Enigmas - Part One
A Will Powers story, by BlueBard

"Open your mind to me."

"You sure this is necessary, Mentor?" asked Bullet as he fidgeted in the seat across from the bald-headed alien.  His shiny helmet lay nearby on the table.  "It was gettin' dark, so I didn't get a good look at the guy's face anyhow."

Had Mentor been human, he most certainly would have breathed a sigh of frustration.  He thanked his progenitors for having the good sense not to have descended from homo sapiens.  This particular human was not a cooperative subject at the moment.  Wearily, he explained once again.

"I am interested in your perceptions of the event, Dwight Arrow.  It is vital that we understand the capabilities and attitudes of this person in case a confrontation occurs.  We still have little idea of this man's motives."

"I know you're uncomfortable with this, Bullet," added Minute Man, who was standing nearby.  His staff, Patriot, was tucked into the belt of his red, white, and blue costume.  "But we really need to know what makes this fella tick.  I don't want a repeat of the confrontation with that Direwolf character.  Anything we can find out will help us if this man turns up again.  So just try to relax.  You know you can trust Mentor."

Mentor could see the discomfort in Bullet's eyes as he shot a quick glance at him.  He knew exactly what the problem was.  These humans spent too much of their time imagining bogeymen that invaded people's thoughts and took control of their minds.  Unfortunately, Bullet had just experienced something of that sort and was in no mood to open his mind freely.  Mentor tried to project soothing thoughts.  At the unusual frequencies the speedster's brainwaves operated on, he would have a difficult enough time probing as deeply as he needed to even if the man were cooperative. 

If he were a less ethical being he could indeed force his way in, but at the risk of damaging both Bullet and himself in the process.  Fortunately, he knew, Bullet did trust him.  It was simply a matter of allowing the man time to settle himself.  He felt Bullet's resistance lessen.

"Alright, I guess.  Just don't go messin' around with anything in there," he said as he tapped his temple.  "And for the sake of my modesty, please don't look at any memories of a gal named Annie!"

"Thank you," Mentor replied gravely.  "I assure you I have no desire to intrude on any intimate thoughts.  Let us proceed."  Mentor turned to face the nearest audio pickup.  "Computer.  Dim lights sixty percent."  The room darkened obediently.  The alien telepath again turned toward Bullet as Minute Man looked on with interest.

"Now concentrate on me, Dwight Arrow.  Open your thoughts to me."

Bullet felt nothing as Mentor's probe entered his mind.  The man was cooperating as best as he knew how, and Mentor had no trouble receiving his thoughts.  It was simply a matter of being able to understand them.  It was as if part of Bullet's mind ran so fast that Mentor had to race to catch his thoughts.

Flash.

A moonlit night.  A beach in Hawaii.  Ocean spray glistening like pearls on the skin of a shapely young woman.

"Ahem," Mentor coughed politely.  "It would help me to stay out of your intimate memories if you would stop thinking about them."

"Oh.  Sorry." Bullet blushed.

"Try to recall what happened yesterday instead.  That will focus your thoughts in the area of concern."

"Right.  Gotcha." 

Bullet closed his eyes and remembered.  Mentor relayed the impressions he was getting to Minute Man's mind as well.

Flash.  A street in a dilapidated neighborhood.  Sunlight fading below the horizon.

Bullet smirked as he saw a gunman in a dark suit caught between himself and the police.

Flash.  No alleyways or sidestreets for the trapped man to escape through.

The man suddenly crouched and sprang high up to the top of a three story apartment building. 

Flash.  The man stared down at him from the roof of a two story pawnshop.

"Why don't you leave me alone?" the light-haired man replied in frustration.

"No can do, partner," answered Bullet.  "Got a few questions about what happened back there.  Not to mention about how come you can leap tall buildings in a single bound.  I'd kinda like to know about that too.  You got a name, pal?"

Flash.  A darkening rooftop.

"Well now, Mister None-of-your-business," drawled Bullet.  "Looks like you done run out of places to go.  Why don't you come along quietly?"

To Bullet's surprise the man smirked back at him, though his arrogant grin was partly obscured by the shadows of twilight. 

"Come and get me," he said insolently.   He held both his hands out as if to say 'here I am', the pistol still clutched in his right hand and pointed down at the roof.

Flash.

"Don't move," the man commanded.

Bullet almost laughed, but then a kind of a tingling sensation shot up his arm and reached his brain before he could react.  His thoughts seemed to slow to a crawl and his muscles refused to listen as he tried to tell them to get him away from there.

"Drop the gun," came a Voice that Bullet obeyed immediately.  The gun clattered to the rooftop.  "Let go of me," said The Voice.  Bullet's hand dropped away from the man's arm.  The man turned around to look Bullet in the face and poked a finger in his chest.  The tingling sensation rippled out through the man's fingertip, freezing his thoughts.

"I just want to be left alone," the man said.  "I haven't broken any laws and everything I've done tonight was in self-defense.  I want nothing to do with Freedom Force, and if you people know what's good for you, you'll stay out of my way."  The man regarded Bullet with thoughtful eyes that glared at him.

"And as for you," the man began in a Voice that Bullet simply could not resist.

"Get lost."

Flash.

Everything afterward was nothing but a grey blur until the point where Bullet had come to his senses in a pasture in California.  Mentor sensed the impression of tremendous speed but nothing more.  He broke off the mental connection.

"Intriguing," he remarked thoughtfully.

"That man is dangerous," stated Minute Man grimly.  "He took control of Bullet's mind like it was a game.  Not even the Judge has that kind of mental control."

"And yet the invasion of Bullet's mind did not bear a telepathic signature," Mentor informed them.  "There was no impression of the personality behind it.  This is a unique manifestation of Energy-X the likes of which I have never encountered before.  Bullet was overcome by sheer mental force."

"And how do ya explain the guy jumpin' three stories straight up?" Bullet wanted to know.

"Insufficient data," Mentor replied emotionlessly.  "Obviously we do not yet understand the full nature of his mutations."

"Told ya you wouldn't get much from pokin' around my head," grinned Bullet.

"More than you realize, Dwight," Minute Man assured him.  "We at least have a good idea of what this man looks like.  Sooner or later, we'll be able to identify him.  Plus, we know a little bit about his personality."

"Yeah, I guess so.  We know he's a cocky son-of-a-gun."

"With good reason, Bullet," Mentor said.  "He knew what you did not; he knew about the nature of his powers.  That gave him confidence that he could prevent you from apprehending him.  We also learned that this mind control power of his is of extremely limited range.  Apparently he needed to touch you in order to overwhelm your mind, and lured you in so he could establish contact."

"I sure won't let that happen again!" vowed Bullet.

"Good point, Mentor," nodded Minute Man.  "If we encounter him again, we'd better be careful not to let him get close enough to touch us."  Minute Man reflected a moment.  "Something else occurs to me.  Our mysterious adversary was involved in that disturbance.  The police picked up several men at the scene and all of them had prior criminal records.  I wonder what we could learn about him from their memories."

"You won't get the chance to find out," rumbled Order as he entered the room.  He was dressed in his blue and gold costume, his hammer tucked into his waistband.

"Why not, friend?" asked Minute Man.

"Because," the large black man answered ruefully, "the police let them all go.  None of them were wanted, and there was nobody to press any charges.  They're all probably holed up somewhere off the streets by now.  I talked to my friends down at the station and found out those guys could hardly walk when they were picked up.  Lots of bruises, sprains, and a couple of cracked ribs to go around.  One of them had a broken finger.  So there was some kind of fight."

"Turf war?" guessed Bullet.

"Perhaps," acknowledged Order.  "Or self-defense.  No way to know for sure, now.  The officers on the scene reported seeing the same thing you did.  Seven men down on the ground and a man in a dark suit, holding a gun, who escaped by jumping up to the rooftops.  Nobody wounded, and it's not clear whether any shots were fired."

"What about the people in the neighborhood?  Did they see anything?" Minute Man asked.

"In that neighborhood?" chuckled Order.  "Not too many people down there talk to the police.  But I did find out something else.  Two days ago there was a beating that took place at the same location.  The victim refused to identify the men who attacked him, but as of right now those seven men are considered suspects.  The officer in charge of that case was mighty upset when he found out they'd been let go.  They're wanted for questioning now.  If any of them are picked up, the police will let us know."

"We've got some good leads then," nodded Minute Man.  "We'll catch up with this person sooner or later.  I only pray it will be sooner.  I worry about public safety with a man that dangerous running around loose and unidentified."

William Powers sat at his solid oak desk in his office, staring at a sheaf of paper bound with a paperclip.  It was copy for a new ad campaign written for one of Silverman & Walthrope's largest clients, DynaCo.  Will's task was to review it, revise it if necessary, approve it, and pitch it to the brass at DynaCo.

The trouble was, he couldn't concentrate.  He kept turning the events of yesterday over and over in his mind.  First, the cold shoulder from a beautiful girl he couldn't stop thinking about.  Then the fight with a gang of thugs trying to beat protection money out of him, and all of the strange things that had happened during that fight.  Finally, the encounter with the silver speedster the press called Bullet, in which he'd all but dared Freedom Force to mess with him.

"That probably wasn't wise," he muttered to himself.  He really had no desire to get on the wrong side of the law, and he especially didn't want to be public enemy number one in the eyes of Freedom Force.  Getting into fights with superheroes was not a part of his plans.

He focused his eyes once more on the stack of papers.  This was part of the plan.  His new abilities offered him the chance of a lifetime to really make something of himself.  No more trying to claw his way up the corporate ladder.  He fully intended to be far more than a simple mid-level manager.  He was going to be Number One in the business world of Patriot City; the most successful executive this town had ever seen.  If there was any obstacle his natural intelligence and charm couldn't handle, he'd just apply his special whammy and make it go away.  Just like Bullet.

He had a meeting scheduled with his contact at DynaCo this afternoon.  The meeting was supposed to be a preliminary for the big pitch, but the real reason Will had scheduled the meeting was to get in the door at DynaCo.  The next piece of the plan was tucked into the inside pocket of his suit jacket: a pair of impossible-to-get tickets to the Charity Ball, the number-one social event of the season.  Will knew that a certain VP with pull inside DynaCo had a wife who'd do anything to be seen rubbing elbows at the Ball, especially since this year Freedom Force would be in attendance helping to raise money for the Patriot City Benevolent Society.

Will, of course, shouldn't have been able to get the tickets either.  But, luckily, the Benevolent Society was another client of the agency and Silverman had gotten the tickets.  It had been a simple matter to convince Silverman to give them to him.  He'd merely suggested that the tickets could sweeten the deal at DynaCo... he'd just needed to give Silverman a little nudge to let Will handle it himself.

The tickets would get him in the door of Mr. Robinson's office.  He'd hand Robinson the tickets personally.  Just the lightest physical contact would do.  Then, a powerful suggestion that Will's presentation would be the best ad campaign DynaCo had ever seen.  If Robinson liked it, then most everyone else on DynaCo's board who mattered would like it too.  Once he landed this deal, it wouldn't seem outrageous if Will were promoted to a VP position at Silverman & Walthrope soon after.  The truth was, he could have been a VP already... but he had to make it look good.  Which meant he needed to give this presentation.  Which meant he needed to read the doggone paperwork.

Will's scheming was interrupted by a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said.  Gail, a pretty brunette who manned the receptionist's desk out front, peered in from behind the door.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Powers.  You have a visitor."

"A visitor?  I wasn't expecting anyone today.  In fact, I'm trying to get ready for a very important meeting and I know I didn't schedule any other appointments."

"Yes, sir.  I know, sir. She's most insistent."

"Unless it's my aunt out there, get rid of her."

Just then, a dark-haired woman in a long brown coat and a plain green dress pushed her way past Gail and marched into the office.

"You'll be rid of me soon enough, Mr. Powers," Grace O'Brian declared as Will stood up quickly from his chair.

"Grace!  Uh, Miss O'Brian.  To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked with a pasted-on smile.  Inwardly, he was still recovering from the surprise of seeing her here in his office.

"You left without your rent money, and I've come to settle our accounts."

"I'm sorry about this, Mr. Powers," Gail apologized.  "Miss, you shouldn't be here."

"It's alright, Gail," Will assured her.  "You can go.  I'll speak with Miss O'Brian."  Relieved, the receptionist left, closing the door behind her.  Grace turned and yanked the door open again.

"I think I'd prefer the door open while we conduct our business, Mr. Powers.  It's not proper for a lady to be dealin' with a man behind closed doors."  She marched up to his desk and pulled a folded wad of money out of her purse.  She laid it on his desk.

"It's all there.  You can count it if you like.  No coins this time."

"Grace," Will replied softly, "I told you yesterday not to worry about this month's rent.  I'll cover it."

"It's Miss O'Brian to you," she snapped.  "No O'Brian has ever needed charity, and I'm not about to break the tradition.  So if you don't mind, I'd like a receipt for the rent money just now and then I'll be on my way."

"If you insist," Will sighed and sat down again.  He pulled out a paper and a pen and began to write out a receipt.  "I'm impressed you went to the trouble of tracking me down just to give me the rent.  It must have been difficult to find me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Powers.  You dropped your business card in the hallway.  Still, you'd have saved me the trouble if you'd taken the money yesterday," she said.  "So why didn't you?"

Will stopped writing and looked up into her deep brown eyes.

"I guess... well, it's kind of hard to explain.  It just felt like the right thing to do."

"Guilty conscience?" she guessed.  For a moment, Will was dumbstruck and wondered if she remembered the stolen kiss.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, quickly masking his feelings with a casual air.

"I'd like to think your conscience would bother you over the boiler, but I suppose it probably has something to do with that donnybrook outside the building last night.  The police were asking 'round about a man in a suit who tangled with Duncan's boys."

"The police?  Duncan's boys?" Will played dumb.

"You don't know Josh Duncan? He's the local n'er-do-well on Sycamore street, collecting protection money for that man who calls himself Pinstripe.  I understood that he and his boys met up with a man who looked a lot like you."

"I can't imagine what you're talking about," he lied.

"I doubt that.  Don't worry about it; nobody down there will tell the police Mr. Powers was down on Sycamore street collecting the rent in a nice blue suit."

"What about you?" he asked.

"If I thought you were some kind of gangster, I'd have turned you in right away.  You may be a no-good slum landlord, but you don't seem the type to be involved in that sort of thing."

"Thanks for the compliment," Will replied with a wry smile.

"Besides," she continued, "anyone who can tangle with Duncan and his boys and come out without a scratch can't be all bad.  You must be quite the fighter; I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."  She looked him over.  "I would have expected to see you limping, or at least to see a bruise on you."

"Is that why you're here?  To count the bruises?"

"Ha!" she laughed.  "Counting bruises on no-good slum landlords is about all the entertainment a poor girl can get.  Yes, that, and to give you your money.  Now can I have my receipt?"

Will shrugged and finished writing out the receipt.  He handed it to her.

"You didn't count the money," she pointed out.

"I don't need to.  I trust you."

She paused to absorb that, then took the receipt from his hand, folded it neatly and tucked it in her purse.

"I'll be going then."  Grace paused at the door.  "Goodbye, Mr. Powers.  I don't suppose you'll be back down on Sycamore again."

"You never know.  Depends on whether Mr. Jones will be well enough to carry out his duties.  He was injured pretty badly, you know."

"Well, you ought to be safe from Duncan and his boys if you really laid 'em flat like everyone's saying.  My goodness!  You ought to hear some of the wild tales going 'round the neighborhood!" Grace laughed. 

"What kinda cock-an-bull story is dis?!" shouted Pinstripe, his purple face darkening with anger.  He turned to Joseph Giammaro, one of his lieutenants.  "If your boy here is feedin' me a line Joey, I'ma gonna feed both of ya to the fishes!  Capisch?!" 

Pinstripe had been on edge ever since the last time he broke out of jail.  Things weren't going well.  It wasn't something he could put a finger on.  Some crooked cops stopped looking the other way all of a sudden, and certain crooked politicians weren't returning phone calls.  Some of his people had begun dropping out of sight.  He had a sinking feeling that someone was moving in on his organization, and he was not a naturally patient man even when he was in complete control.  Joey figured he'd better talk fast, before the huge man decided to break both their necks.

"It's true, Mister Pinstripe."  Joey nodded at the man next to him, a dark haired man with an Irish chin who had a cast on his right forearm.  "Duncan here and his men confronted a non-paying landlord in his territory and the guy single-handedly mopped up the street with 'em."

"If you pantywaists can't handle one guy, my organization is in serious trouble.  So are you telling me you can't deal with one guy?"

"Mister Pinstripe, it's more than that or we wouldn't be standing here in front of you, I'll tell you that.  Duncan here can't remember the whole thing, but I talked to his boys and checked around a little.  Tell 'im, Duncan."

"That's the way it was, Mr. Rigotta!  Me and the boys were beatin' on him with baseball bats and he just shrugged off the hits like they were nothin'!  He knocked me clear across the street!  Felt like I got kicked by a mule!  Then he took out the other guys all at once!"

"Took 'em out how?" growled Pinstripe.

Josh Duncan was sweating and scared as he struggled to answer the Boss' question.

"I don't know," he replied in a small, trembling voice.

"Pinstripe," interjected Joey.  He knew he had to say his piece before Pinstripe blew his top.  "I talked to all Duncan's boys.  They swear on their lives that the landlord seemed to explode.  I mean, really explode... as in kaboom explode."

"Okay," Pinstripe forced himself to calm down.  "So he blew up?"

"Not like a real explosion," replied Joey, "whatever it was, the guy was still standin' afterward."

"So he was standin' there.  You had a piece on ya, right?  Didja shoot him?"

"I pulled my gun on him," answered Duncan.  "Pointed it right in his face."

"Then what?"

"I... don't know."

Joey could see Pinstripe was about to do a little exploding of his own, so he hurried to appease the purple crime-lord.

"I know what happened, Boss" Joey said with confidence.  "I talked to our pigeons in the Police department.  Somehow the guy disarmed Duncan and broke his hand in the process.  Then... and this is from the cops mind you... the guy took a flyin' leap three stories up and got away.  Bullet was on the scene and chased after him."

"So what'd the guy tell the cops?" Pinstripe wanted to know.

"Nothing.  We're not really sure, but it seems like Bullet didn't catch him.  At least Freedom Force never delivered the guy to the police, and they would have."

"Huh," Pinstripe breathed.  He was starting to become intrigued here.  If Bullet couldn't bring the guy in, it raised some interesting possibilities.

"So the cops don't know who he is, but we do.  Right?"

"Yeah.  William Powers. He just inherited the property from his uncle and he works over at an ad agency downtown.  I checked and he's down there right now."

"Hm, don't quite figure," puzzled the purple-skinned gangster.  "Sounds like the guy's a super-powered freak, but he don't fit the profile.  He owns a run-down apartment building and works at a legit business, but he don't cash in on his powers and he don't run around in a goofy costume doin' good deeds like that boy scout Minute Man."

"I don't know that I'd say he works at a legit business," Joey smirked.  "He works for Silverman & Walthrope."

"You don't say!" Pinstripe broke out in a rare grin as he filed that fact away for future reference.  He paused to consider the situation.

"I like the fact that the guy ran away from the cops," Pinstripe said thoughtfully.  "Shows he's hidin' somethin'.  I like even better he didn't fall right in with Bullet and the rest of them Freedom Freaks."  Pinstripe came to a decision.

"Joey, you done good bringing Powers to my attention.  Now I want you to find out everything you can get on him.  Search his closets and dig up all his bones, eh?" 

Pinstripe reached over to the humidor on his desk and pulled out a Cuban cigar.  He deftly clipped off the end with practiced fingers, struck a match, and puffed until the cigar glowed.  Smoke curled up around his head and he inhaled deeply.

"I need somethin' extra to stay on top of things in this city.  On the one hand, I'ma workin' a deal with someone who can give me and my boys some real firepower.  But I like having lotsa extra aces up my sleeve, and this Powers guy sounds like a real wild card.  One way or the other, I want him on my side or out of my way.  But if we can get somethin' to hold over him, he'll have to work for us."  Pinstripe took another long drag off his cigar, filling his lungs then releasing a thick cloud of smoke that left Joey and Duncan coughing.

"I'ma gonna be the Top Man in this city again one way or the other, or my name ain't Pinstripe."

To be continued...