"That obvious?" Hughie looked at the window and got a face with the brows locked tight.
"Okay. Yeah. Pretty obvious."
He rubbed his face and muttered, "You have no idea what I have been through. First the mysterious man shows up at my door and threatens me. Then I watch my boss blow her ex into hamburger."
"Holy shit. Blood and meat flying everywhere. Straight out of a Hollywood gore flick. Top shelf too."
The second the picture hit him again, Hughie's stomach started doing flips.
He swallowed it down and snapped, "Shit. Good thing I shut my mouth in time. That stuff was one blink from landing on my tongue."
"Poor bastard." Frenchie next to him looked delighted.
"Best part is he worked his ass off for Neuman for a year and found out at the end she and Vought were the same shop." Butcher could not stop the laugh.
Hughie heard it and his face went black as a pan.
"Sorry. That is not a mock. That is a real laugh. The thing is actually funny. Hell joke of the year."
"Do what you want. I am pretending I did not hear it."
Hughie put on a face that said he did not care. What he wanted was to jump back a year and slap the shit out of himself.
Truth was his face burned. He had planned to use the Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs to knock Vought over. Turns out he had been Vought's errand boy for a year.
The thought made him want to put his head through the van wall.
"That said, Neuman can act. I kept wondering where she got the balls to go at Vought." Butcher glanced at the GPS on the right. A little over ten kilometers to New York Airport. "Harder to believe you have an actual brain sitting on that neck."
When it came to kicking a man while he was down, Butcher was a pro.
"I'll be honest. The old toilet in my basement works better than your head. At least I use that thing. You never use yours."
"All right. I am getting out." Hughie, cooked, yanked the inner handle.
Frenchie jumped in. "At least we know the Bureau is not solid. That counts as a win, yeah?"
"Thanks." Hughie tried the door a few more times, found it locked, and sat back with a dead face.
Behind the wheel, Butcher flicked a look at the lime-green vial in Hughie's hand through the rearview.
"You inject that yet? How's it feel?" Butcher narrowed his eyes.
"Not yet." Hughie shook his head, no energy in it.
"That is good news."
Butcher shifted like he had done it a thousand times, hit the gas, then pulled over.
"How many Temp V you holding?"
"Two."
Hughie said it after a beat.
"Ah, lovely." Butcher turned and put his right hand out. "Trust me, pal, you cannot handle that stuff. I hold it for you, alright? We might need it on this job."
"How many do you want?" Hughie was glad he had lied about the count. Tell the truth, and he might walk away with zero.
Sure enough, Butcher went for all of it.
"Ayee.. c'mon, son.. I want the lot!"
Russia was going to be ugly. They also had to watch for the mysterious man putting a knife in their backs.
What they had already lived through had taught Butcher that sonic weapons were not enough against supes.
He needed the same kind of power.
Temporary Compound V, short-term powers in a vial, looked like the only decent option on the table.
"When I need to inject, you do not stop me." Hughie locked onto Butcher and tightened his grip on the Temp V.
"We cross that when we get there. Nobody knows if Temporary Compound V leaves a mark. If we can skip it, we skip it."
Hughie sat with it a second, then handed the vial over.
The engine kicked. The van rolled.
Soon Butcher spotted the black Cadillac waiting at the meeting point.
He leaned on the horn, then turned. "Alright, lads. Grab your kit. The time has come!"
He put on the sunglasses, shoved the door open, and walked toward the Cadillac.
"Sir. Long time." Butcher stood at the window, mouth tipped up, and knocked on the glass.
The window slid down. Ivan's profile sat there in front of him.
"You've got some nerve, running a play on me behind my back." Ivan turned his head and smiled.
"I was younger then. Didn't know better."
Butcher's skin was thicker than a city wall. Not a hint of awkward on him. He greeted Ivan like this was normal.
"....."
"Forget it. I let the old business die. If you find the man I want, I can think about letting you walk."
With Butcher leading, Ivan boarded the private plane to Russia.
In the air.
Ivan asked, "You know where Soldier Boy is."
Butcher said, "No. Someone else does."
"Who?"
"Nina. This is her plane. Used to run both sides of the law in Russia. Then a government purge sent her running to America with her tail down." Butcher pushed a hand through his hair. "She still holds useful pieces. Including where Soldier Boy went that year."
"She did not just give you the pin?" Ivan's brow tightened.
"You want a lead off her, you help her kill a smuggling cunt first. Word is the man stole a chunk of her business."
Butcher lifted a hand and called the flight attendant.
"Coke. Please."
"You guys keep a wide book of work, huh?" Ivan smiled, then glanced out the window. Soft white clouds sat along both wings like thin gauze, close enough to touch.
"I have to correct you. That is not my book. That is Frenchie's. The man worked under Nina for more than ten years. Without him, I would never find her."
Frenchie heard his name and gave nothing back. His body was tight. He looked ready for Ivan in the opposite seat to move.
"Starlight told me that when Stormfront died, Homelander never left Vought Tower…"
Hughie watched Ivan as if the man might bite.
"The weird part is a second Homelander showed up outside and killed her."
"Heh. That was me." Ivan smiled straight into Hughie's eyes.
Every hair on Hughie's back stood up.
"Fuckity Fuck! You can wear Homelander's face?" The words came out before he could stop them.
___
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Read 12 Advance Chapters—P@t- Captain69