Free Killing Capes by Scott Mathy

it with Midas after trying to help stop a bank robbery; accidently hurt two security guards while fighting with Brigadier.”
    Dwight looked over the article as Ian went on about the details. There was a full-page picture of Midas, golden gauntlets shining brightly, decking Killstreak full in the face. The reaction on the amassed crowd was enough to tell Dwight it had been a complete sucker punch. Beneath the picture, a caption: “Heroic Midas foils second villain in single afternoon. Azure Streak taken into custody after endangering bank hostages.”
    “That was the last time he tried doing the hero thing. He’s had it out for Midas ever since. He dropped the blue costume for his red one right after.” Ian backed away from the keyboard.
    Dwight’s history lesson was over. He had the information he needed for tomorrow. Killstreak would do exactly what he needed him to. If Wulf wanted him dead, that was all that mattered. Dwight thanked Ian and went to bed. That night, he dreamed of a crimson blur, racing through the city streets.
     

Seven
     
     
     
    B crouched low behind the counter, playing with a box cutter he found on a nearby shelf. They had been waiting in the abandoned storefront for over an hour, and the boredom was killing him. Dwight was the thinker, the patient one . B, on the other hand, was the muscle, the doer.
    For the first few minutes, he had been fine. Then the sighing started. Then the groaning. Now, this: B took the knife to the side of the wooden counter, carving crude illustrations out of its surface. Dwight did his best to ignore him.
    If the profile was correct, it would only be another half-hour or so before Killstreak made his rounds. Earlier that afternoon, Dwight received the call from Wulf informing him that everything had been set up: the building had been cleared, and street traffic detoured around it. A few vague suggestions from Wulf was typically more than enough to get whatever he needed from city hall. Dwight had to rely on that for tonight’s operation to be successful.
    The entrance leading out of their hiding place into the streets was chosen carefully not only for its view of the road, but also the construction of the wall across from it. Wulf’s records of Killstreak’s nightly patterns placed them directly along his path.
    B gave another obnoxious moan.
    “Knock it off,” Dwight whispered, elbowing the huge man in the ribs.
    “This is crap, D.” his partner whined. “I’m ‘ere to punch things. If I’m not punching things, why did you even bring me along?”
    There were days Dwight felt like he was B’s babysitter. “You’re here because I need someone who can take a hit if this goes wrong. Now shut up and stay low. We only get one chance at this.”
    B resumed his carving. “Can’t I just ‘ave a go at him wiv me fists, like the last one?”
    Dwight readied the pistol at his hip, checking the cable release and the safety. “If I remember correctly, the Phoenix was beating your ass when I took that shot.”
    B snorted. “I would’a ‘ad ‘im if you’d missed.” His rough digging had taken shape as the logo of StarPoint. Dwight doubted that Wulf would have appreciated B’s creative replacement of the highest point with a semi-limp phallus.
    “Here, you can help with this,” Dwight said, pulling the line from the pistol and handing the steel spike to B. He carefully took it, avoiding the sharp edges. “Walk over there.”
    B did as he was told. “If you were jus’ gonna shoot ‘im, you could’a picked a bigger gun. Tha’ toy ain’ gonna drop ‘im.”
    As B turned around in the far corner, Dwight found a piece of wooden debris resting on the floor. He set the pistol, still connected to the wire in B’s hand, on the counter. Held tight over the distance of the room, the cable glistened in the moonlight flooding in from the street-side windows.
    Dwight casually tossed the wooden chunk through the air; it curved in a slight arc before hitting the