Under the Radar: A Tale of Super City

Under the Radar

A Tale of Super City

by Andrew Pain

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 by Andrew Pain

Cover by Jeanine Henning www.JeanineHenning.com

Edited by Suzanne Knight

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1503147867

Prologue

The alarm system was pretty good. Above average, but not enough. Hands' fingers passed through the bricks into the cement. The wires were there, as protected as they could be. Hands thought it must be a serious pain when they did upgrades, though from the feel they might have built in excess capacity. Breaking the connections was harder, but he managed it, carefully phasing part of the wire while leaving most intact, moving it to the side so a one inch gap was left. Someone was going to have to figure out how to repair the severed wires.

With the alarm disabled, Hands moved away from the building to watch. Working in Super City was risky. The teams were way beyond Hands' power level, but they rarely got involved in low level street crime. Rarely, but it did happen. More of a danger was one of the Independents, or someone belonging to Avenger's Crew. Every hero wanting to make the big time came to Super City, like the pretty girls from the small towns who went to Hollywood. Few made it. Most ended up working street crime, dealing with powered threats the local police couldn't handle but were beneath the notice of the teams.

Threats like Hands.

A police cruiser slid past, almost silent. The two cops inside were laughing, one eating something. Not on alert. If Hands had tripped something they didn't seem to know. There was a chance someone with superpowers of their own was watching, waiting, but that was always a risk.

The bank's door was easy. He just reached through, turned the lock, and walked in. Larger banks had switched to fancier locks, ones that needed a key to open from the inside. This one would probably upgrade after tonight. Hands wondered if he just earned a locksmith a few bucks. The new locks wouldn't have helped much.

The door closed and Hands locked it behind him. Inside was silent apart from the hum of cameras and Hands muttered something under his breath. He was in a mask and something like a costume, but he didn't like cameras and thought they would've been disabled when he'd cut the wires. Appear too often and people started to notice. He was already inside so there wasn't much point in stopping now. There were two cameras with little red lights. One pointed right at the door, so there wasn't much else to do. Squaring his shoulders he headed through the bank, pointedly not looking for more cameras along the way.

He didn't hear any alarms, which didn't mean anything, by the time he reached the vault door. It was more complicated than the front door, but Super City's building code required ways to open vaults from inside. This one was no different, and the door swung open silently with a heavy, ponderous feel. Inside there were aisles of safety deposit boxes and another vault. The second vault probably held the money, but money wasn't why Hands was there. It was tempting to grab a couple thousand, but that would be sloppy. Worse, it would attract attention. Hands was a professional contractor, hired to obtain a specific item. No side adventures. Side adventures get noticed, and then the heroes show up.

Hands scanned the rows until he found the correct one. It was locked with a two key system, a bit old fashioned really. It matched the rest of the bank, someplace secure but not for anything truly valuable. The place you put grandma's old jewelry. The box was a non-issue to open, and Hands slid the box out. He lifted the lid and removed the black bag he found inside. It was soft, like felt, closed with a drawstring and holding something lumpy and heavy. He set it aside and put the tray back on the way out. Hands stopped to look in the office, wondering if he could do anything about the recordings. There was a computer running. He considered briefly, then turned to leave without disabling the computer. Even if he damaged it, there was no guarantee the recordings would be affected. He left through the front door after making sure the street was clear. After walking through alleys for about half an hour he reached his clothing stash and changed into casual wear - becoming just another guy making his way home after a night out. Perhaps later than most, but that explained the contented swagger in his walk.

Hands planned to wait a couple days before making the call. The job had a ten day window, and he'd only used three. One for research, one for surveillance, and one (technically) for the job. Most of the third day had been spent sleeping and watching TV, but it wasn't like he could go while the place was open.

The surveillance camera on the traffic light whirred slightly in its housing as it followed the thief. Another camera picked him up a few blocks down, while the first returned to the drop and settled in to watch and wait. One cog had spun its course and the next clicked over.

Chapter One

Hands woke late. The alarm quietly buzzed on the stand next to his bed. Light came around the edges of the curtains, picking out specks of dust in the air. It was a magical scene, almost enough to hide the bare dirty walls and piles of clothes on the floor. The buzzing came again and he grabbed his mobile to shut off the alarm.

He was meeting Miranda for lunch. It was officially a business lunch, which meant she was buying, but he looked forward to seeing her. The two of them had gotten close and the job last night had gotten him enough spare cash to move the relationship forward. She did have that...problem...but everybody had something. She had certainly managed to do more with her life than he had with his.

The shower was warm instead of hot, but combined with the coffee it woke him up. A quick check of the news feed showed the robbery wasn't making headlines, though there was a small blurb buried on the city page along a dozen or so other small crimes that went down every night in Super City. He scanned through them, trying to see a pattern. Some new major villain starting to make his move, but if there was one, he couldn't see it.

Hands, his driver's license read Micah Anderson but he'd been called Hands since the day after his 14th birthday, kicked the dirty clothes into a pile and thought about doing laundry. Then he checked the time and finished getting ready. He still had clean clothes. After a second cup of coffee he grabbed his coat and headed out.

Despite the bright sun it was cool out. Fall definitely was in the air. Hands was glad he had grabbed his coat, Glass would want to sit outside. He thought about taking his car, but parking would be a problem. One of the stranger things about Super City was parking in this neighborhood was safer than downtown. The car didn't look nice enough to attract attention, and the local gangs knew whose car it was. Downtown cars were often turned into projectiles.

So, he climbed the train platform and flashed his monthly pass at the scanner. The train was on time, it usually was, and he watched the city roll past. There was a column of smoke in the distance and he wondered whether it was a battle or something more mundane. He couldn't see anything more than smoke, no specks flying around or explosions of fire, dirt, or more exotic things. Probably just a fire then.

The stop was few blocks from the restaurant, but the wind whipped around the bases of the buildings and cut right through his coat. He turned up the collar and put his head down. The streets were clean, the stores had glass fronts. They weren't really glass, instead made of some some clear, bulletproof material. When it broke it wasn't sharp, not that it mattered much. Whatever was strong enough to shatter that stuff was forceful enough to make the shrapnel fatal whether it was sharp or not. There were shoppers around, looking through windows and ducking in and out of stores. It would be less windy inside. Woman dragged bored looking men from place to place. Hands wondered if that was a glimpse of his future. No. Glass didn't like going out.

Hands had met Glass just after getting out of jail. His time had been cut almost 75% for good behavior. His power tested out low, so he wasn't seen as much of a threat, especially compared to some...things...they were trying to keep locked up. Glass had a program for powered ex-cons. She helped businesses deal with the threat of powered crime, and who better to help with that than powered criminals? She had a strict set of policies for the cons she hired and Hands supposed he had broken some of them, especially over the last half week. It wasn't the first time and he wondered if she knew.

He hadn't known what to make of her when they'd met. It wasn't just her problem, but that she was interested in helping him. He was from the streets in a way she wasn't. His life had been petty theft and the occasional strong arm until he joined the Seven Sins, a gang connected with the Sinister Seven. It was as close to the major leagues Hands would ever come, and it was too close by far. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable he was until then - the increased scale set him on edge. The Sins being taken down was almost a relief, even if it landed in him jail along with the others. There wasn't much that could be pinned on him directly, so the time was light before a parole judge cut it shorter. Some of the Sins ended up in the Max. He couldn't describe how glad he was to avoid that.

She'd found him through the employment agency he'd tried after getting out. It started as paid consulting, and after about a year it was full time. Paid decent, and he'd saved what he could. They'd started going for lunch. Sporadically at first. Then once a month. Then once a week. Then there were dinners, and he occasionally found himself going home with her. That had been happening a lot lately.

The restaurant had outdoor seating but not many people were taking advantage. Windbreaks had been set up and the seating area was warmer. Probably heated sidewalks, though he didn't know how they really managed it. It wasn't warm enough to take his coat off, but he was able to take his hands out of his pockets.

Miranda Glass was sitting with her back to one of the windbreaks. Blond hair tumbled from under a stylish hat. The skirt didn't reach her knees, shapely legs covered by leggings which disappeared into calf-high boots. Her coat was fastened and she wore a scarf around her neck, matching gloves on her hands. The entire outfit was browns and tans, a desert camouflage on a Super City street. She stood as he walked up and held out her arms for a hug.

It was when Hands came close that he noticed. It was when he always noticed. The skin was covered in tan makeup. It was skillfully done, but inches from her face Hands couldn't miss it. He took her in his arms and squeezed, careful to avoid the exposed skin on her face, and planted a kiss on her shoulder instead of her cheek.

I have coffee on the way. She said. I figured you would take the train and want it by the time you got here. She sat, crossing her legs to the side and folding her gloved hands on the table. He sat across from her, covering her hands with one of his. It seems summer has finally left, she finished with a sad shake of her head.

Hands opened the menu. There weren't prices listed, and the letters were printed in a fancy script. It was hard to read but he managed. What are you getting? He asked.

Soup, I think. I tried calling last night, where were you?

Hands kept his face calm. There was no accusation in her voice, just curiosity. I went out for a bit, some of my old places. I don't get to them much anymore.

She moved one of her hands so her fingers could wrap around his. Do you miss it?

Not as much as I thought. He answered honestly. After the delivery he would be done with it, too. The payoff was going to be large.

There was break-in last night at one of my clients. Glass waved to one of the servers. They didn't seem to want to come outside, dressed in only shirts and pants. A neighborhood bank over on 56th - Family Trust. A phaser of some kind. Basically just walked in.

Something must of shown on Hands face, since Glass gave his hand a squeeze, No, I don't think you did it. The guy was probably 27-35% and you maxed out around 17%. Nothing personal, that's just how it is. The server appeared, and Hands ordered the same thing as her, some fancy soup. He struggled to keep his face calm. Glass Consulting wasn't cheap. How had that tiny bank afforded it? And why hadn't he looked to see if it was on the client list as part of his research? There wasn't much he could do about it now.

Did you have to go there? Hands asked. His coffee was warm and felt good. It helped him refocus.

Just a phone call. I said I would send someone later today. There was a pause. So what were you planning to do this afternoon? There was a teasing smile on her face.

I guess I could head over. What was the place called again? Hands made a show of noting the address on his phone. The soup arrived.

I can give you a lift. Glass said. My car is faster than the train. Let me know when you're done and I can pick you up. She didn't say any more, but Hands noticed she didn't mention taking him home.

Half way through lunch Hands' phone started to buzz. He pulled it out wondering who might be calling, and saw his own name and number listed as the caller. Confused, he thumbed the answer symbol and lifted it to his ear.

You do not need to speak. I am unconcerned with how you report this call to your lunch companion. The item you acquired has been received. I know this is ahead of your schedule, but my time frame had to be accelerated. The second part of your payment has been transferred. Thank you for your service, Mr. Anderson. The call ended.

He knew he hadn't kept his face calm. Glass put her spoon down and leaned forward. Are you okay? Her eyes, if he could have seen them behind the dark glasses, might have been concerned.

Yeah. Yes, I'm okay. How many years had it been? Seven since the Super Squad had raided their headquarters. Five more since the last call like that. 12 years. Word on the street had been that he - it - was destroyed. Could it be destroyed? Glass was still looking at him. Just a voice from the past. Shouldn't have answered, I guess. I'll have to change my number. Hands tried