The Superhero's Cure Page 5

  “Stop messing with your clothes,” said Fingerprints without even looking at me as we passed by an empty skiff that smelled like Red Tide. “You’re going to draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

  “Too late to worry about that, bud,” I said, gesturing at my lime green pea coat. “Pretty sure my pretty pea coat here has already attracted all the attention we don’t need.”

  “You can blend in anywhere as long as you act like you’re supposed to be there,” said Fingerprints, moving around an open barrel of fish that was in our way. “Even if you don’t look like you belong.”

  Suddenly, a mean-looking thug with a knife stepped out a dark alley to our right, but Fingerprints shot him a warning look and the thug immediately retreated into the shadows with a terrified look on his face.

  “And the occasional mean look to show that you mean business,” said Fingerprints, returning his attention to the boardwalk before us.

  I looked over my shoulder, but the thug with the knife did not bother to follow us. Guess he must have been easily spooked, or maybe Fingerprints was just that intimidating.

  In any case, I returned my attention to our path as well, but I couldn’t help but look around at our surroundings as we walked. Shabby wooden buildings stood all along the boardwalk to our right, while to our left were multiple docks with ships and boats of varying shapes and sizes docked. The air stank of Red Tide, spill beer, and saltwater, the stench of beer becoming especially strong whenever we passed an open bar full of boisterous sailors. Sometimes a cat with a Red Tide in its mouth would dart in our path, glare at us with the evil eye, and then disappear into an alleyway or behind a dumpster. And every now and then we’d pass by random drunk sailors passed out in front of bars, which Fingerprints barely acknowledged anymore than the trash and Red Tide strewn everywhere.

  All in all, Hooktown, Florida—a tiny coastal town on the west coast of Florida—was one of the strangest towns I had ever been in. It was definitely different from Showdown, Virginia, but mostly it felt like a throwback to the olden days when pirates were more common than they are now. It helped that Hooktown had apparently been founded as a pirate colony sometime in the 1800s, according to Fingerprints, who had apparently done his homework before the mission.

  As a result, most of Hooktown’s regular inhabitants could trace their ancestry back to the original pirate colonists, at least when they weren’t drunk out of their minds. It was also a popular place for international sea criminals from all around the world to visit because the place was so lawless and out of the way that there were very few law enforcement or government officials out here. I did see a police station a block or two back, but it didn’t look like it was open very often.

  And, if the intel Shade gave us was correct, this was also where Red Tide and his crew were currently docked. Hooktown was well-known for its lawless reputation, of course, but apparently, no one knew why Red Tide himself was actually here. I guess we were about to find out.

  “So where is Red Tide again?” I said, glancing up at Fingerprints as we walked.

  “I believe he’s at the Dead Man’s Inn,” said Fingerprints as we passed a drunk sailor sitting up against a barrel, holding a half-empty glass of beer in his hand (which he helpfully offered to me, but I ignored him as we walked). “Our contacts in Hooktown tell us that that is his favorite bar and he always stops there for a drink whenever he’s in town. His ship should also be docked not far from there.”

  I nodded, but then I said, “If his ship is close by, then why don’t we just raid it instead of infiltrating his crew? I bet his ship is unguarded and—”

  “It’s not,” Fingerprints said. He looked at me sharply. “And I better not hear such a stupid idea come from your mouth again. Part of being a spy is being patient. We do not rush things or get ourselves into situations we cannot easily get ourselves out of. Remember, the plan is to steal the weapon and get off the ship long before Red Tide and his crew even suspect something is off about us.”

  “Seems like a lot of work to me,” I said, jamming my hands into the pockets of my pea coat. “Would be easier to smash and grab.”

  Fingerprints opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it and pointed up ahead. “There. Our destination.”

  Fingerprints was correct. At the end of the block was a building that was larger than all of the others around it. It was a shabby inn with a sign hanging above the door with the words DEAD MAN’S INN EST. 1889 written on it. The doors were wide open, which allowed us to hear the hearty singing and swearing of the dozens of sailors, pirates, and criminals inside. Every now and then a sailor would stagger out of the bar, barf into the ocean, and then, without missing a beat, turn around and head back into the bar, probably to get more beer so they could throw up again. The stench of alcohol and smoke was stronger here than anywhere else in the town, mixed together with the stink of barf to create a smell that was almost as pleasant as a skunk’s butt.

  “That’s it?” I said. “Looks like they’re having a party.”

  “Red Tide, no doubt,” said Fingerprints. “Probably paying for all the beer. It must be a celebration of some sort.”

  “What are they celebrating?” I said. “Red Tide’s birthday?”

  “Doubt it,” said Fingerprints. “Only one way to find out.”

  Fingerprints entered the bar and I followed, albeit reluctantly because the overwhelming stench of alcohol and smoke was almost enough to make me gag. But I forced down my gag reflex and focused on my surroundings as we stepped through the open doors into the bar itself.

  The Dead Man’s Inn was bigger on the inside than on the out, or so it seemed to me. Dozens of wooden tables stood in a scattered, haphazard fashion all over the floor, each one seating a dozen or so singing and drinking pirates and sailors each. Men with hook hands, peg legs, eye patches, and more sang and drank with abandon, while off to the side, a platform rose with a full-sized band playing. They seemed to be playing sea chanties I didn’t recognize, because both the tunes and lyrics of the songs were unfamiliar to me, although I, unfortunately, recognized all of the swear words that seemed to make up about 90% of the lyrics of each song.

  The bar itself was constantly busy as the bartender—a huge, fat man who an X-shaped scar on his cheek—constantly filled and refilled glasses of beer, which he handed out to the scantily-dressed barmaids in a surprisingly efficient method. It was set up so the barmaids were always bringing him empty glasses and the bartender himself was always refilling them. Had to admit I was impressed because you didn’t expect that kind of efficiency in a place like this. It helped that the barmaids, despite their appearances, took no crud from the pirates, deftly weaving their way in and out of the greedy groping hands that tried to touch them every time they went out to deliver or bring back beer glasses.

  “Whoa,” I said, my eyes darting from side to side rapidly as I tried to take it all in. “This is way more than I was expecting. It really is a party.”

  “Don’t let yourself get distracted,” said Fingerprints, who, unlike me, seemed to take it all in with relative ease. “Remember what we’re here for. We need to find Red Tide and convince him to let us join his crew.”

  “Should we split up?” I said, looking at Fingerprints. “It’s not a very big place, but we might—”

  I was interrupted by a barmaid accidentally walking into me, spilling dark brown beer all over me and this other pirate sitting at the table nearest to us as she attempted to regain her balance.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” said the barmaid. Her accent was weird, kind of like a mixture between a Southern and a pirate accent. “Didn’t mean to do that. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I said, wincing when I felt the cold beer soaking through my pea coat. “I’m fine. I—”

  I was interrupted again by a pirate sitting at a nearby table standing up and suddenly whirling around, a fearsome scowl on his face. He was a huge guy, easily a head taller than me, with bulging
muscles running along his huge tattooed arms. Based on his bloodshot eyes, I could definitely tell he had been drinking a little too much.

  “Hey! Who spilled beer on me?” said the man. His eyes locked on the barmaid I had been speaking to. “Was it you, you useless little witch?”

  “I’m sorry!” said the barmaid in alarm. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

  “Accident?” the man repeated. He raised his big fist. “I’ll show you an accident, you little—”

  “Hey, man,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It was just a mistake. She didn’t mean to spill beer on you. No need to lose your mind over—”

  Without warning, the man wrapped a huge hand around my throat and lifted me up off the ground. His bloodshot eyes narrowed on me as I gasped for air and kicked out my feet, trying desperately to keep myself from choking.

  “Oh, and who are you? Her boyfriend?” said the man with a slight slur. He pulled back his fist. “I’ll beat your little face in first and then knock your girlfriend around a bit. Teach you a lesson for spilling beer all over me, you little brat!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Although I was probably stronger than the man holding me, I was too surprised to react right away. His grip was like iron and my throat grew tighter and tighter with each passing second. If I didn’t do something quick, this mission was going to be over before it even started.

  With a grunt, I kicked at the man’s arm, aiming specifically at his elbow. Even without my super strength, I was able to land a hard enough blow that the man cried out in pain and dropped me.

  Falling to my feet, I pulled back my fist to throw a punch at him, but then a hand wrapped around my wrist and I looked over my shoulder to see who it was.

  Fingerprints stood behind me, his hand wrapped firmly around my wrist. Although he was nowhere near as strong as me, just looking at his displeased expression was enough to cool me down.

  Still, I said, “Al, what are you doing?”

  “Stopping you from jeopardizing our mission,” Fingerprints hissed in a low voice that only I could hear. “Let me deal with the big lug. You just stand back and try not to look stupid.”

  Fingerprints shoved me backward suddenly, causing me to windmill my arms in an attempt to stay upright as Fingerprints walked right up to the huge drunk sailor without a hint of fear in his steps. The drunk sailor was massaging his elbow, whispering foul curses and threats under his breath as he tried to deaden the pain.

  “Oy, just who do you think you are, now?” said the man, glaring at Fingerprints. “Going to back up your stupid little friend there? You don’t look as stupid as him.”

  “That’s because I’m not,” said Fingerprints in a calm, professional voice. “Apologies for my young friend here. He’s not as experienced a drinker as I am, so sometimes he can get a little excited when he has a little to drink. I will make sure to keep a closer eye on him next time to make sure he doesn’t slosh his beer around as much.”

  At first, I thought the man was going to punch Fingerprints, too. He looked like he wanted to, with his hands balled so tightly into fists that his knuckles were white and his eyes practically bulging with hate.

  But then he apparently thought better of it, because he took a step back and grunted, “All right. But if he spills beer on me again, he’s dead.”

  With that, the man walked away. He stomped his way across the inn to the men’s bathroom on the other side of the room, practically slamming the door shut behind him on his way in. I made a mental note to avoid running into him later if possible.

  “Thanks for the save,” I said, turning my attention to Fingerprints, who had put his hand back into the pockets of his pea coat again. “Thought we might be forced to blow our cover there, ‘cause I probably would have had to use my super strength to take him out.”

  “Which is exactly why I stepped in,” said Fingerprints. “The last thing we need is for our cover to be blown so soon.”

  “Cover?” said the barmaid from before, the one who had spilled the beer on the guy accidentally. “What are you two talking about?”

  I had completely forgotten that the barmaid was standing near us, though now that I wasn’t being choked to death, I could see her a lot better. She was a few inches shorter than me, although she looked to be maybe a year or two older than me if that. She wore a somewhat revealing dress and had long dark hair done in braids that kind of reminded me of Treehugger. She had picked up all of the dropped mugs and was looking at me and Fingerprints with curiosity.

  “It’s nothing,” said Fingerprints, waving her off. “I think you should take those dropped mugs back to your boss. He’s starting to look rather impatient up there.”

  “Oh, of course,” said the barmaid. She hesitated before saying, “Thanks for stepping in, by the way. I’m used to dealing with angry drunks, but I think that guy literally would have killed me if you hadn’t stepped in.”

  “No problem,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t like seeing women get beaten up.”

  “Thanks,” said the barmaid. “By the way, my name is Alisha. What’s yours?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but then Fingerprints rested a hand on my shoulder and said, “My apologies, but my friend and I here are going to be late for a meeting with someone. Do you happen to know where Captain Red Tide, captain of the Red Tide, is?”

  Alisha’s face drained of blood as she realized just what Fingerprints said. “You’re looking for Red Tide? Uh, he’s sitting at his usual place over there.”

  Alisha pointed to the right side of the room, but there were so many pirates and sailors dancing and singing that I couldn’t see Red Tide. But I did hear even more riotous laugher explode from that corner of the room, including one voice louder and deeper than any of the others which was undoubtedly Red Tide’s.

  “Thank you, Alisha,” said Fingerprints with a slight bow. “I—”

  But Alisha was already gone well before Fingerprints could finish thanking her, disappearing into the crowd of partying drunks before we even realized it.

  “Huh,” I said. “She seems to be in a hurry.”

  “She seemed nervous when we mentioned looking for Red Tide,” said Fingerprints, scratching his chin. “She must think we’re business associates of his.”

  “And why would that make her nervous?” I said.

  “Because she is afraid she might have delayed us from getting to our meeting with him,” said Fingerprints simply. “Red Tide is feared around these parts for his sheer brutality. He’s been known to rain hellfire down on anyone who attempts to interfere with his business.”

  “So she was worried we might tell Red Tide about her and put her life at risk?” I said.

  “Something like that,” said Fingerprints. “In any case, we at least know where Red Tide is now, so let’s go and introduce ourselves.”

  With that, Fingerprints led the way through the crowd of dancing, singing drunks, easily maneuvering through the unwashed pirates and sailors as if he did this sort of thing every day. I was a little less lucky, bumping into or against dancing or drinking pirates, but luckily none of them had the quick temper of the guy who nearly choked me out.

  Soon, we reached the spot where Red Tide and his crew were located, but we didn’t approach just yet. We stood near one of the few empty tables in the place, staring at Red Tide and his crew.

  They were a fairly large group—about a dozen in all—with Red Tide himself sitting at the head of the table, beautiful young women under either side of his arms. Red Tide looked just as disgusting in real life as he did in the picture Shade showed me, only he was a lot bigger and fatter than I expected. He downed beer after beer, occasionally stopping to chat with a Japanese-looking man who sat near him or grope the women who sat with him. I wasn’t sure who the women were, but given their fairly blank expressions, I could guess the only reason they tolerated Red Tide’s presence was because he was paying them. He must have been paying them very well if they were willing to p
ut up with his behavior.

  As for the rest of his crew, they were rowdier and louder than the rest of the pub put together. They yelled and joked and sang with each other, or else boasted of their accomplishments to anyone sitting nearby, probably exaggerating the details to make themselves sound better than they were. The only ones who stood out to me were the Japanese man I noticed earlier—who seemed to be the only one abstaining from beer entirely—and a big woman nearly as fat as Red Tide himself, who was completely bald and who I mistook for a man until I looked a little closer.

  “There they are,” said Fingerprints, squinting his eyes. “Red Tide and his crew. I recognize most of them from the debriefing I received, though some of them are unfamiliar to me. Still, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

  “What should we do?” I said, looking at the pirates as they sang and drank together. “Walk up to them and ask to join their crew?”

  Fingerprints shook his head. “No. Too obvious. Red Tide looks drunk, so I doubt he’s in any condition to listen to—”

  “Come on, man,” I said. “We don’t have all the time in the world to sit around and plan. Look, I’ll just go up to him and ask if we can join his crew. It’s that easy.”

  I turned to walked toward Red Tide, but then Fingerprints put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Wait. Red Tide is notorious for being hostile to strangers and—”

  I shrugged off Fingerprints’ hand. “I don’t care. I’ll make him let us join if he doesn’t want to. You can stay back here if you like.”

  Before Fingerprints could say anything else, I marched up to Red Tide’s table without fear or hesitation. I noticed that some of his crew members—including the Japanese man from before—were looking at me as I approached, but I ignored them in order to focus on Red Tide, who did indeed seem too drunk to pay attention to anything else around him except for the next swig of beer and his girls.