to ride the wind. The raven turned to stare at Palmer, who yawned and turned away.

A young woman with red, curly hair approached the table and asked, "Would you like to start with red or white?"

Palmer opened his mouth to speak, but Corporon interrupted from across the table. "No wine, but we'll take your most expensive bottle of Veuve Clicquot. And sweetie, you can put that on my tab."

The waiter smiled at Corporon and promptly left. Palmer watched Corporon's eyes as they followed the young woman. Dog will hunt. Palmer then said, "I told you my table had a nice view."

Corporon shrugged. "I've seen better." He saw Gordon squirm in his chair and asked, "What's wrong, Gordon? This isn't a funeral; it's a celebration. We caught the super killer and saved the day. You know what that means for us, don't you?"

"No," Gordon spat. "What does that mean for us?"

"Are you high? Look at Palmer. He was a homicide detective when he saved Superman's life." Corporon leaned into the table like he was about to tell the men a secret. "If Palmer got his number for saving one super, what do you think we'll get for saving them all? I bet they make us ambassadors or diplomats in places that have better views than here."

Palmer agreed. "Corporon's right. This is a celebration, so let's play nice or the party will be ruined."

Gordon took a deep breath. "Should we discuss the press leaks?"

"It was Amber!" Corporon shouted, annoyed. "And Heather. Isn't that obvious? The only question is what do we do about them?"

"We do nothing," Palmer responded. "The president doesn't want us to ruin the current optics. Next week is Super Tuesday, and now that our heroes are safe from harm, the status quo has been restored. People have faith in the government again, and if we don't have faith," he said, looking at Gordon, "we don't have anything."

Corporon nodded his head while the curly-haired waiter set three crystal champagne glasses on the table. He smiled and took the bottle from her hand and popped it for everyone to hear. Corporon filled a glass and raised it to the chandelier above him. "To success, to our supers, and to a life of diplomatic immunity." As Corporon spoke, he noticed that Palmer and Gordon were smirking at him. They were looking at something behind him. He turned around and saw a line of federal agents walking to their table and forming a half-moon behind him. Corporon turned back to Gordon and Palmer, his face white like a ghost. "What the fuck is this?"

Palmer stood and took in a deep breath. "Admiral Alexander Corporon. You are under arrest for the sex trafficking of minors and for conspiracy to commit sex trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney—"

Corporon shrugged away the hand of an agent behind him. "Palmer, what the fuck are you doing? You think this is funny?" Palmer continued to read Corporon his rights. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at the table. He saw Gordon's smile. "What the fuck are you two doing? This is entrapment! This is a hit job!" He tried to show confidence, but his large, black, empty eyes betrayed him. He looked at Palmer and knocked over his glass of champagne. He stared at Gordon, "You're next." Another arm touched his shoulder. "Get the fuck off me."

Palmer finished reading Corporon his rights and said, "Don't resist, or you'll only make things worse for yourself."

"Palmer, you can't do this to me. You know what will happen. You're sending me to my death, and you know it." Corporon turned to the crowded restaurant and screamed, "I'm not suicidal! This is a hit job! It's a coup!"