Hero Stalker

Part Thirty-Six

Of course, if I lived in Orignal, I'd have purses to spare. Bayton's smallest neighborhood had been its wealthiest, even back before the Civil War. Its name, French for 'moose', came from the taxidermied moose tobacco merchant Charles Randolph had purchased in 1702. A group of French fur traders had sold it to him in exchange for fifty barrels of tobacco and his son's valet, James Camber. Apparently, the moose had been such a novelty that Randolph named his plantation after it. The neighborhood had been built on his fields.

The early evening sunlight glowed along the crowded sidewalks as I hobbled towards the hotel. Polished windows lined the office towers and apartment buildings rising high above my head. Some stood fifty stories tall.

Down on the streets, expensive sports cars stood out from the rest. Private security guards stood near the doors of designer stores. Pedestrians bustled up and down sidewalks without bothering to look at one another.

Someone bumped into me from behind. I stumbled and nearly fell flat on my face.

"Sorry!" shouted a little blond girl in a BluemontMiddle School sweatshirt. Two other girls stood next to her. One carried a Louis Vutton bag. Another clutched an iPhone in a Chanel case.

Why did I even try? "That's okay. No problem."

The kids dashed around me and into the Coach store. I sighed and kept going.

Le Hotel Gran Orignal had been built in 1924. Though nowhere near as tall as RandolphTower, which sat right across the street, it remained one of the most recognizable buildings in the city. The creamy, polished walls went up thirty stories and cumulated in a copper-plated peaked roof. A twenty foot tall statue of a Greek god held up each corner: Ares, Aphrodite, Demeter, and Zeus. An enterprising climber had gouged out Ares's right eye during an anti-war protest in the seventies. They didn't photograph the hotel from that angle anymore.

Intricately molded copper plated vines sat atop each of the hotel's window. No two designs were alike. Urban legends claimed one topper had been cast around a gigantic diamond. Some kids at my high school had stolen one during my junior year, but no diamond had been found.

Not that anyone would get close enough to steal window toppers tonight. A pack of police cars blocked off the street in front of the hotel. Limo after limo stopped at the barricade and flashed their passes. News vans lined the sidewalks. Flashbulbs went off as men and women in evening clothes walked up the steps. The air smelled like cigarette smoke and exhaust. Annabelle would probably show up later to harass the VIPs. If they lashed out in front of her camera, it'd generate a ton of traffic for her blog.

I fished the catering passes Valerie had given me out of my purse and flashed it at the officer by the barrier. He barely looked at it before waving me past.

The lobby of the hotel glowed underneath a roof full of little crystal chandeliers. I joined the herd of guests squeezing into the elevators. The Police Ball was being held in the penthouse ballroom, right on level with Zeus's pecs. An Indian woman in a long purple gown shot me a weird look. The scent of salmon tzatziki hit my nose and told me Valerie and the crew had already arrived.

Then the doors opened on the penthouse ballroom that looked like a castle in a Disney movie. I almost forgot to step out of the elevator.

Shimmering rainbows of light danced across the creamy marble floor, shining in the gold inlays between the tiles. The ballroom's walls bore murals brightly decorated in mythological scenes. Heavy golden curtains framed the windows. The roof itself lifted into a pure white dome from which a gigantic crystal chandelier hung down like a fountain.

The female guests wore long, flowing gowns. Reds, teals, and purples dominated the floor. The men besides them wore classic black and white tuxedos. Male and female waiters circulated through the room, dressed in crisp white jackets and slacks. A string quartet played in one corner of the room, but no one was dancing. Was this that kind of ball? No one had bothered to give me a copy of the etiquette rules.

I spotted Valerie chatting with a man by a mural of Ares killing a wolf and hobbled towards her.

"Gloria!" she shouted when she saw me. My boss had been poured into a long black lace gown that hugged her many, many curves. Her nails had been painted black as well, and her false lashes stuck out three times longer than you'd see on a normal person. Only Needles's head sticking out of her purse stopped her from resembling a giant spider. "You look beautiful tonight. I love your dress. That tight cut really emphasizes your breasts."

I winced. So did the man she was talking with. He was a stocky white guy, around Slasher's age, with hollow cheekbones and a reddening nose. I hoped he wasn't allergic to dogs. Something about him looked familiar.

"This is Robert Ayer. Commander of the Psi-Crime Division."

That's it. I'd seen him on TV. He'd delivered the eulogy for Dark Justice. Now I finally knew why none of the Centurions had stepped up. "Gloria Dodson." Ayer and I shook hands. "I—"

"She's just my assistant," Valerie said. Needles yipped in agreement. "Now, Bobby, if we could talk about the catering for the Police Week Marathon?"

He sighed. "Ma'am, most of that food is donated."

"Most of that food is shit." A hint of her native Quebecois accent crept into her words. Ayer's eyes widened.

A round of applause rang out near the elevator. "That'll be the mayor," Ayer said. "I'd better say hi." He hurried off towards the gathering crowd. Valerie stalked after him and I had no choice but to follow.

Mayor Hollis strode leisurely through the crowd, flanked by two bodyguards. The ruby cuff-links on his tuxedo jacket shone in the light of the chandelier. Not a hair of his mustache lay out of place. He shook hands with a few men and kissed their wives on the cheek, waving to everyone else.

I deliberately took a step backwards as he drew near. Valerie got a kiss. The mayor bent in close as he shook Ayer's hand. "Have you contained the situation yet?" he muttered.

"Us and the Centurions are on it," Ayer replied, under his breath.

"This city better not develop another supervillain problem until after the goddamn election." The mayor fixed back on his smile and continued through the crowd. His bodyguards followed. I wondered how they put up with him. Was there a single good person in this city, or had they all died with Dark Justice?

"If it isn't my friend from the Speedway!" Someone slapped me on the back. I jumped and spun around.

David Randolph winked at me, his dark blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His tuxedo jacked hugged the lean muscle of his upper arms. Diamonds sparkled on his golden cufflinks as he lifted his glass of champagne in my direction. "How are you doing on this fine summer evening?"

There was only one thing Bayton's famed billionaire playboy would want from me. "I have a boyfriend. He's a cop."

"Gloria!" Valerie grabbed my upper arm and pushed me away. My left heel slipped and I nearly fell again. "Don't make assumptions! I'm so sorry, Dave. You know, I dated your cousin Morgan. Cheapskate. You're much more handsome." She shot me a dirty look. "Don't you have some work to do?"

No. But I knew a cue when I heard one, so I set off in search of something alcoholic.