Wannabe
Heroes
By
Xoronewithnature ©
Chapter 1
I hate it
when IÕm right. Too many sirens were going off, too many police cars were
racing through the streets. And I knew something like this would happen. IÕd
had a feeling all day. Maybe they should call me Cassandra.
I saw the
gap, it looked about four lanes wide, and wondered if I should try and find
another way across. But then again, IÕd already fallen behind the cop cars. The
sirens disappeared for a second and instead all I could see was the back of a
billboard. I had about a second to decide whether or not to try and jump it.
Screw it.
I leapt
right at the edge of the building. Perfect form on this one, a real superman
look. I got to look down about nine stories, and wonder what anybody down there
would be thinking if they looked up right now.
ÒUp in the
sky! ItÕs a bird. ItÕs a plane. ItÕsÉÓ
A wannabe
hero. The thought brought a smile to my face, mostly because everyone down
below was probably watching the police cars tear through the street, sirens blazing.
Maybe in Metropolis people would look up, but not in the real world.
But, then
again in the real world twenty year old girls donÕt leap from building top to
building top. LifeÕs funny that way.
I
realized, somewhat to my own surprise, that I was going to make it. That was
some good news at least. It was my new personal best. Not that the fall would
kill me, but it would really, really hurt. I tucked my body in, let the force
of my jump pull me over to land rolling on the other building. Dust sprayed up
around me, and for a second I was lost. I looked up the street for the police
cars and saw nothing. But I still heard them.
I turned
around. I saw them just as they ducked under the highway. I guess I zigged when
I shouldÕve zagged. They were heading south, and I was on the northeast corner
of the intersection. The jump was still nice though, even if it put me on the
wrong side of the street.
However,
the jump also meant that IÕd got an even longer jump – six lanes, plus an
extra wide median. And the sirens were almost out of range. I resigned myself
to doing it the hard way.
The first
trick to teleportation is this: imagine the whole world moving around you.
YouÕre not moving, the world is. The second trick to teleportation is to
actually be able to do it.
I took a
deep breath. I held it. I closed my eyes. There was the familiar lurch of
motion, like being flung by a catapult. But thereÕs a certain stillness to it
thatÕs hard to explain. ItÕs like youÕre tightly bound from head to foot, and
then flung by a catapult.
I opened
my eyes. I was on the far building. I had quite a run ahead of me. I took a
second to pull myself together. Jumping ninety feet is exhilarating.
Teleporting is just draining.
I couldnÕt
afford to rest. So I took off with long strides over the rooftops. I ran
through a rooftop garden, just as the owner was emerging from his door. I
touched down in his garden for one step before I was over his head. Barely over
his head. I looked back and he was cringing, his dropped watering can beside him.
Oops.
I had to
make one more teleportation to avoid a particularly tall building. This time
just to the other side of the street, and I could tell I was near where the
police cars had stopped. I still couldnÕt shake the feeling that this was going
to be bad.
My heart
sank as I got nearer. It was a nice part of town, near Wall Street. It was a
bank robbery, I was sure of it. Two more buildings, and I was at top speed,
taking them in three or four strides each.
Even
though, I was racing toward god-knows-what I couldnÕt help but think of the guy
back at the rooftop. He looked like Brian.
For a
second I felt a knot in my stomach, afraid that he might have recognized me.
Then I remembered that like any good hero, I wear a mask.
***
It was my
grandmotherÕs. I donÕt remember much about her, I was so young and she didnÕt
speak any English. I knew a little Japanese when I was younger, but even then
it wasnÕt much. My mom never showed any real interest in teaching me. She
wanted to forget about anything before New York and my father. ThatÕs why I got
named Jessie. It sounded so American.
When my
grandma died all we got was a UPS man at our door. There was a note in the box.
In curt Japanese letters it read ÒMother is dead.Ó There were no phone calls,
no more visits. It seems my mother burned most of the bridges with her family.
When grandma died, that was it. My Japanese roots were severed except for two
things: my looks, and the contents of the UPS box.
It was a
geisha mask. I still remember the look that my mother had when she took it out
of the box. Or the look she had later, when it sat on the kitchen table. Her
eyes were red from tears, but she couldnÕt take them away from the mask. She
eyed it as if it were something dangerous. Every inch of her looked like she
was ready to throw it out the nearest window. But she didnÕt. Instead she just
stared at it, like she was afraid to look away.
I do think
the only reason she didnÕt throw it away was because it was mine. On the back
my grandmother had, with great care, written my name. To a large extent
everything I know about my grandmother comes from the way she wrote my name. It
was crisp and clean – surprising considering how old she was. It was
painted with the same brush my grandmother used for her elegant Japanese
calligraphy. And it was misspelled – J-E-S-E. Grandmother never really
got the hang of English.
My mother
gave it to me that evening.
ÒHide it,Ó
she said Òand donÕt ever let me see it.Ó
We never
spoke about grandmother or Japan again.
***
I remember
I used to think how odd it looked. I was sixteen at the time, and knew what a
geisha was supposed to be. This looked different. The lips were full and red
and the skin was pale and white, but the eyes. They werenÕt the kind of eyes
you would expect to see on a geisha mask. They werenÕt enticing or innocent
– they were dangerous.
I would
sit in my room and remember grandma, the little old Japanese lady. Her small
eyes. Her grey hair, pulled back with a tight piece of fabric. Those strange
Japanese robes. Her hands, surprisingly strong and confident. Her smile –
the deceptively senile smile that she always wore, even when she and Mom
argued.
I could
never really get a feel for the gist of their arguments, just that the words
ÒfamilyÓ and ÒhonorÓ came up way to much – a combination that made me
feel guilty for being half American.
I knew the
mask was special the first time I put it on. There was no way to attach it, no
strings, no nothing. It was just a shaped and painted piece of wood. I slid it
over my face. It fit too perfectly. It felt like it was wearing me. I let my
hands slide away and the mask stayed put, as if it were my own face. I went to
my mirror.
I had to
admit it was beautiful. My unruly black hair, pulled into a high pony tail
contrasted with the pale white of the mask. My hair that stuck out from its
pony tail confinement at weird angles looked, for once, right. I couldnÕt help
but think how I looked like a model, my hair carefully styled into a disheveled
mess.
It was the
eyes, now my eyes, that caught me off guard. They looked stunningly beautiful.
The thought, that the mask made me look, dare I say, gorgeous, made me smile.
And the
mask smiled as well.
And I
screamed.
By the
time my mother burst in the mask was under my bed, back in the box I hid it in.
I didnÕt
put the mask again for a long while.
***
I finally
came up to where the police cars were gathered – Chase Manhattan. A bank
robbery. I hate it when IÕm right.
The cops
were having trouble getting close to the bank. The first reason was the most
obvious. It looked like there had been a massive accident, cars were piled up
outside of the bank. It would have looked like an accident, that is, if there
werenÕt two sets of cars each blocking off one side of the street. In between
the two blockades was a large armored car, driven up on the curve at the bottom
of the stairs that led up to the bank.
The second
reason was that there were intense bursts of fully automatic fire being sprayed
from the front of the building. The police knew they were outgunned and had the
good sense to keep their heads down.
The news
helicopters had already started to circle.
I
recognized the robbers. Another knot in my stomach. They looked like robots,
like something out of a cheesy sci-fi movie. But they werenÕt. They were battle
suits, the highest of high tech, evidently paid for through jobs such as these.
I
remembered when I first started to have delusions of being a hero I fought a
guy in a suit like this. Some small time thug had found himself in possession
of the suit and had started using it to push himself up in the criminal
underworld ranks.
He was
clumsy and stupid. He didnÕt know how to use the suit and still almost killed
me. I got lucky, he must have hit the auto-eject. One minute he was hitting me
with law rockets, the next he was in the air. The fall broke his neck. He never
was able to tell anyone where he got the suit.
I thought
about keeping it. One never knows when such a thing will become useful.
Besides, I was studying mechanical engineering, and the suit looked like neat
fodder for an undergraduate project. ÒSuper strong materials and their uses in
crime,Ó or something like that. A girl needs her toys.
However, I
also didnÕt want to make enemies with whoever made the suit. I wasnÕt ready.
As it was,
the suit had gone from the police lock-up later that week. I never did get the
full story on that. However, it looked like that story was back to haunt me.
Only now
it was more than one. And this time they looked trained and disciplined. But on
the other hand, I was getting better at this crime fighting thing myself.
I tried
not dwell on it.
The firing
stopped. A voice came over a loud speaker.
ÒClear the
airspace or we start taking down helicopters.Ó
I looked
up. At this point several helicopters had made the scene. Looked like people
were already missing their regularly scheduled programming. Every news service
in the city had a chopper hovering above the mayhem.
I could
see, even from this height, the nervous wave that went through the police. At
the far edge of the swarm of cop cars I made out a pale blue Oldsmobile with a
siren on top. I closed my eyes, tried to imagine what the interior looked like.
The stained leather interior. The chain link grill that separated the backseat
from the front. The gruff and slightly overweight detective who was probably in
the driverÕs seat.
ÒHoly
shit.Ó
I opened
my eyes. I was in the back seat. He seemed to be a little shaken.
ÒHoly
crap, you scared the shit out of me.Ó He wiped the sweat from his brow. His
hands were still shaking. ÒYou canÕt do that to me. Soon, I wonÕt have any shit
left.Ó He laughed nervously at his own joke. He didnÕt turn to look at me, just
watched me in the rear view mirror.
I just
smiled, a small twitch at the edge of my lips. I was now in full role playing
mode. I was the confident and mysterious superhero. He was my guy on the force.
My commissioner Gordon. Well, my detective Gordon.
He was
trying to light a cigarette. His hands were still shaking too much. I closed my
eyes again. I was in the passengerÕs seat. He jumped again, not as much this
time, but did drop his cigarette lighter.
I picked
it up and lit it. He just looked at it, unsure of what to do, both hands up as
if I was pointing a gun at him. Finally, he brought his cigarette forward and lit
it. I flipped his lighter closed and placed it on the dash. He took a long drag
from his cigarette, watching me from the corners of his eyes.
I tried to
look calm. I sat with my legs crossed, hands in lap. I was just sitting in a
car, like any other day. A shot cracked in the air over our heads.
ÒI thought
you gave up smoking.Ó I wanted to kick myself. I was trying to act like a
superhero, and here I was making small talk.
He looked
at his cigarette, a little surprised. He smiled.
ÒDonÕt you
know, IÕm just your stereotypical detective. I quit yesterday.Ó He pushed the
butt into the ash tray.
There was
a short pause as he rolled down his window and blew smoke outside. Over the
burst of chatter from the police radio, I heard more gunfire.
ÒI bet you
want to know who they are.Ó He wasnÕt looking at me, he was looking out his
window.
I just
stayed silent. No more amateur small talk for me. Think superhero, Jessie,
think superhero.
ÒThe short
answer is I donÕt know. The longer answer is: I think that somebody does. The
suit you gave me, the one you took off that small timer, well, it got
requisitioned.Ó He exaggerated every syllable – Òreq-ui-si-tioned.Ó
ÒIt was
some sort of formal intra-agency bullshit IÕd never heard of before. I never
got the straight of it, but some Washington guy flashed his badge in the
chiefÕs office and by the end of the day my evidence was gone.
ÒNot that
we had many leads. I showed it to the techies in the basement, and they
couldnÕt figure the damn thing out. They said theyÕd never seen anything so
tough.Ó
I
remembered the impact of my fist on the metal. The impact of the metal on me.
ÒThey
wanted to try shooting at it on the range, but even I knew that was probably
mishandling evidence. They were pretty damn sure the thing would come through
undamaged though. IÕve told our officers to keep their heads down and try and
not get shot. Hopefully theyÕre listening, because I donÕt think theyÕre going
to be hurting those suits with anything smaller than a small tactical nuke.
ÒIÕve
heard they call themselves ÔThe Soldiers.Õ Guess that sounds better than ÔThe
RobbersÕ or ÔThe Thieves.Õ Sounds almost romantic the way they say it.Ó
He turned
to face me.
ÒIÕm
almost positive that I canÕt talk you out of fighting, but you should be
careful. You donÕt have toÉÓ
I was
already back on the roof. The one thing I couldnÕt stand hearing was his
concern for me. It broke my heart to see him worried about me. He was supposed
to be foul-mouthed, unshaven, and surly, yet he was soft when it came to me
being in danger. It was the one thing I couldnÕt stand about putting my life on
the line – the thought that somebody would miss me. Even without
Detective EastÕs concern I was scared. I guess thatÕs why I went out of my way
to scare him. Thinking about the way he jumped made me smile. That cheered me
enough that I was ready to fight.
It was a
good thing I was ready.
I saw
someone on the roof of the bank with a shoulder fired rocket. It was one of the
soldiers. I looked up and saw a lone helicopter. It was circling high, but
still hadnÕt pulled off. It was a news chopper, and I had a sinking suspicion
who it was. Every major city has its reporter whoÕs trying to make it big. New
York has more than itÕs fair share. After all, if you can make it here, well,
yeah.
Then there
was Luis Lla–o, investigative reporter at large. He was kind of like Walter
Cronkite and Geraldo Rivera in one package – informative and exploitive.
The
soldier on the roof took aim at the helicopter. I tensed up, froze. A loud shot
rang out. It sounded as if it came from the building beneath me. The man on the
roof stumbled as if something had struck him. A police sniper must have seen
him. The helicopter obviously hadnÕt. There was another shot and the soldier
stumbled again, but his armored suit was to strong, even for the sniper rifle.
It was a losing battle. The soldier recovered too quickly, aimed and fired.
I didnÕt
even have time to think. Luckily my body had a plan. There was the familiar
lurch and I was in the helicopter.
ÒAs you
can see, the scene on the ground is sheer pandemonium.Ó He pronounced each word
precisely, articulately, with just a hint of his Latin accent.
ÒThe
police areÉ Who are you?Ó There was no panic in his voice, his rhythm didnÕt
even change, the same careful tone. You have to admire that kind of
professionalism.
There were
three others in the tiny helicopter, camera man, pilot and Luis. I grabbed the
pilots jacket and the camera manÕs collar. Then I looked at Luis. The rocket
was on its way. Three men and two arms. I panicked. I kicked him. He was
standing in front of the open door of the chopper, connected to the ceiling by
a safety cord. The force of the blow sent him out the door and snapped the
cable.
ÒI think I
broke his ribÉÓ I sheepishly admitted to the cameraman. I teleported. I took
the cameraman and pilot with me. I was on the roof, the two men were on the
ground beside me, confused. I looked back over my shoulder. The helicopter
exploded.
Blink.
I was in
open air. Luis was screaming, struggling. I tried not to look down. I tried to
grab onto one of his flailing limbs, but fear made him uncooperative. He lashed
out with his foot, hit me in the face. It caught me off guard. It didnÕt hurt
but did manage to send us spinning away from each other.
I tried to
reorient myself, tried to stop spinning. He was still flailing. His coat and
limbs were flapping wildly. And he was still moving away from me. I managed to
slow my spin, and angle myself towards him. I floated closer towards him.
Then I
looked down.
The street
was sickeningly close.
I was
close to Luis again. My arm darted out and tried to grab at him. I missed. I
started to spin again. As I came around from the spin, I tried again. I felt
something in my hand.
Blink.
I was on
the rooftop. Luis was on his knees, I had his jacket sleeve in my hand. His
face was white, and his mouth was a wide silent ÔO.Õ He looked up and me and
tried to say something, or at least his bottom lip moved. Quivered perhaps.
His
expression changed to puzzlement. He looked me up and down. His eyes widened
and he looked at me accusingly.
ÒYou
pushed me out of my helicopter.Ó
Then Luis
Lla–o passed out.
I looked
up. The pilot and the cameraman were standing, watching me wearily, keeping a
careful distance from me. I couldnÕt help but notice the pilotÕs headgear still
on his head, plug dangling at his side.
ÒHelp him
down, would you.Ó I gestured to Luis. They nodded dumbly. I walked toward the
edge of the building overlooking the front of the bank.
ÒDid our
helicopter just explode?Ó It was the cameraman. I didnÕt turn around. A smile
crept over me face. Remember, think superhero, Jessie.
ÒYes.Ó
There was
a pause. I stood on the edge of the building.
ÒAre we
dead?Ó
My smile
grew.
ÒNo.Ó
I leapt
off the side of the building.
I couldnÕt
help but think, ÒAt least I made my exit look good.Ó
I was
aiming for the armored truck. Soldiers were throwing duffel bags into the back.
Some were taking potshots at cop cars. All were on the far side of the car. I
saw my spot. It was by the near side front wheel.
I concentrated,
and I felt the ground under my feet.
I was
crouched beside a large tire. The armored car looked bigger now that I was
right beside it. My strategy was simple – take away their escape route.
That meant destroying the car. It would at least be easier than dealing with
any gun-wielding, armor-plated militants. Seeing the car up close I wasnÕt so
sure it was going to be as easy as I hoped. It was stronger than expected. Then
again, so am I.
I
carefully raised myself onto the step at the base of the driverÕs side door. I
looked into the side mirror and saw a driver. It looked like he was gesturing
to somebody.
I took a
deep breath and tried to clear my head. Strategy one: take out vehicle.
Strategy two: take on these guys one at a time. DonÕt let them gang up on me. I
know I can take one. I remembered what the missiles felt like, the heat washing
over me, the force driving me to the ground. I stopped thinking.
I stood up
and punched both arms through the window. It shattered. The driver tried to
pull away. I grabbed for a handhold where his helmet met broad metal shoulders.
I got one. I pulled but the window was too small, only his head came through.
Instead the whole door buckled at the impact and the car rocked violently. I
yanked once more and the door ripped free with a metallic screech. I grabbed
the edge of the door, and swung. He struggled but his head was still stuck
through the tiny window opening. I threw him as hard as I could. He sailed
toward the bank entrance, and hit one of the heavy columns that lined the
front. It cracked, and he spun off it violently. I heard glass shattering as he
went through the front windows.
The
shooting stopped.
Well,
Jessie, you have their attention.
The
response was deafening. The car shook violently as bullets ricocheted off it.
Another lull in the firing. I looked up. Some of the soldiers seemed to have
run off, but others were approaching, large fully automatic rifles in their
hands.
I looked
around. I was on the curb, in front of me were a long line of parking meters.
Behind me I heard soldiers starting to run toward the car. I grabbed the
nearest parking meter. The cement cracked at the base, and then crumbled away
as the meter pulled free. I stepped around the corner of the truck and swung it
at the startled charging soldier. The impact jarred me and leveled the soldier.
The meter burst into a fine mist of quarters. I dove back behind the truck as
two soldiers opened fire.
It
occurred to me then that destroying parking meters was probably a crime of some
sort. Destruction of public property or something like that. Funny what you
think about when fighting for your life.
Their
shooting took out the tires. The whole truck tilted wildly as it sunk down to
the rims. I was happy – they were doing my job for me. I saw the leg of
the soldier I had hit with the parking meter. It looked as if he was beginning
to get up. I needed to buy myself a little more time to disable the engine. I
sneaked a look around the corner. I saw a soldier, his rifle trained on my
position. He saw me too. A burst of automatic fire tore into the side of the
car. The soldier on the ground was dazed, looking for his gun. I couldnÕt see
it, and didnÕt feel like poking my head out to look. Instead I grabbed the
soldierÕs leg and dragged him behind the car with me. He struggled weakly. I
now had myself a shield.
I pulled
him to his feet and carried him out from behind the corner of the car. The
soldier opened fire on me again. The impact against the armor plating nearly
pushed me over. It felt like trying to hold back a train.
Click.
The
shooting stopped. I snuck a peek over my shieldÕs shoulder. The soldier was
reloading. My shield was starting to struggle a little too hard. The impact
must have woken him up. I put my foot in the mid of his back and kicked
forward.
My aim was
better than I thought. He flew forward and caught the reloading soldier in the
chest. The two landed hard on the front steps of Chase Manhattan.
I was by
the huge back doors of the truck. Black duffel bags were piled up inside, and
one lay torn on the sidewalk. The wind carried away the front page of the New
York Times. I looked but didnÕt really believe it. The duffels were filled with
newspaper.
I couldnÕt
dwell on it. One of the soldiers must have gone around the far side of the
truck in order to ambush me. It worked.
The
bullets caught me in the chest and barreled me backward to my knees. I was on
all fours and tried to stand when the next burst hit. I was on the ground. It
was getting harder to breathe.
He
underestimated me. He gave me a second's reprieve. The world shifted and I was
behind him. He didnÕt hesitate. It was if he knew I was there. His elbow caught
me in the stomach, knocked the wind out of me. I was gasping for breath when
the butt of his rifle caught me in the chin. My head snapped back. I saw sky.
He threw down the rifle. The force had sheared it in half. I didnÕt see the
next punch. I just saw his weight shift, a blurring at the edge of my vision.
The impact. The ground.
I tried to
shift away, teleport to safety. A kick to the stomach kept me where I was. Then
I heard the strangest thing. Somebody was booing. Lots of people were booing.
The cops.
I almost
felt like laughing.
I coughed
up blood.
IÕm a
superhero. Lets give them something to cheer about.
I rolled
with the next kick, used it to get to my knees.
My vision
was a narrow tunnel. All I could see was the shift of his weight. The blurring
at the edge of my vision. I snapped my head back, the punch missed, I brought
my hands up in a double fist where I hoped his chin would be.
The impact
hurt. It hurt a lot. I just hoped it hurt him more.
He
staggered backward a step. I pivoted, used the force to power my kick. He hit
the truck. Then he went through it. The back left door spun off its hinges, and
duffel bags spilled out. Newspaper flew across the street. ThatÕs when I saw
the bomb.
I didnÕt
recognize it at first. It was a mess of wires and steel drums. I guess it
clicked when the soldier skittered to his feet and ran toward the bank. This
was a decoy. They were getting out another way. The thought ÒI am going to dieÓ
kept getting in the way of my reasoning.
I needed
to disable the bomb. I wasnÕt thinking, but I knew. It was not only going to
kill me, it was going to kill everyone in the area. ThatÕs what it was supposed
to do. I tried to force open the other door, but it ripped away in my hand. I
was not thinking clearly.
The
barrels. I knew I needed to get rid of them. I climbed into the back past the
duffels. The bomb was silent and menacing.
I would
have preferred a red L.C.D. timer.
Four
barrels were wired to a clear Plexiglas box. Inside were circuitry and white
clay. A little red light glowed on top. ItÕs booby trapped. Somewhere my
conscious mind was screaming at me.
I
remembered the jump. How it felt. The new record. Exhilarating. Soaring, like
Superman.
Screw it.
I grabbed
the Plexiglas box and jumped as far as I could. The wires snapped almost
instantly. Heat. I thought about the first time I fought the soldier suits. The
missiles. I remembered it was like being at the center of the sun.
Like now.
I had
wondered why none of the soldiers had fired any at me near the truck. It was
almost funny now. They werenÕt fighting me very hard because they were just
planning on blowing the whole thing up.
It was
getting very dark. Black was swirling all around me.
It
occurred to me that perhaps this explosion was meant for me. It did seem like a
little bit of overkill to deal with New YorkÕs finest. Well if it was meant for
me, IÕd humored them.
The
darkness overcame me, swallowed me.
And all I
could think about was rooftop gardens.
***
ÒI brought
you some water.Ó
I opened
my eyes. Between Brian and me sat a glass of water. He was standing as far away
as the cramped little garden allowed him to. He still looked uncomfortable
being that close.
I pulled
myself up. The world did a lazy spin. I decided I might want to sit back down.
He just
watched as I took the glass.
ÒYou were
on the news.Ó There was a strange flatness to his voice.
ÒI
figured.Ó I tried not to feel to giddy. It was easier than I thought. I hurt
too much. ÒThey havenÕt done anything bigger than page three before this.Ó I
wanted to kick myself. I was sounding a little to eager.
ÒFollowing
your own rise to stardom? Sounds a little narcissistic.Ó His smile looked
forced.
I didnÕt
have a good superhero response. He seemed uncomfortable with the silence. I was
just trying not to say anything else stupid.
ÒPeople on
the news were trying to figure out whether you were alive or not. They had a
bomb squad guy saying that the police on the scene were only alive because the
bomb malfunctioned. When they asked about you he just did the Ôno commentÕ
thing everybody else has been doing.Ó
ÒMalfunctioned?Ó
I guess there wasnÕt anyway they could know.
ÒHe didnÕt
get too specific. Luis Lla–o was calling you a reckless vigilante. He said you
almost killed everyone on the scene with your little stunt.Ó
ÒLittle
stunt?Ó I had been reduced to repeating him with a dazed expression on my face.
ÒI donÕt
know what he thinks would have happened anyways. ItÕs not like that wasnÕt
going to go off or something.Ó
I didnÕt
mean to cry. I didnÕt mean to be here. I didnÕt even know Brian. He was just a
face at school. I didnÕt know his last name.
ÒAre you
okay?Ó The flatness was gone. He sounded like he was talking to a human being.
I pulled
my knees to my eyes. I was thinking too much. All the not-thinking had caught
up to me. I was thinking about school. About faceless metal soldiers. I was
thinking petty thoughts. About Luis Lla–o, about the nameless man from the bomb
squad.
I felt a
timid hand on my knee.
My body
tensed at his touch.
ÒIÕm sorry
I called you narcissistic.Ó
A little
laugh despite my tears. His apology just sounded so earnest. I didnÕt know how
else to react.
ÒI just
tend to believe the worst about famous people. I think its resentment, or
jealousy, or something. I want to believe that at least IÕm a better person.Ó
I looked
at him over my knees, and for the first time, I really looked at BrianÕs face.
He was worried, I could see that in his eyes, at the corners. There was
something very serious at the point between his brows, and right at the corners
of his lips. He wiped a tear from my mask. I donÕt think I moved, I donÕt think
I even breathed. He didnÕt seem to even notice it was a mask, he seemed too
focused on me.
I stood
up.
He did
too, surprised.
I turned
and jumped to the next building. I didnÕt mean to look back. I didnÕt mean to
look at BrianÕs face. He just watched me go. He didnÕt say anything. He just
looked betrayed.
Chapter 2
The interior of J.R.'s was
bright and gaudy, an ill-conceived attempt to mix a Manhattan bar with a Dallas rerun.
"I was hoping you would
come." Lana was holding a nearly empty beer bottle. It didn't look like
her first. She seemed overly chipper, her speech a little faster than normal.
"This is Jessie,
everyone." She turned toward the table that she was standing in front of.
There were six people, people I barely knew. I thought I knew one or two names.
"She goes to school with
me; we're sharing an apartment. She's going to be an engineer, very smart.
She's always studying; I hardly see her at night. So everyone this is a rare
treat to see Jessie without her nose in a book."
She had put her arm around my
back and was steering me towards an empty chair. As she did, she whispered, or
tried to whisper in my ear.
"Did you bring school
stuff, here?" She sounded scandalized, pointing at the small black duffel
that I was holding. I nodded. That sounded more reasonable than superhero
stuff. She made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
"Well, at least you look
good." I hadn't even had a chance to dress up. My hair was still tied up
from jumping around the city, and I had slipped on some dark green bulky cargo
pants over my costume. All I had done was change into a dark tank top. I looked
into a nearby mirror. It was lucky I had a forgiving physique.
Lana had once said I could
have been a swimsuit model if only I had a pair of double D's. Other than that,
the superhero game kept me in pretty good shape. The image in the mirror had
the surprisingly wide shoulders and shapely arms of an athlete, as well as the
nice stomach. I actually cut a pretty imposing figure. I stood a few inches shy
of six feet, despite my Japanese ancestry. In that department I took after my
father, or so I was told.
Lana sat me down and went off
to order another round. The conversation had stopped and Lana's friends were
looking at me.
"Hi." It was the
only thing I could think to say.
"So you're Lana's
roommate?" I recognized him; his name was Sam. He was leaning back in his
chair, dressed in a sharp black suit.
"Yes."
He seemed to be waiting for
me to say something more. When it became clear that I couldn't think of what
else to say he tried again.
"So you're an
engineer?"
"Yes."
My brain was struggling to
make the transition between monosyllabic superhero banter to normal
conversation. Sam was still waiting.
"Mechanical." Sam
just stared at me blankly.
"I'm studying to be a
mechanical engineer." It was a minor victory.
ÒThatÕs great.Ó His response
was dry, patronizing. He turned quickly back to the rest of the table. I felt
out of my social depth, which at the moment appeared to be second grade.
Lana returned breathless,
waiter in tow. She seemed to stumble into the edge of the table, her tipsy
rapidly approaching drunk. It was three in the afternoon.
ÒHave you seen the news?
TheyÕve got more footage of the bridge thing.Ó
I winced. ÒThe bridge thingÓ
had not gone well. All in all, it had been a crappy morning.
The waiter put his tray on the
table and turned up the volume of a nearby set.
It was footage from a
helicopter circling over the pandemonium. It was the same M.O. as before, cars
pushed aside and formed into a crude barrier. Blue and red lights rimmed the
aerial shot, police cars and boats. However, the camera was focused on the
school bus in the center. This time they had taken hostages.
ÒThis kidnapping, weÕve
learned, was in retaliation for the reckless vigilantism displayed at the Chase
Manhattan bombingÓ
I didnÕt have to hear the
slight South American accent to know who it was. Just wait until the next time
you need saving Lla–o. The television showed a still of me ÒattackingÓ Luis
Lla–oÕs cameraman in his helicopter. It was, needless to say, unflattering.
ÒIs he implying the kidnapping
or the bombing was her fault?Ó The waiter was passing out the drinks.
ÒI think both.Ó I was too
stunned to say more.
ÒWhy donÕt you just give us
our drinks,Ó SamÕs smile was not pleasant.
ÒSam!Ó Lana laughed a little
too loudly ÒItÕs alright he goes to school with us. DonÕt you, Brian?Ó
I tried to disappear. I
hadnÕt even recognized him.
ÒOh, another NYU student,
well weÕre sure to be fast friends.Ó SamÕs disingenuous smile bore into Brian.
Brian shut up, and collected his tray. He left quickly.
The others were watching the
TV.
ÒWhy does she dress like
that, all black with those ribbons hanging off her, it looks soÉ soÉ goth.Ó It
was a girl I met before, Casey. I had been going for ninja chic. Like she could
do better with some black workout clothes, athletic tape, and some red and
white fabric? ItÕs not like I know how to make a costume.
Sam chuckled and put his arm
around Casey's shoulders.
ÒIt looks pretty good to me.Ó
Lana said, ÒWhat do you think Brian?Ó
Brian had just come back to
the table to give Lana her tab.
ÒUmÉÓ he glanced at the TV.
ÒUmÉ I think she—Ó
ÒYes, Brian, please grace us
with your opinions.Ó Sam was still smiling. The girl that he was holding
laughed.
Brian just stared at him for
a second, sullen, and turned to leave.
ÒNo, really what do you
think?Ó I think I was the most surprised when I said it.
His gaze snapped toward me,
probing for insincerity. IÕm not sure what he saw instead, I didnÕt even know
what I was feeling, but his face softened.
ÒI thought she looked good,
umÉ like a superhero.Ó
ÒA superhero!Ó Sam laughed
like it was the funniest thing heÕd ever heard. Lana laughed too, though IÕm
not sure, in her state, what she was laughing at. Brian just stood there, eyes
blazing at Sam.
ÒTo be fair, the whole
Ôbridge thingÕ is pretty amazing.Ó It was one of LanaÕs other friends, a broad
shouldered guy with short curly hair, and the beginnings of a beer gut. I
thought his name was Tim, or was it Jim? ÒI could really see you splice ÔBoffÕ
or ÔWamÕ into it.Ó
Sam looked appalled. ÒSuperheroes!
This is the real world! I mean, even fake superheroes donÕt live in New York,
they live in Gotham or Metropolis, they live in fake New Yorks!Ó
ÒDaredevil protects Hell
Kitchen.Ó I couldnÕt help myself.
ÒAnd Spider-ManÕs a New
Yorker.Ó It was another of LanaÕs friends.
Sam looked annoyed. I guess
he thought the absurdity of his argument would end it.
ÒShe punched out a bus.Ó I
think his name was Tim.
ÒShe dove out of the way.Ó
Sam sounded exasperated that this conversation was even occurring.
I wanted to chime in, but I
had said too much already. I was annoyed that they were getting it wrong, that
the news reports hadnÕt had better footage. It was clear that I dove out of the
way and then ripped the front tire off the bus as I rolled by.
Lana gesticulated excitedly,
ÒOh, I love this part! ItÕs like something out of a Clint Eastwood movie.Ó
The TV camera panned from the
bus to the edge of the cars. It zoomed in to the point where the steady cam
could no longer cope. The little figure in black, white and red looked so tiny
on the shaky shot. She stood motionless and then began to make the long walk
toward the bus.
One soldier waited in the
middle of the bridge.
Lana turned excitedly toward
the table, ÒI wonder what they said?Ó It was the same question a TV ÔexpertÕ
was discussing. I didnÕt have to wonder.
***
He loomed over me in his
powered armor.
The early morning wind
whipped passed me, made the long red cord I wore around my neck snap and pull
in the wind. I took all the courage I could muster to break the silence.
ÒIÕm here now, let the
children go.Ó It was the most heroic thing I could think to say.
His voice was hollow and
metallic, with only a deeply buried hint of humanity.
ÒSo the little Geisha talks.Ó
IÕd hated that nickname from
the first moment their demands made the airwaves.
ÒIt took me a long time to understand how you could,Ó he
stopped seeming to search for the proper term Òtravel like you did.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó
He ignored my interruption.
ÒBut now that I know its possible it should only be a matter of time before I
can harness your unique gift.Ó
ÒWhat does my teleportation
have to do with those kids?Ó
ÒEverything.Ó
I didnÕt understand how he
got the jump on me, I was usually more careful. I didnÕt even see that he was
armed. I tried to grab the gun he raised. He fired into my stomach. An arc of
electricity deposited me onto sticky melted asphalt a good thirty feet away. My
body was locked into a rigid fetal position. My vision swam as he approached
me. He knelt his cold metal mask inches from my face. I could feel a discharge
of hot air from the grill on the front of his mask, like a car's radiator.
***
ÒWhy does the screen go all
fuzzy like that?Ó Lana brought me back to the present. ÒOne minute they're face
to face and the next sheÕs on the ground.Ó The picture on the TV screen showed
what Lana had described. Two figures tiny in the cameraÕs eye, then a picture
that looked like unpaid pay-per-view. When the picture reappeared it was green,
then purple and finally snapped back to grainy color. One figure on the ground,
a soldier above her.
ÒBecause he knocks her to the
ground.Ó Maybe it was Jim, and not Tim.
ÒIÕm not asking why sheÕs on
the ground; IÕm asking why the camera goes all strange.Ó Lana snapped.
ÒIt did that in the other TV
footage too.Ó Sam mused almost inaudibly.
ÒI use to do some A/V stuff
in high school; equipment goes on the fritz all the time.Ó He didnÕt seem to
hear Sam, and his name I decided was definitely Jim.
Sam seemed too deep in
thought to reply.
***
Other soldiers were gathering
around. I felt myself being hauled up from behind. The only thing I could hear
was the sound like static between radio stations. The world was full of colored
blobs that refused to come into focus. It was as if my brain were in the long
process of rebooting. It took me a moment to realize that the commander was
still talking.
"...can't be created or
destroyed, but moved..."
I blinked but the world still
looked small, distorted and distant. It was like I was staring through a fish
eye lens.
"...like a wave, energy
passing through the neighborhood of matter..."
We were walking towards a bus
that looked toy-sized, and maybe ten miles away. The commander's metallic mask
filled my vision.
"...all those atoms keep
changing, but you remain a little geisha. Have you ever wondered about that?
Why don't you end up a radioactive cloud of carbon?"
I couldn't really concentrate
on what he was saying, so I didn't answer. Instead I just head butted him.
Suddenly, I was face down on the concrete, the weight of two armored suits on
top of me. A big metal fist impacted my back, just above my kidneys. I closed
my eyes, tried to ignore the pain. I envisioned the spot high up on the bridges
support towers from which I'd been watching. I tried to imagine what it would be
like to be there, feel the bricks under my feet, and the cold morning wind in
my hair. I tried to teleport.
Nothing.
I was hauled up again. A thin
crack split the middle of the commander's opaque visor. He threw his head back,
but all I heard was distorted laughter, drained of any mirth. He turned and
started toward the bus again. I was prodded to follow by my escort's gun. At
least the lecturing had stopped.
I could see a soldier wedged
into the driverÕs seat. The weight of his suit had caused the seat to come
unbolted from the floor. Balanced on its remaining two bolts the chair
tenuously supported him, but leaned backward dangerously, threatening to dump
him back into the seats behind him. The "driver" pulled on a lever
and the door swung open. The commander turned sideways so his suit's wide
shoulders could fit through the doorway. I was shoved in next.
Their faces were pathetically
small. They looked over the backs of their seats, and down the aisle. They
disappeared as the commander squeezed down the center aisle. He kept going to
the emergency exit at the back where he could see the cops behind the makeshift
barricade.
The whole bus shook as the
two other soldiers followed me in. One grabbed my wrists and pulled them behind
my back. I tried to struggle, but little children were everywhere and I
couldn't turn around in the narrow confines of the central aisle. It felt like
weights were being strapped to my arms. It only took a second and then I was
released. My hands seem to be encased in a solid hunk of iron behind me.
"Now we talk some more,
and you don't interrupt," the commander said, still looking away from me
out the back of the bus.
"Are we really talking
if all I can do is listen?" Unable to push it back up, I blew a strand of
hair away from my face.
His shoulders shook gently,
as if we were laughing under the suit. No sound escaped. "A fine
rhetorical distinction." He turned to face me with his featureless mask.
"Alright, I talk, you listen."
The children were elementary
age. All look terrified and uncertain, but the one closest to me, a little boy
in a red sweater was staring at me wide eyed.
"When you want to move
from here to there what do you do in your mind?"
His circumlocution was
confusing. I tried to remember where I'd heard someone speak like that.
"What do I think?"
"Yes, what do you do in
your mind?"
It came to me suddenly. It
was the way someone who is still learning English speaks. "I think about
where I want to go, what it would feel like to be there, and then..."
"And then you go,"
He seemed to be nodding along. Despite the distortion that the heavy mask
caused in his voice I seemed to hear a hint of smug satisfaction. "And no
nothing else?"
I just stared into the flat
featureless panel that covered his face, and at the thin crack that ran
vertically along it. "And no nothing else," I said finally.
The red sweater boy looked
up. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He noticed my sidelong glance.
"Are you here to save
us?" He whispered it a little too loudly.
"Yes." The
commander and I stared at each other, each of us having spoken in unison. I
tried to see past the leaded glass.
The commander started again.
"Normally, the little Geisha fights for this." He whipped something
from one of the hidden compartments in his suit. There was no way to shy away
from it in the cramped corners. It slapped against my face and fell to the
floor. It was a thick roll of hundreds.
"She fights to protect
the life of her good friend Benjamin, to make sure that no harm comes to
him." He turned to the little boy got down on one knee so their faces were
about at the same level. "Do you know what a Geisha is?"
The boy had scooted back and
now his back was pressed up against the window, as far away as he could get
from the metal monster. His face was white, drained of blood. His head shook.
It was hard to tell if it was fear or a 'no.'
The commander took it to mean
the second.
"Do you know what a
prostitute is?" The little boy didn't know how to react. The faceless
metal mask never turned away from him. Finally he nodded his head ever so
slightly.
"What is it?"
The little boyÕs voice
trembled with fear.
"A woman who sells
herself for money," he said hesitantly, as if he were quoting something
from memory.
The commander still didn't
move, just kept his terrible featureless face turned toward the boy.
"Do you know what that
means?"
The boy was trembling, he
shook his head violently.
The commander stood up
suddenly and the boy jumped. "Good, little ones are not supposed to be
burdened with such heavy knowledge."
He turned toward me. Behind
my mask I felt my face flush with anger. He was looking past me.
"Release the kids. We
have her now."
The driver opened the door.
The children still sat terrified.
"Go." The commander
whispered softly.
They didn't move.
"RUN!" His voice
was amplified by the suit, filling the bus. They had to crawl over and under
the seats to get out as the four of us in the aisle made it impassable.
I saw out the back as they
ran behind the waiting Plexiglas shields of SWAT team. They disappeared behind
the wall of cars, gas masks and Kevlar.
I could still feel the two
guards behind me, and even thought I could feel the cold eyes of the driver on
my back, but my attention was focused on the commander.
"It is good to see that
the little Geisha is more than just a Chase temple prostitute."
"Unlike you..." I
was going to say who hides behind kidnapped children but his backhand cut me short. It caught
me in the cheek and only the side of the bus stopped my flight. I pulled myself
away from the twisted pieces of metal that were former bus seats. With my hands
pinned behind my back it wasn't easy. I contented myself to being propped up by
the wreckage.
The commander was conferring
quietly with one of the guards. "...we'll hold off the cops, you take this
back to base."
He was handing over a small
gun - the weird super tazer he'd shot me with. Despite his clunky suit it was
clear he was handling it very gingerly, which of course made it clear what I
had to do next.
My leg shot up and took it
right out of his hands. The next few seconds seemed to stretch out. The
commander couldn't seem to decide whether to look at me or the gun. It hit the
ceiling with a satisfying crunch. The accompanying explosion was fantastically
bright. My vision slowly returned from overload. Where four soldiers had been,
three remained. The soldier the commander had ordered home was gone.
The three remaining soldiers
turned toward me.
"What have you
done?"
I shrugged my shoulders. Like
I knew.
"Thwarted a diabolical
plan?"
"No, just slowed it
down." The commander flicked his wrist, and like some mechanical magician,
made another little ray gun appear in his hand. I threw my elbow back into the
wall, and suddenly I was standing again. I let the same momentum push me
forward and bring my foot right into his chest. I felt the resistance as my
foot lifted him off the ground. The back of the bus seemed to peel away as he
flew out the back.
Yet somehow he got his shot
off.
I didn't see the bolt, just
its afterglow in the air. Every nerve was on fire, like I'd been hit on my
funny bone, but all over. The path of the bolt went right beside me to the
soldier who'd been running at me from behind. I would have done nothing had he
not at that very second grabbed my shoulder.
We flew together, pausing only
briefly at the windshield.
I landed, bounced and found
myself alone among thousands of shards of glass. I was on my back, staring at
the sky. I rolled over quickly squatting on all fours.
ÒAh, crap.Ó
***
ÒNow youÕll see what I mean about punching out the bus.Ó Tim
was taunting Sam.
Sam just looked at him
seemingly bored by everything. ÒIÕm not as impressed by this prepubescent
nonsense as you are.Ó
SamÕs retreat into erudition
didnÕt dampen TimÕs enthusiasm. He stood up as the bus threatened to run over
the tiny figure. The tiny figure moved suddenly to the left and Tim pantomimed
a huge right-handed haymaker at the screen.
ÒBam, right in the front
grill.Ó
Lana giggled at TimÕs
imitation. The bus made a wicked turn, and its back end fishtailed into two of
the advancing soldiers. The little black figure threw the wheel at a third.
Even from the high reaches of the helicopter the resulting impact looked
fierce.
ÒDamn, did you see her level
that guy.Ó Tim was still up and brought his fist into his left palm with a loud
Ôsmack.Õ ÒMan, she just pancaked him, a real de-cleater.Ó
ÒI guess I shouldÕve known
the guy with no neck would consider this a football game.Ó
SamÕs snide remark couldnÕt
wipe the smile off TimÕs face. He turned and sat down as the figure on TV made
a running dive off the edge of the bridge. As he did he slapped his hand down
on to the table.
ÒTell me that isnÕt a
superhero, please somebody tell me that wasnÕt a superhero in action.Ó
***
I ran until there was no more
bridge. The river spread out under me and the height took my breath away. There
was no noise, just my heartbeat. The river was gaining speed as it rushed
towards me, rising up to snatch me out of the air. I could hear distant
roaring. I thought "This is the last thing a suicide sees. Brown choppy
waves, and the sunlight glinting off their crests." I couldn't breath. I
thought I would be able to anticipate the impact, but the river was coming too
fast.
Reality shattered.
There was only blackness.
There was no up. There was no air. I couldn't move, I tried to open my eyes but
I didn't know if I had succeeded. In the unearthly stillness, I felt bubbles
race over my skin. It felt like I was disintegrating. I was numb.
And then the numbness left
and pain rushed in to fill the void.
My head broke the surface and
I returned to the dull yellows and browns of New York. My hair was plastered to
my face and the smell of the Hudson filled my nostrils, its acrid taste burned
my throat. I was in need of several hot long showers, and it would probably be
best to use a stiff brush.
Something bobbed up to the
surface a couple feet in front of me. My mask. I suddenly felt naked. I'd never
seen the bridge from below; it was an abstract arrangement of wires and girders
against the sky. The distance the fall had put between me and the soldiers had
a calming effect.
My arms felt like lead as I
pulled myself through the water toward my mask. The current kept it just out of
reach. With every awkward stroke water spilled into my mouth. I would spit it
out, but the aftertaste remained. I tried to remember the last time I'd been in
water deeper than my waist. Some long forgotten summer camp? The 'Y'? Nothing
came to me.
To my left the surface of the
water broke into dozens of little impacts, like there was a sudden downpour of
rain. I hardly heard the gunfire but could see the muzzle flashes from the
bridge's railing. The scattered impact of the bullets swept over me. I dove
down into the brown water. I saw the bubbly trails left by the bullets' rapid
deceleration. I saw a deformed shell sink lazily to the river bottom as I
pulled myself deeper into the murk.
I surfaced farther away from
the bridge. Looking up I saw no more shooting, in fact no evidence of the
soldiers at all. I made a slow turn. All I could see from my vantage point was
brown waves. At the crest of one I saw white. My mask floated placidly toward
the shore and by the time I reached it I was standing on gravel waist deep in
the water. I slid it on my face. I didn't know what terrified me more; the prospect
that the media had gotten a shot of my exposed face, or that it might have seen
that I was a terrible swimmer.
The river bank rose sharply
to the level of the street. I collapsed on the stone strewn shore, and tried to
catch my breath. The water lapped at my heels. About halfway up the embankment
a chain link fence ran between the street and where I was. There were signs
hung at regular intervals along the fence. I didn't have to see the fronts to
know what they said: "No Fishing, No Swimming."
Even though I didn't have the
energy, I closed my eyes, tried to envision myself on the fire escape outside
my window. Nothing. I tried to remember what it felt like to teleport. I
couldn't.
I stared at the razor wire
coiled atop the fence. I got up and poured all my remaining strength into
leaping the fence. I did, but my costume regretted it. I needed to get back to
the anonymity of the rooftops, and away from the traffic at ground level. I
reached the top of the embankment. The crowd of onlookers fell quiet as I came
into view. They were lined up against police barricades and even the officers
manning them turned to stare. I didn't have to turn around to realize that
behind me was a picture perfect view of the bridge.
A camera flashed. I suddenly
felt like King Kong.
I ran toward the nearest
alley. My legs felt like lead, but they still moved me in the right direction.
I leapt, caught the second story of the fire escape. Behind me the crowd had
come alive. I could hear them surging across the street, yelling while the
police futilely tried to restore order. I was faster, and was already
scrambling up to the roof when they reached the mouth of the alley I had ducked
into.
I reached the edge of the
roof. They gathered under me, the fire escape out of their reach. I stood on
the edge of the building high above them. For a brief moment I was the
superhero I'd always dreamed of, standing tall against the open sky. Then I was
gone.
***
My window had a "New
York view:" twelve stories of sheer brick. That suited me just fine. It
provided nice privacy for moments like this. I opened the window and slid into
the room. As I stepped in I heard the squish, squish of my soaked shoes. Yuck.
The place was leased in
Lana's name and she told me we were splitting the rent half and half. My share
was $450. I was never so naive as to believe that. While I hating being Lana's
charity case it saved me the grief of actually living in a $450 a month
apartment in New York.
It was a large apartment, at
least by New York standards, and I had a private bathroom attached to my
bedroom. I stepped into it and looked in the mirror. My suit looked patchable
but bullet impacts and razor wire were determined to make my early endeavors as
a seamstress miserable. I rolled up my sleeve.
It was sore and reddened from
the impact with the river. Normally, that redness would be the precursor to a
mighty bruise, but it seemed that superheroes played by different rules. I
imagined in several hours it would be feeling fine.
I tested it gingerly with my
finger.
"OW!"
Well, probably not fine, but
bearable.
I looked at my mask face,
looked at the eyes set into the living wood. I was searching. It was as if I
looked long and hard enough I could see behind those eyes and into... into
what, exactly? I didn't know.
The pain, the soreness, and
the weariness threatened to overwhelm me. I looked at the little digital clock
I kept in the bathroom. The LCD display informed me I had a half hour to make
it to school.
***
ÒIt isnÕt a superhero; itÕs a
bunch of super powered children whose games kill innocent people.Ó Sam seemed
really angry.
ÒYouÕre jealous.Ó Tim
smirked.
ÒWhat?Ó Sam hadnÕt seen that
coming.
ÒNot only is she on TV, sheÕs
prettier than you too. What have you done – top billing at community
theater?Ó
ÒIt was Equus,Ó Lana supplied helpfully.
Tim and Sam ignored her; they
were too busy doing their guy thing.
ÒAnyways,Ó she continued,
turning to me, ÒI have to go to the bathroom. Jessie, could you come with me?Ó
A minute later I was holding
back her hair.
ÒI think I drank too much.Ó
ÒWhat makes you say that?Ó I
found myself absently braiding her hair.
She spit into the water. ÒOk,
IÕm done flush it.Ó
ÒOh,Ó she held her head as
she tried to stand, ÒI wasnÕt going to drink, until he brought that woman with
him. I am such an idiot.Ó
ÒWho?Ó
It was the wrong question to
ask. She just kind of sank her head into my shoulder. She mumbled something
into it.
ÒWhat?Ó
She lifted her head. ÒGo
away. IÕm busy swearing off drinking.Ó
She continued before I even
had a chance to move.
ÒDid you see her trying to
imitate his snideness? It was so pathetic. He doesnÕt want snide he wants nice,
but sheÕs too busy trying toÉ she thinks he wantsÉÓ She trailed off before for
a second. ÒMirror.Ó
ÒHe wants mirror?Ó
Lana gave me her most disdainful
donÕt-be-stupid-look. She rolled her head so she was looking at the bathroom
mirror above the sinks.
ÒRight, sorry.Ó I let her
steady herself on the edge of the stall. I walked her over to the mirror.
She squinted at herself. She
laid her glasses to the side and pushed her palms into her eyes. ÒI look like a
wreck.Ó
Even now that was patently
untrue.
ÒDo I look like I was
crying?Ó
She turned, showed me a
wavering, fragile smile.
ÒNo.Ó
She wheeled in disgust and
pushed her palms back over her eyes.
ÒYou are an absolutely
terrible liar.Ó
ÒLana, you look good.Ó
ÒWhat do you think of Brian?Ó
ÒUmÉ nothing.Ó
ÒSee – I told you, you
are a terrible liar.Ó She pulled out a makeup kit and traced under her eyes
with her pinky.
Ok, that was just creepy.
ÒWhat about now?Ó
Her glasses were back on and
she looked as perky as ever.
ÒYou look like you didnÕt
just throw up.Ó
ÒThanks.Ó
She just stood there posing
for me. I kept waiting for her to move.
ÒAre we going back out now?Ó
She deflated, her head hung
down and her short dark hair fell forward.
ÒI need to go home, get away
from boys. Take me home Jess.Ó
ÒAre you okay?Ó
ÒI hate that question.Ó
ÒSorry.Ó
ÒYeah, just get me out of
here without having to deal with her anymore and IÕll be fine.Ó
I opened the door for her.
ÔHerÕ was standing right there. Casey had her head cocked sideways and a big
empty grin on her face.
ÒLana, are you okay?Ó
I had felt less danger
standing between the barrels of the bomb.
Lana smiled. ÒJust my Avian
Flu acting up, Casey.Ó
She brushed past a confused
looking Casey and back toward the table.
ÒAvian flu?Ó
ÒSheÕs part Chinese,Ó I said
as I walked past. I tried to make it sound like an explanation.
She followed us to the table
where Sam and Jim were now standing. Sam was holding his arm up in the air. His
suit jacket was over the back of his chair now, and his tie swung back and
forth as he looked from the one other raised hand to Jim. He saw us coming.
ÒYouÕre with me right?Ó He
pointed right at us with his other arm.
ÒOh, Sam, IÕm always with
you, honey,Ó Casey said raising her hand.
Lana looked like she might
need to go back to the bathroom.
ÒWhat about you two?Ó
Lana didnÕt say anything just
stared off at another corner of the bar, lips pouted. Sam seemed confused by
her reaction and his finger moved to me.
ÒI have absolutely no idea
what youÕre talking about.Ó
ÒSuperhero or not?Ó Jim
explained. ÒWeÕre all tied up 3-3. Lex Luthor here is trying to rally support
for his position.Ó
ÒIÕm afraid I missed the
debate.Ó
Sam threw his hands in the air.
ÒUnbelievable. NYU boy! What do you think?Ó
Brian just continued cleaning
off the table next to us, ignoring SamÕs question.
ÒOh, come on, you wouldnÕt
shut up before.Ó
Brian turned to Sam and it
looked like he was going to say something. Instead he stopped and just smiled
ruefully up at the ceiling, shaking his head.
ÒBrian, right? IÕm Jim. DonÕt
worry about Sam; heÕs just got this weird thing for horses.Ó
ÒIt was just a play, you
moron.Ó Sam seemed exasperated.
Jim came up and offered his
hand to Brian. Brian shook.
ÒSo, Brian. Does she only
look like a superhero, or is she one?Ó Jim asked.
Brian stopped and looked at
the bar TV. It was a still of me at the bank robbery.
Please say superhero, Brian,
please.
ÒI donÕt know,Ó he said
shaking his head. ÒI honestly, just donÕt know.Ó
Chapter 3
It was one of the first
tricks I learned. Take a quarter and break it in half (this step is harder if
you donÕt happen to be super strong). Throw one half away and close your eyes.
With some practice you should be able to locate the other half just by
concentrating. One quick teleport
later, youÕll be right there.
I donÕt know how it works, or
even for that matter how I thought to try it. I have a theory mind you. I think
Marx was right. Money takes on a life of its own in society – even a mere
quarter represents the hopes and dreams of society. Tear it in half and youÕve
ruptured those economic dream shared by millions, maybe billions of people.
ThereÕs a force there, a power, which IÕm not sure I can explain. You can feel
it when you hold onto your half. It doesnÕt work with dollar bills (IÕve
tried); they just donÕt have the solidness that a coin does – ask anyone
who didnÕt check their pockets before putting them in the wash.
Maybe it would work with a
hundred. I just havenÕt had the heart to try.
Sounds crazy doesnÕt it? So
does the prospect of a twenty-year-old girl taking on heavily armed super
soldiers.
ItÕs one of the most helpful
tricks IÕve learned. You see, teleportation has its limits. I call them the
ÒNightcrawler barriers.Ó You have to be able to see the place youÕre going, or
at least see it so clearly in your mindÕs eye that you can make it real around
you. If you canÕt, you canÕt go. ItÕs like trying to move through a wall;
something blocks your progress, unless of course there happens to be the other
half of a quarter to tell you exactly where youÕre going.
Detective East just stared at
the half quarter in his hand. ItÕs an awful lot to take in at one time I
suppose.
ÒI wasted twenty five cents
why?Ó
Maybe too much.
ÒLook I canÕt just march into
the evidence locker.Ó
ÒDamn right you canÕt.Ó He
just kept staring grumpily at the quarter. The toothpick he was chewing was
being ground to splinters.
ÒBut if you go I can follow.Ó
ÒWhatever you say.Ó He didnÕt
sound convinced.
ÒTrust me.Ó
ÒI have a daughter you know.
SheÕs your age too. I wouldnÕt let her into the evidence locker.Ó
ÒHow do you even know how old
I am?Ó
He just shrugged and dropped
the half-quarter in his pocket.
ÒBecause I have a daughter
your age. YouÕre too young, too stupid; to understand the risks youÕre taking.Ó
ÒStop looking so guilty.Ó
He pulled his shoulders out
of their slouch. He still looked as if he had plutonium smuggled away in his
jacket pocket.
ÒYeah, its justÉ Look, IÕve
never done something illegal before. If someone finds outÉÓ
He didnÕt finish. He looked
down the alley to the front of the police station.
ÒYou have a daughter?Ó
He sighed.
ÒAlright, IÕm going.Ó
He turned to leave.
ÒEast, how many of them are
on my side? If someone did find out?Ó I couldnÕt stop myself; I had to know.
The detective face wrinkled
up and he seemed to be trying to read his forehead.
ÒIÕd say itÕs about 55 to 45
in your favor. Most of them saw how you jumped in against the Soldiers when we
were out gunned at the bank, but some of them canÕt shake the feeling that the
bridge thing was just like gang warfare, escalation.Ó
He spit out his toothpick in
front of him, and absentmindedly ground it into the pavement with his toe, just
like the cigarette it wasnÕt
ÒTheyÕre all ÔblueÕ in there.
TheyÕre all family, youÉÓ
And IÕm not, I finished his sentence in my head.
ÒThey see that youÕre trying
to help, but everyone in there wanted to be cop, sacrificed to be a cop. They
donÕt just accept people taking the law in to their own hands easily.Ó
ÒSo its like Luis Lla–o says
– vigilante.Ó
He heard the disappointment
that I tried to hide.
ÒAw, hell, this is like
explaining to my four year old that SantaÕs fake all over again. No, listen,
itÕs 55 to 45 in your favor. IÕm going to go now.Ó
ÒWhy do you help me?Ó
He answered slowly.
ÒYou approached me.Ó
ÒThat doesnÕt mean you had to
help me.Ó
He rubbed his neck, and took
a long look at the police station. He seemed embarrassed.
ÒIÕll tell you what. If I
donÕt get sent to jail for this, IÕll think about telling you.Ó
ÒYou told your daughter about
Santa at age four?Ó
ÒShut up.Ó
***
He said to give him 45
minutes to mill around before meeting him in the evidence locker. It was night
and he wanted to look like he was working late, in case anyone asked.
I was on a nearby building
when I realized how familiar this area looked. Or would look if I were tearing
across the rooftops toward a bank robbery.
They were closely set
apartment buildings and I was able to pick my way towards a closed office
building. I walked the narrow ledge that circled the building, shadowed by my
reflection in the windows of dark offices. I had gone halfway around before I
saw it. It was another building of apartments, but this one had a small garden
on top.
I took the scenic route,
short leaps across alleys and narrow streets. Soon I was standing just outside
the glow cast by the lights of the rooftop garden, invisible to the young man
tending the plants. Cloaked by the darkness I watched as he pulled back a pane
on a little greenhouse and watered the roses inside.
I was perched on a little
retaining wall above the scene. I waited until he was turned and quietly let
one leg drop over the edge. I caught myself in a crouch. I had been even
quieter than I had hoped for. I stood up, waited.
He turned. The watering can
clattered to the floor.
"I don't believe
you."
I made some stupid sounding
noise - something like the cross between "huh" and "what."
"Do you know why you're
here?"
I didn't have an answer for
that, I didn't even know what I would have said if he hadn't spoken. Instead I
just said "Yes."
"What am I supposed to
say to you?" He held his head in his hands, thinking or out of
frustration. He looked back up at me, and then his eyes fell back toward the
ground. "Good job, they don't understand you, no really, everyone believes
you are great, super even? Just go... go get a blog like a normal person."
"They could track the
IP."
He stared at me queerly, like
I had just said something very dumb. It isn't dumb, I thought, trying to not sound overly
defensive even in the confines of my head, I can't afford the risk.
"They could." God,
I sounded like I was eight.
He laughed. He threw his head
back and barked laughter up at the sky. Tears were streaming down his face
before he could bring himself to stop.
When he did I was gone.
***
"This isn't the evidence
locker." My astute powers of observations told me that it was in fact a
stairwell.
"Situations changed. No
need to root around for clues. Have you ever read Darwin?"
"Um... no." Not the
question I had expected East to ask.
"I have, terrific stuff,
especially about the finches. You've heard about the finches? Darwin's
finches?" He looked at me over his toothpick. "Right?"
He didn't continue until I'd
answered.
"Well at least they
still teach something in school," it didn't sound like praise. "Do
you remember what Darwin saw in those finches?"
"Evolution?"
He gave me a flat unamused
look. "You have restored my hope in the American educational system. The
correct answer is beaks. You know what beaks are." He turned to look at me
again. "Right?"
I didn't answer him this
time.
He let the silence stretch
out for an uncomfortably long time. "He saw four genera - that's the
plural of genus before you ask - and saw they all had different beaks. Do you
know why?"
"Evolution?" It was
going to be the right answer one of these times.
It was a strange to watch a
man who seemed to struggle with basic English lecture me. "They adapted to
eat different foods, learned to because their survival depended on it." He
pointed to his head. "The same reason humans learn -- to survive."
He sat there, his meaty
finger pointed at his equally meaty head.
"Notice I'm pointing at
my head, and not yours. I'm pointing at my head, because Darwin's theory of
evolution seems not to apply to you. You make a boneheaded decision and
evolution would seem to dictate your demise. But no, you blunder in and
survive, faulty reasoning intact, ready to be employed in a new generation of
bad decisions." He spread his large hands expressively. "Behold the
cycle of dumbass. Now I seem to recall saying -- trap. Did I not say to you
'Its a trap.'"
There was no really good way
to respond, but there was no getting him to drop it until I answered.
"Yes."
"And I said it was a
trap because they said 'hostage exchange' and you can't really take some one
hostage who can just disappear whenever the fancy takes hold -- so trap. Behold
the power of evolution at work." He handed me a folder. "Another
example of evolution in action."
I opened it up. Inside were
autopsy photos of a young Hispanic man.
"Angelo here, or Angel,
as his homies called him, is the only man we've known to have worn one of these
suits." He turned and started down the stairs toward double doors. When it
was clear I wasn't following he turned again. "You coming? What's wrong
with you?"
I had dropped the folder. I
was trying to suppress my gag reflex. I felt his hand on my back, almost
gingerly.
"This is one of those
dead body things, isn't it?"
I managed to nod.
"God, I forget you are
barely a kid." He said it to himself under his breath, his words not meant
for me. Super hearing, I guess. He picked up the folder and swept up the
spilled contents with one expert motion. When I could stand up straight he
looked me over. "You ready?"
I nodded again.
"Ok," he turned and
started back toward the double doors. "Do you recognize him?"
I was able to draw to mind
the image of his dead face on the autopsy table without gagging. "Yeah
that was the guy." I stopped, and when I did East did too, one hand on the
door. "I thought his name was John Doe."
"Was, until five minutes
ago. One of his compatriots gave us the name."
"What!?"
He took his hand off the
door. "Remember Darwin's finches?" As he said it he mimed little
wings by tucking his fist into his armpits and flapping his elbows. "Well,
things have just gotten very dangerous, and we can't just blunder on, we've got
to be smart, and not just charge fist first into the fray. You do that and that
bitch evolution is going to kill off cops. You think you can stop with 'hulk
smash' for all of ten seconds?"
I ignored his dig. "You
caught this guy? Did you pull him
over, search his car and find a super suit in the trunk?"
East laughed. "Naw, guy
turned himself in."
He pushed open the doors.
Every head turned toward me as I walked in behind East. There were at least
three dozen cops, most heavily armed and decked out in full combat gear. I
instantly froze. I felt my stomach contract in fear. What happened to our whole
stealth plan?
East was unfazed. A tall
black man with salt and pepper hair turned toward him as we walked up.
"That was quick, detective."
"I just jogged up to the
roof and flipped on the bat signal, Chief, easy as that." East's face had
a wide smile usually worn by used car salesmen.
It was clear from the Chief's
narrowed eyes that he didn't believe East. Never the less, he let it rest.
"Suspect's all yours. Miss, if you could come with me." We filed into
an interrogation room, where even more police waited. Seated at the table was a
Hispanic man. He looked like a gang banger. He was wearing a white tank top,
with tattoos that seemed to flow up and down his well muscled arms and neck.
When the door opened he bolted upright, terrified. He was holding onto
something so tightly that his knuckles were white. A little chain dangled out
from his fist. When he saw me he slumped back into his chair and seemed to
finally let out the breath he had been holding.
"Walter, I held up my
part of the deal." East said.
"How do I know that's
not just a chick in a mask?" Fear made Walter's voice unsteady. He turned
toward me. "Sorry, chica."
East looked genuinely
hurt. "You would impugn my
honesty?" He ran a hand back through his hair. "Besides, I think
you're too smart to be taken in by cheap tricks like that."
"Uh-huh," Walter
seemed skeptical of East's appeasement strategy, but not wholly unswayed.
"But, Walter, that's
three smart things you've done," East held up three fingers and began
ticking them off, "One, you turned yourself in. Two, you agreed to testify
in exchange for leniency. Three, you asked for an assurance of safety,
andÉ" he gestured at me, "here she is."
Walter was gnawing on the end
of his finger nervously. He was eyeing me warily. "Yeah, well I'm getting
less and less confident about this whole arrangement."
"Walter." East
seemed to say it almost sweetly. "You gotta have faith."
Walter opened his fist and
stared down at the rosary he'd been holding.
I still didn't know what my
role was in all this, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to me, so I
just stood still and stayed quiet.
Walter wrapped his fingers
back around the rosary. "Alright, I'm ready."
The Chief had been a statue
in a navy suit beside me. Suddenly he stepped forward and barked a quick
command. The well-armed policemen in the room streamed out. East put a hand on
my shoulder. The room was empty aside from the Chief, East, Walter and me. The
Chief pulled a jacket off the wall. He threw it to Walter.
"SWAT and our riot teams
will be moving with the decoy convoy in five." He informed us, giving East
a look I couldn't quiet read. East just nodded. I felt like a whole other
conversation had just occurred in that quick exchange, but was left clueless as
to its meaning.
"What do we do?" I
couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer.
The Chief just moved his eyes
until they rested on me, but it was East who answered. He fished some keys out
of his pocket. "We take the olds."
The Chief walked ahead, with
Walter, while East and I trailed behind at a distance where I could finally
talk to him.
"You say no more 'hulk
smash' and then you hire me out as a bodyguard?"
"Play to your strengths,
right?" I had to laugh, he didn't. "I'm not kidding, though; I'm not
getting killed because you can't resist a fist fight. You don't fight unless
you can win, and I think we've both seen that those suits can make even Walter
here one tough son of a bitch to beat."
"Who is he?"
East rubbed his chin,
"You won't believe me," he paused, shook his head as if he didn't
believe himself either, "but the kid is clean. No record, church, mission
trips, good family, father's a chiropractor. Spearheaded a fund raiser to help
orphans in Brazilian slums."
"What about Angel?"
East snorted. "Angel
wasn't. He was a low level dope dealer and had an outstanding warrant for
almost killing his ex with a beer bottle. Never been booked though, so his
prints weren't in our system, though they did match some found on a gun used in
a drug related shooting last year."
"Charming."
We went through some double
doors and stepped out into the parking garage.
Something just wasn't adding
up in my head. "I don't get it, East, what's the connection? How do Walter
and Angel end up working together?"
East just shrugged. The chief
and Walter were waiting by the car. East unlocked the back door and helped the
handcuffed Walter in. I got in the passenger's seat. I looked back at the man
behind the grill, tried to imagine him in church. It was easy. His head was
bowed and was slowly going through his "Hail Marys."
East got into the drivers
seat and we drove off. It was nearly ten and traffic was as light as it could
get in New York.
East turned and pushed a key
through the grill.
"Uncuff yourself."
Walter quietly complied.
East was looking at Walter in
the rear view mirror. "If anything goes wrong you run, and if the catch
you, for God's sake don't try to fight them."
Walter nodded mutely.
The city lights were still
bright, even at night. Big bright neon lights periodically flooded the cab. We
drove until the city lights faded. Soon we were left with the periodic
illumination of dingy yellow highway street lamps.
Walter was the first to break
the silence. He leaned forward, almost touching his cheek to the grating that
bisected the car.
"Chica?"
"She prefers
Geisha," East said.
I gave East a poisonous
glance, but didn't argue. It was futile, the newspapers and anchors had already
reached a consensus.
"Geisha, you for
real?"
"Yeah." I replied
laconically, not really wanting to have a conversation with a super villain.
He sat back and for the first
time during the whole ride smiled.
"You hit me with a
parking meter."
East interrupted. "Wow,
you two are already old friends then."
"And a bus tire,Ó Walter
actually winked at me as he said it.
I turned in the seat tried to
take stock of the man in the backseat. "Why did you do it?"
Walter's eyes dropped.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"You haven't met
him."
"The commander?"
Walter nodded but still
didn't make eye contact.
I thought back to the bridge.
"We've talked."
He looked at me, something
surprisingly fierce behind his eyes. "No you haven't. Not in person, I
mean, he has this way of making you see the world, you know, see it like he
does. When he talks all your thoughts, they just don't stick in your head, I
don't know... when he talks to you the only thing that sticks in your mind are
his words."
"So he made you do
it?"
Walter bared his teeth out of
frustration. "I enlisted so that I could help. I raised two thousands dollars once, to
help these kids I had missioned to in Brazil. It took six months. He comes up
to me and says, 'What if you could raise two hundred thousand dollars for those
kids, what would you do?'"
"What did you think he
was, some kind of Robin Hood?"
"Well, doesn't matter,
the guy is a fucking hypocrite. Playing with the lives of those kids, it ain't
right."
"But robbing banks -
that's just hunky-dory?"
"You people only use
money for two things, bombs and gasoline. Don't you ever dream of a better
world?"
He was angry, so I didn't
argue. Just turned toward the window and looked at the passing scenery.
Walter's anger wore off and
he actually looked contrite. "I'm sorry, his words, not mine. They get in
your head and you just hear yourself repeating them."
We rode in silence. The
suburbs had given way to fields and trees.
Walter started up again.
"Look, I, I just want to let you know I'm not a bad guy, as soon as it was
safe I turned myself in. I asked them to find you. You know why?"
"Why?" It was an
itch I had to scratch.
"The commander, I don't
know his real name, unless it's 'Sir,' he talks about these women all the time
- Las Aves. You heard
about them?"
I hadn't.
"There are these women,
kind of a Brazilian slum folk tale. They help the poor. The protect them, the
only people who will. There are stories about a crooked Brazilian paramilitary
commander. A rancher hired him to clear some farmers off some lands. The guy
took some guns and some guys, but, he never did the job. The villagers swore
some women -- las aves
-- came and protected them. Three of them. Imagine that – three women
against an army.Ó
Given the past couple days,
it wasnÕt that hard.
"I don't know if its
true, but Sir, he seemed to believe, said if we could pull off the jobs he
arranged, we could be heroes like them. On the bridge I knew we weren't heroes.
I saw you come to the rescue like that - knowing it had be a trap -"
I felt rather than saw East's
look. Stupid finches.
"-but still you came
anyways. I knew then you could help me, and nobody else could. I was just
trying to do right by the world; surely you of all people understand
that."
East wasn't saying a word,
but he was clearly watching Walter. The highway had gotten dark, street lights
and cars were getting rarer. Finally he spoke.
"Walter, could you turn
your palms up?"
Walter looked at East as if
he was crazy. Annoyed at the interruption, he turned his palms up.
"Take off your
jacket." There was intensity in East's voice that made me examine Walter
closer. He shrugged off the jacket the Chief had given him. I saw it right away
in the darkness. East pulled the car on to the shoulder and slammed on the
brake.
"What?" Walter
asked. East and I were both staring at the little glowing red spot beneath the
skin of his arm.
"What is that?" I
asked East, but he was already out the driver's door.
The back door flew open and
East dragged Walter onto the highway. I could barely see in the pale moonlight
the evil curve of the knife in EastÕs hand.
I got out of the car, but
couldn't see either of them; they were on the ground on the other side of the
car. I could however, hear Walter scream. I ran. East had pinned down Walter's
torso with his knee and was working the knife into the underside of Walter's
forearm. I grabbed the back of East's shirt, lifted him off Walter with one
arm, threw him on to the car's hood.
The big man bounced and the
knife skittered into the grass at the highway's edge.
"What the hell are you
doing?"
East didn't even look at me,
just down at the bloody glowing piece of flesh in his hand.
Walter was whimpering,
cradling his arm, clearly in shock.
"You alright?"
Walter looked at me and then
back at his bloody forearm. "I don't know."
"East, what the hell is
going on?"
East finally answered.
"It's a GPS chip."
I knew where to look before I
ever saw him. One second the highway stretched empty out in front of the car.
The next there was a soldier.
East ran past me toward
Walter. Walter turned and ran, but he had just started to turn when East
tackled him. The big manÕs momentum took them both over the raised highway
median. I saw but did not understand, until of course the soldier's rocket made
contact with the engine block.
When I could finally open my
eyes I saw I was at least thirty feet down the road.
My head rang. I saw East
shooting at the advancing soldier, emptying the clip into the super dense
armor. I couldn't hear the gunfire, I couldn't really hear anything. Walter was
ducked down behind the barrier, behind East. He was looking right at me,
yelling something. Trying to run. The soldier caught up to him grabbed him from
behind and turned back toward East. East had reloaded, but couldn't shoot
through the human shield.
I pushed myself to my feet.
The soldier slung Walter over
one shoulder and grabbed East. Then I was alone on the highway, the spot where
the three of them had been, empty. The car lit up the night, red flames licking
out under the dense plume of smoke. Something glittered in the flickering
light.
It was Walter's rosary.
Chapter 4
East was in the waiting room,
a fat pack of Cubans tucked under his arm. He was standing, despite the abundance of chairs, too
nervous to sit.
In those days the Chief's
hair was still black and they had still been friends. The Chief sat so still it seemed at any moment a pigeon
would settle on his shoulder.
East had gotten the shakes,
wanted to take a drag on one of those cigars right then and there, but a big
fat black nurse behind the reception desk never took her eyes off him.
East paced. He would walk down the length of the
hallway, until he was at the water fountain outside the restroom. Then he would turn, walk past the Chief
and turn again when he reached the edge of the reception desk. The nurseÕs head swiveled as he did,
like she was watching the world's slowest tennis match.
He was down at the restrooms
again. He turned and the Chief was
standing, hat off. It was
Mary. East knew then he was
dreaming, because his wife looked younger, wearing the dress he had first seen
her in, a floral print summer dress.
In reality she had been wearing stained scrubs from a recent autopsy.
He opened the box for her as
he walked up.
"Congratulations, Honey,
it's a girl."
***
A stream of cold water woke
Detective East. He tried to back
away from the downpour, but his hands were tied behind the back of the
chair. Instead his chair tipped back
until his head bounced off hard porcelain. The pain did the rest of the job of waking him up. He was blindfolded, but could see the
floor, a dirty brown tile with a rusty drain, like a public shower fallen into
disuse.
Somebody pushed his chair
upright. He was back under the
water. The downpour died down
suddenly into just a steady drip, drip, drip. He heard shoes across the damp tile. Another showerhead started to spray
water and Walter noisily came awake.
East wasn't sure if he was
still dreaming, a strange haze of unreality seemed to fog his brain.
"I must say, Walter,
that I am disappointed." The
voice was silky smooth and heavily accented. Hispanic, maybe?
East strained to listen despite his throbbing head.
"Sir?" Walter's voice shook with fear and
uncertainty.
"No, not anymore. You deserted." There was a trace of sadness in the
Commander's voice.
"I'm sorry. I got scared, the kids... I was weak...Ó Walter sounded
practically penitential. He
sniffed back tears.
For a long time that was the
only sound, and East had the clear mental image of the Commander watching
Walter's breakdown. Eventually the
Commander's sigh broke the silence.
"You've caused me a lot
of trouble, Walter."
"I know...Ó Walter
replied weakly.
"I'm going to have to
think about what to do with you."
With that those footsteps
came over toward East.
"You have the right to
remain silent."
The Commander laughed.
East plowed on,
undeterred. "Anything you say
can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an
attorney present during any questioning.
If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at
government expense." It came
out in one long breath.
"Do you understand the
rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"
Despite the blindfold, he faced where the footsteps suggested the Commander
was.
The Commander's reply sounded
less amused. "Yes detective,
I would like to talk to you."
"Am I to take that to
mean you understand the rights I have...Ó
East had no way of
anticipating the blow. The force
made his head snap left. East
could taste the copper taste of blood.
"Don't talk to Sir that
way!" It was a new voice, and
it was angry.
"Please, Sergeant,
detective East and I just want to talk."
The new voice replied tersely
and East heard footsteps, and then a big metal door slamming shut.
"I'll take that as a
yes." East said, working his
jaw to try and lessen the sting.
"Detective, how is our
mutual friend."
"I'm afraid I don't know
who you are talking about."
"You know who she is,
tall, dark, super strong."
"Not ringing a bell -
could you be more specific."
"What do you think this
attitude will get you?"
"Hit?"
The Commander laughed
again. "I'm afraid some of my
people are more..." he paused, "more excitable than others. But the Geisha, she seems to have
recovered from our little encounter."
"I'm not sure what you
mean."
"She can disappear from
one place, and -- poof -- reappear somewhere else."
"She is a girl of many
talents."
"Hmm..." the
Commander seemed to ponder this and East could hear his footsteps recede and
then slowly make their way back.
"Very interesting, this news."
"Seems to me just about
any moron can learn that trick these days."
"Very funny detective,Ó
The Commander didn't seem very amused.
"Maybe I should just leave you in here a little longer. It seems we are not quite ready to yet
discuss greater truths."
East could hear him walk away
again.
"Yeah, well bring your
lawyer next time!"
This time the footsteps
didn't return, instead the lights turned off and the metal door opened and
closed. East waited. In the dark all he could hear was
Walter's ragged breathing and the steady drip of water.
***
East stood up and walked to
the door. In the dark it was
haloed in light; illumination leaked through the gaps around the edges. He pushed it open. He was in a hospital room. A thin woman, barely more than a girl
was cradling a baby in her arms.
Her straggly blonde hair was slicked down with sweat, and her spindly
arms held the bundle of blankets right under her chin. She still looked drained from the
birth.
East was dreaming again.
Mary waited at her bedside
and when East walked over to her, she slid his hand into his.
The new mother looked up and
saw him, and East could see the streaks the tears had left against her face.
"She's so pretty. How can she be so beautiful?"
East hadn't known what to say
- still didn't. Mary knew not to
say anything and just put a hand on the new mother's shoulder. This brought fresh tears.
"You'll take care of her
for me?"
In his dream state East could
see himself nod dumbly in reply.
Mary gently squeezed the mother's shoulder reassuringly.
"Just don't tell her
about me. And don't tell her
about... her father."
The hospital scene seemed to
rip away violently. East watched
as it faded out to the horizon, until it was just a pinpoint of light in a sea
of black. East groggily realized
it wasn't just darkness -- it was a shadow, and not only that, a man's
shadow. East turned but already
knew who was behind him.
The man's eye's burned red
and the sledgehammer he swung was aimed right at East's temple.
***
East's head snapped back as
he woke. The blindfold was still
there, and his wrists were rubbed raw against the rope that bound him. It was still dark, but he could see the
grungy floor, brown against black.
"Walter?"
His voice sounded distant, as
if he was only hearing its echo off the tiles.
"Detective?"
"Why-- " Do I
keep dreaming? Detective East stopped. "Why do I keep falling
asleep?"
"I think the Commander
drugged you. Makes you relive the
past, right?"
"Close enough."
"The Commander calls it veridad."
"Why would he drug
me?"
"Don't know, maybe he
just wants to hear you talk in your sleep."
"Was I?"
"Yeah. I didn't take you for a religious
man."
"What?"
"You kept talking about
Mary."
East snorted, a kind of
aborted laugh. "My
ex-wife."
"Oh."
East was sweating, despite
his damp clothes. His head felt
like it was on fire. His arm too.
Walter continued talking, a
kind of detached running commentary.
"I think he drugged me too.
He leaves you in the dark, because he says, it helps the process. That always scared me. Sometimes he talked like he was some
sort of revolutionary -- a Che Guevara. That I could handle; but then he would
get all psycho-analysizer, and he just sounded like some sort of creepy, Dr.
Moreau. Know what I mean?"
East shook his head
slowly. Finally the more conscious
parts of his brain remembered their blindfolds. "Walter, I can't understand a word youÕre saying. You kinda sound loopy."
"I think he definitely
drugged me." Walter
concluded.
"What now?"
"We sit in the
dark."
East waited a second for
Walter to elaborate.
"Ok, I'm already doing
that, Walter."
Walter laughed, and East heard
a dispiriting insane edge in it.
"Walter? You've got to keep it together for
me."
"Yeah, well, he wouldn't
hurt us, he's a hero."
"The Commander?"
"Well, he thinks he's
one anyways. Heroes don't hurt
people, especially tied up drugged people." Walter started giggling again.
East took stock of
himself. He hurt like hell, but he
didn't feel giddy. Whatever the
soldiers had done to Walter, they'd done something different. Although, how would I know?
"Walter?"
The only reply was quiet
giggling and mumbling.
"Walter!"
"Que?"
"What are they going to
do now?"
"Well the Commander,
he'll come and talk to you, and with veridad in your veins you'll tell him whatever
he wants. His voice will kind of
pour into your head, and fill up all the nooks and crannies. You'll probably start to believe his
words, maybe even volunteer yourself..."
East stopped listening,
Walter rambled on, but his point seemed clear. Some sort of interrogation, or psychological
manipulation.
East's back was strapped to
something, and he was laying head lower than his ankles. Another voice began to drone on,
interweaving with Walter's. He
recognized the voice, could picture the man's face. It was his drill sergeant.
Veridad must have been doing his job, because
suddenly East was reliving all too clearly the uglier days at Ranger
school. He had hated torture
resistance training at the time, but now those lessons were beginning to seem
particularly relevant. In fact,
East was starting to feel slightly more charitable emotions towards his old
sadistic drill sergeant. In his
drug induced daydreams the water boarding was being done in a gentle, almost
loving way.
East could feel water running
up his nose and down his throat.
His whole body reacted to the sensation of drowning, but he was strapped
down too tight for it to make any difference.
"Name and rank,
soldier!"
He gasped to get the words
out between gulps of water. It was
always the same reply.
"Sir, screw you,
sir!"
"Good man,
private." The drill sergeant
said, patted him on the forehead, and poured another bucket of water.
He closed his eyes, but
behind the blindfold it made no difference. He could feel water worming its way down his throat,
fighting to get into his lungs.
The shock brought him back to
the present.
"Walter!"
"Yeah?" Walter had obviously stopped talking,
but East had no idea how long it had been.
"Walter? Have you seen him do this before? The whole brainwashing, conditioning
thing?"
"Yeah, works like a
charm, he takes some street thug and sits them down, and a couple hours later,
they're full of piss and vinegar for the cause. Of course it sort of wears off after a while..."
"Like with Angel?"
"Sir was especially
careful after Angel, had all the street guys reconditioned every other week
after that."
"And you?"
"I helped." East couldn't tell if Walter was
giggling or crying. "God have
mercy, I helped. I believed."
"And could he be trying
to recondition you now?"
Walter suddenly became very
silent. When he spoke again he
sounded almost cheerful. "I
hadn't thought of that, they'd slaughter the fattened calf for the return of
the prodigal son..."
East felt a strange wave of
emotions. The last he recognized
quite clearly. It was anger. He wasn't going to allow the one break
in the case to slip happily back into the shadows. "Walter! Shut the hell up! That isn't going to happen."
Walter wasn't hearing
him. He was singing
tunelessly. "I'm going
home... I'm going home..."
East pulled and twisted his
wrists in the ropes. His raw skin
burned, as it slid against the rope that held him. East bit his lip and pulled, and finally his wrists popped
free of their restraints. He tore
off the blindfold and looked around.
Walter was tied up about ten feet away, similarly bound. In the dark he could only make out dim
shapes, but to East they looked to be in the shower room of some abandoned
jail. He saw his trench coat
hanging over one of the rust covered showerheads. In the dark, he could only feel around in the pockets. Where was his goddamn gun?
Walter had stopped singing,
and despite the darkness and the blindfold was staring right at East. "Detective, would you like to
re-enlist with me?"
East stifled a curse and
checked another pocket, he felt leather.
Then he felt a rush of elation as he felt cool metal. Damn! It was only his badge.
Great now theyÕll probably
surrender.
East had just started to dig
into another pocket when he heard the big metal door swing open. From the trench coat he pulled out
something small and sharp, but then was reduced to using his arms to shield his
eyes from the blinding light.
A broad muscular figure was
silhouetted against the doorway.
"East, what did I tell
you? The Commander is here to take
us home."
"Guess again." East recognized the voice; it was
'Sergeant,' the soldier that had hit him earlier. He tried to get a clearer view but the light made his head
feel like it was going to explode.
There was panic in Walter's
voice. "Where's the
Commander?"
"Away," was the
Sergeant's laconic reply.
"Oh." Walter spoke in a strangely detached
emotionless voice. "Never
mind, East, I think they're just going to beat us to death instead."
It was then that Sergeant
finally seemed to notice East.
"What the
hell?" The Sergeant looked at
him sideways, as if unable to grasp the meaning of East standing next to his
trench coat, instead of being tied to a chair. He didn't stay stumped long.
East tried to anticipate the
charge, but his drug-addled mind wouldn't respond. The Sergeant's shoulder caught him just below the chin. He felt himself sprawl the small object
that he had retrieved from his jacket pocket sent flying from the force of the
blow.
The Sergeant grabbed his leg
and started pulling. East clawed
at the floor, but the damp smooth tile offered no handholds. Something shone in the light, and East
grabbed at it. His fingers
recognized it; it was the thing from his pocket. It was important.
East tried to fight through the haze in his mind. His gun? No, he decided, more important than that.
He was pulled through the
metal doorway and out into a ring of soldiers. They looked huge in their mechanical suits. Under him, East could feel warm dirt,
above he could see sky. The
SergeantÕs ugly face came in to view.
He was Hispanic, like Angel, and had a crooked nose, and a nasty
grin. The soldiers behind him, in
their suits, were faceless.
"An army versus one
man?" East forced himself to
laugh. "It's not fair if you
don't take off the suits."
The Sergeant laughed, an evil
sound. "Us against you? I don't think itÕs going to be fair
anyways."
East, managed to push himself
up to his knees, "Are you a coward?"
The Sergeant stiffened.
"I may be outnumbered,
but a man on his feet fighting, there's at least honor in that. Men against men, fist against
fist. Me and Walter against
you." He pushed himself up to
one knee, despite the groans of his body.
Somewhere in the darkness behind him he heard Walter's shouted protest. "It'll be almost like the Iliad,
like Achilles and the Trojans.
It'll be heroic."
The Sergeant's face twisted
at the final word. He straightened
and an altogether alien expression came over his face. "He's right, this would be the way
the Commander wanted it."
It may have just been the
drugs, but East was surprised by how quickly the suits came off. Soon there was a pile of armor, and a
ring of men surround East.
Somebody pushed Walter into the circle.
East did his best to grab
Walter as he stumbled forward.
However, Walter was more drugged than East expected and he fell forward
into a heap. Everybody looked down
at where Walter lay. Everyone that
is, except for East, who used the momentary distraction to push a big meaty
fist into the Sergeant's nose.
Arms dragged East to the
ground. He felt himself smirk as
the Sergeant sat caressing his newly broken nose. He poked his nose gingerly, and grimaced in pain. "Damn, not again," he touched
it gingerly, and looked down in disgust at the little drops of blood at the end
of his fingers. He stood and
towered over the pinned East, "you are going to pay for that."
"Sorry,
hombre." East said trying to
squirm free from the bodies that held him down. "It looks like I messed up your face, itÕs
hideous."
The Sergeant brought the heel
of his boot down into East's stomach.
East gasped for breath but the blow had knocked the wind out of him.
Wiping away the steady
trickle of blood from his nose, the Sergeant's eyes scanned over to East's
tightly closed fist. His eyes
narrowed suspiciously. "What
are you hiding there, a shiv?"
He put his foot down on East's forearm. Once he had pinned it down, he leaned closer to
investigate. "What happened
to all that fist versus fist, man versus man shit?"
The Sergeant pressed his foot
down on East's forearm. East
struggled to keep his fist closed, but the increasing pressure finally forced
it open. East couldn't see, but
could hear the small metallic clang as his fingers spasmed open.
"What the hell?"
The Sergeant leaned down and
scooped up what East had been clutching.
He held it up where all the other soldiers could see it.
East couldn't help but start
to laugh hysterically.
In his hands the Sergeant
held half a quarter.
Now would be a good time,
East thought.
There was a surprised gasp,
and one of the soldiers seemed to rise up into the air, and then sail across
the room. In his place was a tall
girl dressed in black.
"Hi ya fellas,"
Geisha said.
Chapter 5
24 hours earlier...
I watched the car burn for a
long time. It was now smoldering wreckage, giving off heat but almost no light,
just a dull red glow. Walter's rosary dangled from my fingers.
I was in the woods just off
the road, my suit's black all but invisible against the even darker trees
behind me. The traffic that passed crawled by slowly, but if anyone in those
cars saw me, they gave no sign.
I just kept watching until
finally I heard the wailing of fire trucks.
I closed my eyes and felt the
familiar bending of space around me. When I opened them I was on the ledge just
above Brian's rooftop garden.
He wasn't there. I waited,
but I didn't know what I would say to him. I closed my eyes again. When I
opened them this time, I was perched atop the Quick Burger sign, but far from
being empty, the parking lot was filled with cars.
I had no place left to go but
home.
I slid the apartment window
open and stepped into my bedroom. I tore off my mask and threw it into a
corner. It landed on a pile of dirty clothes.
I sat down on the edge of the
bed, head in my hands.
I looked at the clock. Lana
wouldn't be back tonight until late, and even that was uncertain. It was Friday
and I might not see her again until Sunday.
I pulled the red red
cord wrapped around my neck and my form fitting black shirt off. Underneath I
wore a black tank top. I pulled on some my trusty over sized pair of cargo
pants on over the bottom of my suit. The transformation was complete. I was a
civilian again.
I walked out into the living
room, and had no sooner closed my bedroom door behind me when I heard a knock
at the door.
The chain caught as I opened
the door. I peeked out.
"Lana, thank God your
home." It was Sam. For once he didn't look immaculate. The tie he always
wore was undone, and his hair was disheveled. He quickly realized his mistake.
"I'm sorry, Jesse, I was looking for Lana." He mumbled. "Can I
come in?"
I didn't feel like talking to
Sam, but I needed the company, and he looked like he did as well. Beggars can't
be choosers. I unlatched the door and opened it for him.
He walked past me and
collapsed down on the couch. He didn't look up but just asked, "Does Lana
have anything to drink here?" When I didn't answer right away, Sam made an
annoyed little tsk with his mouth. "I'm good for it, I'll pay her
back."
The cabinet above the
refrigerator was full of liquor. Sam twisted to watch me over the back of the
couch. "Bring the wine in the back, I gave it to her ages ago, I should
have known it would just go to waste."
I hooked two glasses on the
way out of the kitchen and set the bottle and the two glasses on the table in
front of Sam.
"I'm not the only one
who had a rough night?" Sam said as he watched me sit down across from
him.
Oh, are you responsible
for the kidnap and probable death of two people, too? Instead I just asked mildly,
"What's wrong?"
He poured himself a cup and
then one for me. "Don't you people have normal wine glasses?" he
frowned as he looked at the glass. He just shrugged and took a sip. "Casey
and I broke up." He paused and looked down into his glass, still filled
with dark red liquid. "No, that's not right. Casey broke up with me."
I took a drink from the glass
Sam had poured me. The liquid in side was heavy and burned with the taste of
alcohol. I knew the alcohol would have no effect on me, but I really didn't
have know what to do after losing to a group of super villains. I was just
mimicking the coping strategies of others. Sam and Lana in particular. What
great teachers, I though wryly.
"I'm sorry." I
didn't know what else to say. Breaking up seemed so pedantic. Whatever place
inside that would normally have sympathized with Sam, I couldn't find it.
You selfish, arrogant
bastard. I felt
instantly ashamed, and bowed my head.
"I'm sorry." I
tried again.
Sam stared at me, obviously
thrown off by my double apology. "Thanks."
"Lana never did like
Casey." I said searching for something to say.
Sam smiled. "Yeah, I
know." He leaned back in the couch, a bemused smile and his face.
"Maybe next time I'll listen." He stared down into the wine glass
again. "This isn't actually half bad." He took another sip.
"Casey didn't like Lana either. I think she saw her as competition."
I laughed nervously.
"Yeah, I think its
funny, too. I mean Lana is like my little sister. Did you know she used to come
up with my Dad and me to our summer house? She was like, five and I was six. We
practically grew up together. Like I could date her." He waved a
dismissive hand at me.
I hadn't known that. I had
wondered how Sam could be so blind to Lana's advances. "I guess I was the
first guy Lana kissed. I'm sure that didn't help Casey feel comfortable around
her." "What?"
"I shouldn't probably
tell you this, but when she was thirteen, we snuck out to a little covered
bridge that was about a mile away from the summer house. We practiced kissing
each other. Can you imagine?" This was all revelation to me. "You can
tease her about that the next time she gives you shit about studying too
much."
I laughed. "So you
remember that?" "Of course," I noticed his glass was empty
again, but he quickly remedied that. "I think I was struck dumb when I saw
you walk into J.R.'s. I was sure Lana would have said something about your
looks."
I smiled. "Was I that
ugly?" I teased him, but my mouth felt dry and I was sure it wasn't the
wine.
Sam guffawed. "No! I
mean, she said you were good looking but she never mentioned you were..."
Sam stopped in mid sentence and looked down at the glass in his hand. He looked
surprised to see how full it was. He put it down on the table a good distance
away from him.
"I need to go to the
bathroom," he said sheepishly. He looked around, and then at me.
"Um, my room." I
answered too quickly. He stood up, but I got up quicker and ran through my
door, closing it behind me.
"I guess, ladies
first," Sam said from the living room. "No, I just need to clean up
in here." I called. I kicked more clothes on top of the mask and the
uniform. I looked around the room for anything else suspicious. Sam opened the
door behind me.
"Looks alright to
me." He said looking around. He pointed to the closed bathroom door.
"In here?"
I just nodded. He gave me a
thumbs up and stepped in.
When he stepped back out a
minute later I tried to usher him into the living room, but instead Sam just
looked over at my night table.
"Are those comic
books?"
I felt my cheeks burn a
little bit hot. He stepped around me and over to the stack of comics that were
next to my bed.
"Batman," he read,
and then with his finger, slid it out of the way so he could read the next one
down. "Superman," and then the next. "Spider-man."
He looked back at me. "I
would have never guessed."
Yeah, well I don't exactly
advertise.
He looked back down at the
stack in front of him. "Good taste though, no X-men?"
"I don't like the team
ones," I answered before I could tell myself to shut up.
"Why not?" he asked
as he sat down and started flipping through one on top.
I really didn't know how to
answer that tactfully, luckily the question was already forgotten. "I
haven't read one in years. My uncle used to have a whole basement full, I'd go
over and read all day." He had been smiling at the memory, but suddenly frowned.
"My dad didn't like it." He put the book back down.
Sam shook his head and walked
toward the door. As he did he glanced at the map of New York spread out across
my desk. I quickly stepped between him and it, and he walked back out into the
living room.
He sat back down and looked
at the glass of wine he had put down before, as if contemplating it.
"You know I have a
theory about the Soldiers too."
"What?" I tried to
sound innocent but I'm sure my eyes were about three sizes too big.
Sam gave me an bemused smile.
"The map."
"What map?" I knew
I had taken the innocence routine too far.
"The one with all the
little X's, each marking a spot where the Soldiers have hit. Big circles around
the bank and bridge? That map?"
I just bit my lip to stop
from saying anything. Sam seemed to be waiting for me to reply.
"You actually didn't
seem that interested at J.R.'s, but the comic books, the map. Maybe I was all
wrong about you." He looked at me through narrower eyes, and for a second
a grip of paranoia took hold. Could he know? I quickly banished that thought.
"
Yeah, I've got to admit it
kind of..."
"...scary?" Sam
finished when I hesitated.
Not exactly.
"How about
exciting?" I ventured.
"Oh no, not you
too?" Sam laughed, but it didn't seem scornful. "I've been trying to
convince people that this is crazy. I guess its a lost cause. How soon until
the action figures come out?"
"No one really knows who
owns the rights to the likeness." I winced again at my inability to shut
up.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"I doubt any one's stepping forward to claim it... are they? At least not
when they might get sued by God knows who." He smiled at me. "You
maybe should come over to pre-law with me. You ask the right questions."
"Yeah but then I might
grow up to be a lawyer."
Sam laughed, and I noticed,
watching him start to relax on the couch, that aside from being an stuck-up
know-it-all, he was actually pretty good looking. Oh dear. I looked down at the
now empty glass in my hand. At least I didn't think alcohol affected me.
"There are worse things,
you could grow up to be a senator."
He laughed and I did too,
maybe even giggled, but I'm not sure I would admit that. Sam did more than
laugh, he was wiping away tears from his eyes.
"Speaking of
which," he managed to say, "take one of these." He tossed me a
little button from his pocket, the safety pin kind. On the front was an
American flag and the words Sam Sutton '08. I turned it over in my hand a
couple times, confused.
"You running for student
government?"
Sam burst out laughing again.
When he finally stopped I'm sure my face couldn't have been more red. Sam
noticed and despite his slight intoxication seemed to puzzle through the facts
surprisingly quickly. He coughed to cover the trail end of his laughter.
"I didn't realize... I
mean, I guess I knew you had the same name..." I stammered.
Sam just stood up offered me
his hand.
"Nice to meet you
Ms..." "
Nakamori."
"Really?" Sam
looked at me in surprise.
"I took my mother's
maiden name..." I answered.
"Well Ms. Nakamori, I'm
Sam Sutton, Jr. son of Sam Sutton senator of the great state of New York."
"Pleasure."
Sam sat down and smiled,
almost content. "I'm sorry," he said, "I just don't really think
to introduce myself. It's been a long time since I've met someone who didn't
know me first."
"I hope it's
refreshing." I still felt embarrassed, but almost comfortable. Almost.
"So what's your interest
in the Soldiers?"
OK, maybe not very
comfortable at all.
I shrugged.
"Curiosity," I
lied.
The way Sam watched me I felt
the same sense of paranoia as earlier. He couldn't know.
"So here's my theory:
stop me if you've heard it.
"All these appearances,
all those little red X's on your map follow a sewer main that cuts across the
subway lines."
"Really?"
"Yep, I looked at the
most recent underground survey done last month. I think they're using the
tunnels to move around, maybe even the rails themselves to power the suits. The
civic engineers have been noticing strange power disruptions and broken walls
underneath the city. My guess is that's not a coincidence."
"Have you told the
police?"
Sam shook his head, "I'm
sure they've thought of this before, who knows how many guys working on
this?"
Two major case squads. I answered in my head.
"But..." But
East didn't say anything about that. Thankfully this time I managed to shut myself up in time.
"...you should call in anyways. They've set up a special tips line."
Sam just shrugged and shook
his head, and I felt the sudden urge to slap him.
"How many people do you
think look at those surveys?"
Sam seemed a little surprised
by the sudden iron in my voice. "Um... me and the city engineers. I only
looked at it because my Father says I need to know everything about the city if
I'm going to get elected to the city council."
"What?"
Sam shrugged defensively.
"What can I say. He's fitting me up to follow in his shoes."
"Alright, never mind.
How are they getting in?"
"Don't know, could be
anywhere." Sam stood up. "Why are you so interested in it
anyways?"
Because two people's lives
could be at stake.
"Curiosity."
"Yeah, so you
said." He ran a hand through his hair and then over his face. "Look
I'm sorry to disturb you..." Don't leave. My throat tightened up. I
couldn't be alone, not now.
"...I've actually got to
get up early tomorrow, and I don't think the drinking Lana's wine was probably
the best thing to do."
"You could stay
here."
Sam looked at me with
slightly wide eyes, clearly confused. I'm sure I would have been giving myself
the same look.
"In Lana's room I
mean," I added quickly. "She won't be back tonight, I'm betting and
even if she is..." She probably wouldn't mind you in her bed. I stopped
talking.
"Thanks, but I'm not
sure I would feel right with taking her room." He sat down back down on
the couch.
"She won't mind," I
tried to sound dismissive. Trust me. "Besides, there's always my
room..."
I felt the heat rise in my
cheeks again.
"I could sleep on the
couch, I mean."
"Thanks," Sam said
again.
I quickly walked toward the
kitchen. "Would you like anything to eat?" Stupid, stupid girl.
I turned around, and he was
right behind me. "Sure," he answered. "What do you have?"
"Um... I have no
idea." I answered truthfully, "I actually eat out most nights."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'm kind of a
hamburger girl." I giggled again. Was I drunk? Weren't there more
important things to do?
A more rational part of my brain was trying to get my attention. Hello?
Paging Wonder Woman, don't you have a detective to rescue?
"Do you know a
place?"
***
"Quick Burger?" Sam
read the sign. "Not exactly the most creative of names, is it?"
"No," I admitted.
"Well, at least we found it." Sam, said pulling his jacket closer to
him to shelter himself from the gathering evening's cold.
"...eventually."
I frowned. To be fair, I'd
never come to Quick Burger's by surface streets.
"So do they have good
burgers."
"Passable," I
shrugged, "I just like the place."
"Why?"
Sam's question was perfectly
reasonable but I felt my mind shutting down.
"Umm..."
"You like this
restaurant, but not because of the food. The ambiance?" Sam gestured at
the rather garish colors. It was the very definition of a hole in the wall.
"The owner is the
Vietnamese immigrant, he's really nice, kind of cute in a grandfather type
way."
"And how do you know
him?"
Well, I saved his life
during a robbery.
"Um... he just talks a lot to customers. Ask him about his award."
Sam took the bait and the
conversation was steered toward something not bordering on my secret identity.
"What award?"
"An entrepreneurial
award signed by Guilliani. Part of some initiative to promote minority owned
small businesses in the city."
Sam made a face. "Why
would anyone be happy to get something signed by Him."
"Careful," I
advised, "you'll make more friends saying his mother is ugly than saying
anything bad about Mr. Kung's award."
"Yeah, well I've always
wanted to be fast friends with the guy who flips my burgers."
I just rolled my eyes and
walked into the restaurant.
It was loud and smelled
greasy. It was also crowded, except for a few tables around the two corner
booths. In the far corner booth were a group of young and thuggish looking
black males. The biggest, and loudest was a man I recognized, not only by his
reputation, but by the tattoo on his well-muscled shoulder. There was a spade
on printed on his shoulder, and under that the letter "K." The king
of spades.
In the other booth, located
right next to the door, was a homeless man nursing a small clear water cup. He
was young but looked old, but guessing his true age would have been next to
impossible. His dreadlocked hair was filthy and his beard thrust wildly from
his jawline. He wore what seemed like twenty sets of dog tags.
He looked right up at me as
Sam and I walked in.
He talked in a monotonic and
constant drone. "...demon with the white face, got to slice her up, the
sword will tell me what to do..."
Sam, tossed a quarter onto
the table without stopping. It rolled along the linoleum top and landed on the
floor. With painfully slow movement the mangy looking man bent down and
retrieved it. He didn't stop talking the whole time.
"...that damn white
faced demon... she'll be the death of us yet... I'll show her..."
That sent a shiver down my
spine. As he returned to his seated position, and even as I walked to the
counter I could feel his eyes on the back of my `neck. It made my hair stand up
on end.
Mr. Kung was at the front
counter and greeted us loudly. "Welcome to Quick Burger, don't let the
dirty man bother you miss, what you want?" His face was leathered with
fine wrinkles running across his face from the corner of his eyes. He smiled a
lot and his thin wispy white hair was a mess.
"I've heard you are an
award winning restaurant," Sam said with only a hint of sarcastic
amusement in his voice.
Mr. Kung's eyes brightened
and I could see the story about his award about to bubble forth from his lips,
but Sam cut him off.
"I'll take the eat in
special." He pointed at me. "And you?"
"I'll take the same, Mr.
Kung, thank you very much."
"Why don't you find us a
place to sit," Sam suggested.
My choices were sitting next
to the homeless guy and or the king of spades fellow gang bangers. In my mind
it wasn't even a choice.
King was seated at the end of
the booth in the narrow aisle. His chair leaned back against a support column
as he relaxed, casually blocking anyone from getting past him to the empty
table past him. However, as I walked up he saw me, stood up, and smiled,
letting me past. His teeth shone bright silver because of his grill, and he
stood at least six inches taller than I was, and almost twice as wide.
"Evening," he said.
Sam got a less pleasant
reaction as he tried to get past a second later.
"Good crowd," he
whispered. Just loud enough for me to hear, still as he said it he cast a
surreptitious glimpse to the King of Spades right behind him.
I shrugged but inwardly I
smiled. Don't worry Sam, I'll protect you from the scary gang member.
"It's that kind of neighborhood. Besides, the King's men don't cause
trouble. Kind of the opposite really, I saw him personally throw out two drunk
guys who wanted to see who between them was the better boxer."
"Wow, I'm glad you told
me that after we got here." Sam squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
Watching him, I realized I
was smiling.
"What?" Sam asked
suspiciously. "Is something funny?"
I felt my cheeks flush and
murmured, "I think our food is ready." Indeed it was, Mr. Kung had
just laid out two trays.
"I'll say this, he's
fast." Sam frowned as he looked back and realized that King was once again
leaning back in his chair arms crossed across his wide
chest, completely obstructing
passage. Unable or unwilling to walk back to the counter the way he'd come, Sam
picked his way across the entire restaurant. He looped around again carrying
two trays, and laid one down in front of me.
"They were out of
Chateau '47," Sam said, "so I just got you Coke."
"I'll manage."
When I bit down into my
burger I realized just how hungry I was. I hadn't eaten since before... I tried
not to think about the days previous events, actually.
Sam watched me wolf down my
burger, and by the time I was done he had just unfinished wrapping his.
"Hungry?" Sam
asked.
I felt myself blushing again.
Sam looked down at his burger.
"You know, on our first
date I took Casey to a steak house." He paused.
"Sounds delicious,"
I said, just to fill the emptiness.
"She's a
vegetarian." "
Ouch."
Sam shrugged. "Now Lana
was a girl who could appreciate a good steak. Can grill a mean one too. I
should know, my father taught her."
"I like steak." I
didn't really know why I said that.
"I would never have
guessed." Sam gestured at the empty wrapper I was wadding up.
"I don't cook,
though."
"What do you do?"
Fight crime. "Uh... just school, boring stuff.
I'm kind of a boring person."
"Lana said you were modest."
LetÕs not talk about Lana.
"So what do you do?"
"Aside from study
surveys of the sewage system?"
"Aside from that."
"I don't know, I guess I
work on the re-election campaign, school, of course." Sam put his chin on
his fist. "I guess I'm pretty boring as well. How did you meet Lana?"
I tried not to scowl.
"My mom was the one who found the apartment for her."
"And then?"
"Well, they talked and
Lana mentioned she needed a roommate and my mom mentioned that I was going to
attend NYU." I shrugged. "It just worked out."
"What does your dad
do?"
I bit my lip. "I don't
really know, I've never actually met him."
Sam ran a hand through his
hair. "Damn it, I should know better than to ask a question like that. I'm
sorry." He laughed ruefully. "I guess I'm still a little tipsy."
I shrugged but didn't say
anything.
"So you and Lana are
kind of like a regular odd couple."
I had the sudden urge to
never again hear the name Lana. "Where do you live?"
Sam smiled, suddenly looking
sheepish. "With my parents, actually."
"Like in the west wing
of their mansion?" I laughed.
"Actually the top floor
of their penthouse." He said it with a straight face, but the corners of
his lips curled upward, the slightest ghost of a smile. "I dress well, and
carry a surprising amount of cash. Can't imagine why I'm uncomfortable in this
neighborhood."
I laughed, and it felt good.
For a fleeting second I felt at ease. Then I remembered everything that had
happened that day.
Sam picked a fry up and bit
it in half. To his credit he didn't flinch - much. "What's wrong?" He
asked noticing the sudden change in my demeanor.
I didn't even know where to
begin. "I had a pretty crappy day too."
"Hmm," Sam went
quiet, clearly he was thinking about getting dumped.
"I shouldn't have brought
it up, I think I'd just like to get back to hanging out."
"I think that sounds
good." Sam said, popping the other half of his french fry into his mouth.
***
We were walking back through
the streets and I felt... Well, I didn't know how I felt. I still felt queezy
everytime I thinked about East or Walter, but at the same time I felt light on
my feet.
I was almost disappointed
when we arrived back at my apartment building. Sam looked up at the facade.
"So this is it," he
said, his hands in his pockets.
"Yep."
"Would you like me to
walk you up?"
I felt a strange nervousness.
"I think... yeah, sure."
We rode the elevator in an
akward silence. At the twelth floor the doors slid open and we stepped out into
the hall. Sam waited as I fumbled for my keys.
"Well, Jesse," Sam
looked at a loss for words, "it was good seeing you."
"So you aren't
staying?" I wanted to hide my face. What in the world was I saying!
Sam shook his head, smiling
but looking kind of sad. "No, I think I better get back."
He lingered in the hallway.
Lana has a crush on him,
probably for years.
Still despite that thought, instead of opening the door to my apartment I moved
closer to Sam. He doesn't even realize it.
I looked at Sam. Despite his
causticness there was something surprisingly charming about him. He was
handsome, and apparently wealthy.
I'm a superhero. At the
very least, don't I deserve this?
Our lips touched tentatively.
***
Something was ringing.
I woke up, and memories of
the previous day rushing at me. I looked up and saw that the sun was shining.
Thank God, yesterday finally ended. I reached for my alarm clock, to turn it
off, but as I looked at it I saw it wasn't set. The ringing I heard wasn't my
alarm clock, I realized, wasn't really a sound at all, but more like a
vibration that I could feel in my bones, even my teeth.
It was coming from a pile of
clothes beside me bed.
I fished out the half quarter
and stared at it.
Suddenly I knew what it
meant, and I had a vision as clear as if I were standing there. A ring of
soldiers surrounding Walter and Detective East.
I heard his voice like one of
my own thoughts. Now would be a good time.
Chapter 6
I was walking to class,
instead of running, or in my moments of weakness teleporting. It was a good
change of pace.
I'd given myself the day off,
with the Soldiers off the street I figured New York could handle itself. Heck,
maybe I could get through a class without falling asleep due to an untreated
concussion.
I walked past a paper
dispenser. Then I doubled back and looked closer. The headline read: "Hero
cop ends Soldiers' crime spree." Below was a black and white picture of a
befuddled looking Dectective East. At least he had the common courtesy to look
embarrassed by the preening circle of reporters around him.
I could only see the top of
the article, but reading that I saw no mention of the Geisha. I looked at the
by-line and saw the name Luis Llano, so I looked instead for the phrase
"dangerous masked vigilante," but that wasn't there either.
Why don't you ask him how he
subdued them all by himself, or where their leader is? I realized that I was
grinding my teeth.
I pushed myself away from the
machine and continued on my way to school. Suddenly the day didn't seem as
cheery as it had a minute ago, the sun as bright, or the sky as blue.
I arrived at the edge of
campus, and felt my spirits lift as I saw Sam. He was standing with his back to
me, looking, as always, too dressed up for his surroundings. I was about to say
something, when he turned and faced me. In doing so the women he had been
talking to came into view.
It was like the North Pole
had suddenly taken up residence in my chest.
She was tall with dark hair
and bronze skin, with high cheekbones and all-in-all painfully beautiful. Ice
queen pretty, a more
bitter part of me observed. She was dressed smartly, like Sam, all black
tailored suit, but the neck line was irritatingly low cut, and the skirt showed
off too much legs on too high heels.
"Hi, Jesse," Sam
smiled when he saw me, but I had a feeling my own smile looked forced. He
seemed to notice where my attention was centered.
"This is Reina,"
Sam said, clearly interpreting my body language as yes, please introduce me
to this woman.
"Pleasure," I said
trying to keep my tone neutral.
She for her part just nodded,
a slight inclination of her head. "Are you a student here?" Her voice
was smooth and exotic with a rich accent.
"Yes." I answered,
leaving an awkward silence. Reina for her part seemed completely and totally
uninterested in filling it.
"Reina is in the states
to clerk at my Father's old firm."
"I see," I said. It
seems I couldn't stand around with out hearing all about her.
Sam's lips curved into his
little half-smile. "Though I suspect there's some ulterior motive to her
internship."
Reina didn't even smile,
"My boyfriend."
Who clearly was not Sam. I
smiled suddenly I liked her better. Her looks were magnetic, making her
effortlessly likable. "Does he go to NYU?"
I don't know if she noticed
the shift in my tone, but she responded with almost a full sentence. "No,
he works here, in one of the research labs."
"Currently Gabriel is
trying to get money from the Suttons," Sam said running his hand through
his hair. It was a gesture I was beginning to realize associated with the general
discomfort he had about his family's wealth. "I think Reina is his secret
weapon."
Reina laughed, but it seemed
more polite than mirthful.
Sam shrugged and looked at me
sheepishly. I didn't think it was funny either, but I assumed for different reasons
than Reina.
"Right," Sam said
as he looked at me. He cleared his throat. "Do you want to come to lunch
with us? I'm going to hear their pitch. It could actually be interesting."
"Um... I have
class."
Sam looked back at Reina
briefly and then took a quick step over away from her. He slipped his hands
into mine. When he spoke it was hushed, intimate.
"Come on. Ditch class
for me. I hate making these kind of decisions alone."
His touch had caught me off
guard, and so to had his sudden confidement. I didn't know where my voice had
gone. I was sure he was going to laugh as I moved my lips silently.
"I'll make it worth your
while. Steak on the Suttons." He smiled and looked at me.
"Sure..."
It was a rude interruption
when Reina spoke. "He's here."
I turned to see a dark haired
young man approach. Reina didn't respond as he stopped beside her, but her eyes
never left his face. Clearly this was Gabriel. His hair was short and curled,
and his eyes intense.
"Mr. Sutton," his
accent was the same as Reina's, but thicker, less musical but still exotic and
strangely hypnotic. He seemed to be less comfortable with English than his
girlfriend. Gabriel extended his hand, but looked around confused. "I
thought you father would be here."
Sam accepted his handshake.
"I'm afraid, I'm it. Dad believes in delegating."
Gabriel didn't say anything
but his face spoke volumes. His dark eyebrows knit together and behind his eyes
an angry flame seemed to smolder.
Sam didn't seem to notice it,
or if he did diplomatically ignored it. "Here's our ride now."
I didn't know what to expect,
but the limo that pulled up surprised me. Sam pulled open one of the doors and
behind the dark tinted glass I saw a rich interior. I suddenly felt
underdressed. Sam coaxed me inside with a slight move of his head and a
reassuring look.
Inside two sets of seats
faced each other. Sam shut the door as he settled in next to me.
"Steak alright with you
two?" he asked as he sat down.
Gabriel gave a non-committal
wave of his hand. He was still clearly annoyed but unwilling to show it.
Instead he turned his attention toward me.
"Do I know you?"
I was at a loss. I imagined I
was doing my best deer in headlights impression.
Reina leaned over. I could
see her red glossy lips move, but couldn't hear the words she whispered into
Gabriel's ear. He nodded and smiled.
"What department do you
study?"
I took a second to parse his
mish-mashed sentence. "Mechanical engineering."
He smiled looking genuinely
happy for the first time since I had seen him. "That's where I know you
from. You were at a research symposium. You asked questions about the Soldiers.
I remember now." He pointed at me with an impish smile on his face.
Sam was watching me from the
corner of his eyes. I was slightly uncomfortable with the attention.
"I think I remember
you," I said trying to recall the day. "You do research on ceramic
metal composites."
"Yes, I do." He
seemed to be studying me. His stare had an almost physical intensity.
"I remember I asked you
if you thought that's what the Soldier's suits were made of."
"Good memory you
have," Gabriel said. He just continued to look at me.
"Maybe you should tell
Mr. Sutton about your proposal." Reina interjected coolly.
Gabriel nodded. "That is
good." His eyes lingered on me, and then he turned to Sam.
His speech sounded well
rehearsed. Accessible technology, third world countries, responsible
engineering.
"Back in Buenos Aieres,
families cannot get water because they can't afford to fix a pump. A pump, Mr.
Sutton, costs $15. We can make it, show them how to use, empower them."
I found myself nodding and I
saw that Sam was too. I shook my head and realized that we were sitting in the
restaurant. I looked down and was dimly surprised to see an uneaten T-bone on
the plate in front of me.
I tried to focus on it, but
something kept tugging my attention away. Something dark and enticing, a voice.
"You can find the
manpower anywhere. Think about it. How many youths in our city squander their
lives in chop-shops. Those same skills could give an African community
electricity, a Brazilian family clean water."
I found myself nodding again
in rhythm to Gabriel's words. Somewhere in the distance my food was growing
even colder.
"All they need is some
direction, some guidance. Give them direction, take them off the streets and
give them a purpose. You could be saving lives here and abroad. Mr. Sutton, the
choice is yours."
Sam didn't respond at first.
He was still nodding and then realized that Gabriel was no longer talking. He
looked around, as if waking. He blinked as
if he too was surprised to
find himself in a restaurant, untouched food on his plate. He discreetly looked
at his watch and his eyes widened as he saw the time.
"That was a very...
convincing," Sam said, licking his lips nervously. Gabriel smiled and I
felt myself smiling too. There was something in that smile I didn't like
though, something I feared was mirrored in my own. I shook my head, as if to
clear it.
"Do you mind if me and
my associate had some words in private."
Gabriel and Reina gave me a
surprised and withering look. They seemed to have forgotten my existence.
When Sam didn't move, Reina
calmly stood, smoothed our her skirt and put a hand on Gabriel's shoulder.
Gabriel, for his part, look annoyed. Finally, reluctantly, he too stood up and
muttered some words in a language that I was pretty sure wasn't English.
Sam watched them walk toward
a seating area by the front door. When they disappeared around the corner he
turned to me. "How is your food?"
"Untouched." I
said, looking around the restaurant. It was dimly lit with exposed beams that
ran across the ceiling made of dark handsome wood. It looked expensive and
upscale, but all I knew about it I was gathering from my current observations.
"Where are we?"
Sam didn't seem to understand
the question. "The restaurant."
"Yes, but..." I
tried to explain my disorientation. "Do you remember sitting down,
ordering, anything?"
Sam lips pulled together
tightly. "We're here aren't we?" He seemed defensive.
"But do you remember
it?"
"We listened to the
pitch the whole way here." Sam said, not quiet answering my question. I
wanted to hit him.
"Do you remember
anything else than what he said to us," I paused. "In fact, do you
remember what the pitch was about?"
"Honestly, I try not to
listen in these situations." Sam said. He rubbed his eyes with the palms
of his hands.
I wanted to protest.
Everything felt wrong. I could come up with no better word. However, Sam was
saying something.
"Father lets me
represent him when there's not a chance in hell that theyÕre going to get
funding."
I sucked in a breath. I felt
sad, like I'd lost a small piece of myself. Why am I feeling this way? Did I
really care this much about adequate water supplies for third world countries?
"It sucks though,"
Sam said, clearly experiencing something similar. "Gabriel actually makes
a pretty good case."
He put a hand on his chest as
if he were hurting. "Man, I'm hungry." He looked down at the plate of
food in front of him. He looked as if he had seen it for the first time.
"This looks good."
"You don't remember
ordering do you?" I said.
"Of course I ordered it,
foods here isn't it?" The sudden urge to smack him returned. "I
better give him the Sutton's regrets." Sam ran a finger through his hair. "Good
speech, though; sorry my Father missed it."
He slowly got to his feet. I
watched him make the walk to the wall behind which Gabriel had disappeared.
Gabriel appeared from around the corner.
I couldn't hear the words,
but could see that Sam was having trouble saying them.
Gabriel's face bespoke
disbelief and shock. And anger. Very clear on the anger. Reina appeared beside
him her placid exterior unruffled except for a slight tension that seemed to
run the length of her body. She put a calming hand on his shoulder.
Sam was still talking.
Gabriel stood straight his hands clenched in fists at the ends of unbent arms.
He seemed to be shaking visibly.
Sam stopped talking, and
Gabriel gave a curt shake of his head as if that was the only movement he could
trust himself to make.
Sam said something else and
got the same response. Suddenly Gabriel slapped Sam. I nearly flipped the table
as I bolted up.
Sam just looked surprised.
Not angry, or even upset, just vaguely surprised. He didn't say anything else but
just turned and walked toward me. The restaurant, which had been buzzing with a
dozen conversations was suddenly very quiet.
Sam came back to the table
sat beside me and didn't look back. "I think they aren't going to get a
ride back with us." He said strangely placid. "I can see why he
raises so much money," Sam said, fishing out an ice cube from his water
glass and wrapping it in his napkin before placing it against his lip.
"Who wants to say no to him?" He smiled a little ironic smile as he
bit into a forkful of potatoes. "Though I doubt he would have treated
Melinda Gates this way."
Reina was trying to calm
Gabriel. Sam was politely busying himself cleaning his face, looking the other
way, seemingly unconcerned. I, however, couldn't help but stare. Too many
discordant alarms were going off in my head.
Across the now silent
restaurant I could just hear snippets of their conversation, mostly in what I
assumed to be Portuguese. Finally I heard Gabriel speak some bitter English
words.
"I knew they would never
fund us. These people only use money for two things, bombs and gasoline. They
never dream of a better world."
All the hairs stood up on the
back of my neck.
Well, crap.
***
I was waiting on the top of
the parking garage. It was empty save for one car.
Below, the NYU campus spread
out, most of its windows dark. Above me the moon was bright, but in my costume
I could wait unseen.
I heard approaching
footsteps, clack-clack-clack on cement. It was Reina's high heels.
This is so stupid. Just go to
Detective East. Tell him you found the commander. I tried to convince myself
this had nothing to do with a certain article by a certain reporter I had read
this morning. I remained unconvinced.
Besides, confronting the
villain, that's practically the first duty of superheroes. Ah, rationalization at its finest.
She got to the car and the
lights flashed and the car beeped as it unlocked. I almost jumped out of my
skin at the sudden noise. Reina went to open the passenger door. She stopped. I
stopped breathing. Her back was to me. She turned her head slowly, as if to
look out over the edge of the cement barrier to the campus some five stories
below. I could see the edge of her dark eyes sparkle as they caught the night
lights.
She just stared out at the horizon
for a good minute. In that time I slowly started breathing again. I didn't have
any reason to be nervous. If anyone should be nervous it should be Gabriel.
Let's see how he fares without his Soldier's suit.
Finally Reina opened the
passenger door. She grabbed something off the seat and turned curtly on her
heel and walked straight toward me.
I froze.
She turned when she reached
the end of the car and disappeared from my line of sight back the way she had
come. The sound of her heels echoed off the cement surfaces and out into the
night sky.
I let out the breath I didn't
realize I was holding.
Her footsteps faded into
silence and I leaned back in the shadows. Gabriel's car sat empty in front of
me and all I had to do was wait.
Not long, though. I heard new
footsteps approaching and this time I saw Gabriel approach the back of the car.
The lights flashed again and he pulled open the trunk. He spun and I turned
toward me with the same gun he'd used on the bridge.
"I know you there!"
He fired. I wasn't there
anymore. The electricity arced across the parking garage and where I had been
there left a black smoldering streak. I reformed in the air next to him and
swatted the gun out of his hand.
He snatched his hand back as
the steel gave way. The useless shards struck the concrete barrier at the side
of the garage. "Mierda!" He looked at me and laughed, a bitter hard edged laugh. "I
had to try," he said with a shrug, "but now I get on the
ground."
I watched confused as he got
down on his knees beside his car. He looked unhappy that his slacks were having
to touch the grimy concrete.
Whump. I went sailing over the edge of the
parking garage and landed crumpled on the roof of a nearby building.
I flailed around trying
desperately to remember how to stand, my body didn't seem to remember how.
Finally I was able to reorient myself. I looked up back toward the parking
garage. Reina was standing on the concrete barrier, standing out against the
night sky. In her arms was a flagpole torn from its mounting. She tossed it up
readjusted her grip so it was over her shoulder. She threw it.
I rolled. The concrete where
I had been laying split open as the flagpole sank deep into it.
She jumped across the gap
between us. Even then she looked elegant, regal almost. She seemed to hang
effortlessly in the air between the garage and the rooftop. She landed and
pulled the flagpole out of the ground and faced me. I couldn't help but notice
she had kicked off her heels and stood before me barefoot. It was odd, to say
the least.
"Let me guess... Las
Aves?" I asked
circling outside her steel enhanced range.
"Ah... so I need not
introduce myself? Little girl, I do not want to have to break you in
half." She didn't really seem all that concerned, just informing me.
"What is Gabriel
doing?" It was a cheap trick. It almost worked. Her eyes flicked up to the
parking garage. Gabriel and his car were hidden behind a gray featureless slab.
My fist was about to make contact when she turned. She almost casually slapped
me with the steel.
I didn't stop until I made
contact with a air exchanger. It enveloped me like a suffocating metal shroud.
There was a terrible crashing sound and Reina's makeshift club tore through the
steel above me and drove me further into the wrecked steel.
She swung again, this time a
low sweeping horizontal motion. The good thing was I was free, the bad news was
it hurt like hell. I rolled as I hit the unrelenting concrete and tried to get
my bearings. Reina was right on top of me. This time it was a big overhand
swing. I was on hands and knees. The first blow drove me flat into the rooftop,
mask pressed against its rough surface. The second sent cracks and splinters
radiating out across the surface below me.
I decided I didn't want to be
hit anymore. When her third swing came I swung my fists up to meet it. There
was an earsplitting clang and the rod shot out of her hands into the black
night sky. Reina watched as it disappeared, lost against the featureless black
sky. I put a fist into her face. Her head snapped to the side and she took a
stunned step back.
Damn. I tried to keep myself from showing
just how much it hurt. I just shook my hand, trying to air it out down low by
my side, hopefully out of sight.
"That was..." Reina
tentalively touched her split lip with her tongue. It was almost experimental.
Blood slowly welled from the crack in her otherwise pristine lip,
"...unpleasent."
Well, I didn't exactly
mean for it to tickle. I
swung again. Her arm flicked out and I found my own immobilized in her grip. I
tried to pull back, but her hand maintained its vise-like hold on my forearm.
Panic begin to rise from my stomach. I'm not the strongest girl in this
fight.
I put a foot in her stomach,
not so much to stun her as much just to add leverage in order to pull away. It
did neither. I pushed back against her stomach and the strangest thing
happened. I was flung backward, but with Reina's hold on me there was nowhere
to go. Instead I flipped in the air and landed, bewildered, back on my feet.
Reina hand was still on my arm. However, she had let my panicked struggles
wrench her arm so that she had no remaining leverage to hold me still. I knew
an opportunity when I saw one.
I grabbed her wrist and
pivoted my feet. She was pulled off the ground. Shocked, her hand flew open. I
wasn't about to let her go. Yet. I waited until I had got enough momentum out
of my turn before I did. There was a satisfying crunch as it was now's Reina's
turn to split a concrete wall. Her body dug a deep ugly gash into the wall
before she fell back to the floor below. Debris rained down on her, large
chunks of cement pulling free from the now exposed rebar.
That felt good.
Reina rose, dust and pebbles
falling free from her like a flowing train. She swept her hair back from her
face. "I think I'll enjoy making you beg for mercy."
It should of been corny. Who
says that kind of thing? Instead it was terrifying.
She charged at me. Her fist
came forward, clamped tight with rage. It looked girlish, I could even see her
brightly painted red nails, but I had the feeling behind it was the kind of
force that could turn bones to powder. I couldn't help but think of Detective
East. Surely I never looked like this. This was "Hulk smash!" if anything ever was. I was always to
scared to be that angry. Like now, actually.
I grabbed the front of her
suit with both hands as I ducked under the wild swing. Her fist continued on
digging deep into the rooftop. I pulled her down but used her momentum so that
when we landed I was on top straddling her waist and her arm was akwardly
pulled straight, her hand still buried deep in the cement with her wrist bent
back at an akward angle.
I hit her as hard and as fast
as I could, back and forth against her face. I just let all the emotions flow
out of me. I hit her because of my anger, my frustration, but mostly because of
my fear. I was afraid that when I stopped she would hit back. Turned out she
didn't wait. With a wrenching sound she pulled her hand free and with it sent
me sprawling across the rooftop. Looking up I was able to see the moon, full
and silent above me.
I kicked my feet out and
swung the rest of my body up with that momentum, so that I was standing again.
Reina was less quick in getting up. She put a hand on her knee and pushed
herself up. I was pleased to see that finally she was looked even a little
rumpled. Her hair was a mess and her black blouse and skirt were dusted grey
with powdered concrete.
In her eyes I saw the real
change. She was eyeing me warily, and with more than a little trepidation. The
insight hit me like an almost physical blow. She's never been challenged, never
been hurt. This was the first time she'd traded a blow with someone who could
take it and walk, or at least stumble groggily away. She's scared, too.
Blink.
I reformed in the air behind
her and landed a cheap blow across the back of her skull. She stumbled forward
and swung a viscous back hand where I had been. Instead I materialized in front
of her and threw all I could into a kick that caught her just below the chin. Turns
out that kickboxing credit I was taking: useful.
She stumbled backward into
the wall with the Reina-sized dent in it. I tried to catch my breath without
revealing just how out of breath I was. Teleportation just takes it out of me.
She backed up and felt the exposed steel mesh behind her. Her fingers curled
around the inch thick steel. I just kind of watched dumbfounded as she actually
strained. There was a rumbling and the whole concrete barrier behind Reina,
about eight feet high, ripped free. And in the next second it came at me.
I should have probably
guarded myself, or just teleported away. Anything but let the flying building
side flatten me. I looked up groggily. Reina was breathing hard, her arms
shaking from anger and exertion. She was actually smiling, a wild almost insane
smile. A smile that also looked relieved. When she saw me prop myself up on my
elbows though, she took a step back and her face grew dark. It was an effort of
will to pull myself to bend my legs and then another major feet to get to a
single knee.
Reina was scared. She had no
right to be, but she was. She took another step back toward the exposed edge of
the building. She looked up, straight up ahead of her. I did too, not knowing
what to expect. A UFO wouldn't have surprised me at this point. It was almost
like I could feel a wind blowing against my face, and with that Reina's toes
left the cement. She hovered there for a second before she turned with a
gravity defying effortless spin and started to rise quicker and quicker into
the sky.
I just watched. Watched as
she started to fly away leaving a trail of grey dust against the night sky.
"Crap."
Blink.
Turned out my aim was pretty
good. There was a giddy moment of freefall, but my target came quickly into
view, a woman flying below me. The wind whipped past my ears and I couldn't
hear anything. I tried not to think about falling from a bridge.
We hit. I grabbed the back of
Reina's suit jacked as I did and we began to spin wildly, the city below us
turning into a streaking pattern of lights.
"You crazy bitch!"
Reina yelled out, her accent slurring the words almost beyond recognition.
We lurched forward, the
acceleration taking the breath out of me. Between the spin and the speed I
couldn't tell which way was down. Instead I felt like I was being dragged
through a psychodelic vision of blurred shooting advertisements. For a brief
moment I saw a red streak tear past me that looked like as if it could have
been a Coca-Cola sign.
I lost my grip, or more
precisely the fabric I was holding on to gave way. I grabbed on to the first
thing I could. Turned out that was Reina's bare ankle. Somehow, impossibly, we
started to spin even worse.
Reina tried to kick me off
her leg but the centripetal force had left me hanging off her at a crazy angle.
She looked back at me and shook her leg wildly. Her eyes were blazing. I was
instead looking beyond the her whipping hair, to where I could finally make
sense of the images my eyes were processing.
It was the ground. And we
were heading straight toward it.
Blink.
I was standing on earth, a
sensation I couldn't ever believe would feel so good.
Bang! A wall of dirt and
debris rose up and flew toward me. The impact slapped me down and once again I
was looking at the sky. The moon hung placidly in the sky. I had no desire to
do anything but stare at it.
Finally I sat up. My body
groaned in protest, but I ignored it. I was seated in a scrap yard surrounded
by row after row of discarded cars. Except in front of me. In front of me was a
crater. I edged down into it, past twisted unrecognizable pieces of metal. At
the center was a body.
Reina's chest moved slowly up
and down. Her face looked strangely at peace, although blood trickled from the
corner of her mouth. She was sprawled unconscious at my feet.
I looked around. Somewhere in
the distance I heard a dog barking wildly and an engine revving to life.
Industrial lights on generators all around me started to hum to life, the thin
coil of metal in the center of each bulb glowing red.
I looked down at Reina.
What in the world do I do
now?
Chapter 7
The fight had started at
dinner (steak, again) but had taken a two hour thirteen minute time out during
the movie.
"She's an attention hog.
Jessie, I'm honestly surprised you can't see through this media crap." Sam
was wearing a silver tie tonight with a black suit (again). I was starting to
learn to differentiate them based on their cut alone.
"That's because there's
nothing to see through." It was this argument, again.
"How do you know? How does
anyone know? Everyone sees her on TV and attributes all these wonderfully
altruistic motives to her." He was getting animated now, using broad
strokes of his arms to make his points. It was the kind of thing I was sure
worked well on stage, or maybe even at a campaign speech. Personally I was
tired of his over dramatized gesticulations.
I had been on the news. Of
course I had been on the news. It was the trial of the century. Sam would joke
that, of course, because this century isn't even a decade old. Just wait until
some old football player stabs his wife.
Sam was still not done.
"People see Tom Hanks on the big screen and think, 'Gee, what a nice guy.'
But what do they know about him? They just assume because they see his movies
they know him. Its the same thing with this... girl." He refused to use
her superhero name. As much as it galled me when I heard 'Geisha' the emotions
couldn't compare to the feelings that Sam managed to produce in me when he said
girl. He infused the
word with such disdain.
"She's not some actress,
Sam. She's not in a movie. That's a real person, in real life..."
"Soaking up the
spotlight."
I couldn't help but grit my
teeth. "Not everyone does things for some twisted need to be accepted by
their father."
Sam blinked and looked vaguely
surprised. I recognized the expression. I had seen the exact same one when
Gabriel had slapped him back at the restaurant. I opened my mouth to apologize.
No words came. I couldn't bring them up to the surface.
Sam smiled a rueful smile.
"At least I don't pretend. At least I don't hide who I am. At least I
don't suffer from delusions that I'm some sort of superhero." I couldn't
tell if it was an attack on me, or the Geisha. I guess it didn't really matter.
"She does it for the fame, to be on TV, to let the whole world know: 'Look
I'm doing something good.' It is a pathetic need for acceptance, youÕre right,
Jessie. Or maybe it's just narcissism."
"It's called projection,
Sam."
"I'm projecting?"
Sam looked up at the sky. "No, Jessie, everyone else who's living
vicariously through this girl. You know what a normal person would do in her
situation? They'd be normal."
"A normal person can't
lift a car, Sam."
"They'd pretend!"
Sam's voice echoed across the parking lot. It was his stage voice, and it was
an impressively loud. Other movie goers were staring at us. Sam thrust his keys
into the car door and pulled it open. "It's unlocked," he informed
me.
I got in. Sam shifted the car
out of park.
"I'm just saying that a
normal person would not think to put on tights and jump across rooftops, no
matter how much they could bench press."
"You do all these
charity things. You've got the money, obviously you feel an obligation to use
itÉ I don't knowÉ to do something good?"
"First, my family has
the money." Sam replied, he ran a hand through his hair. "Second,
they do it because a day doesn't go by that somebody doesn't ask us them for
some sort of handout."
"So Geisha should just
wait around until somebody asks for help?"
"I'd think it would be a
good start. If that girl really wants to help with the whole law and order
thing, she can become a police officer. No one would stop her - well except for
her own history of being a violent vigilante."
I hate Luis Llano. His new opinion column had just been
picked up by another local rag. He seemed determined to make a career out of
writing about me. Sam loved him, and loved to quote him.
"So itÕs stupid for the
public to think well of Geisha, because they don't really know her, but you
do?"
"That's different."
"How? How is that
different? Instead of ascribing 'wonderfully altruistic motives' to her, you
seem to think she some sort of demented freak. That's the only difference I
see."
"Yeah, I forgot I'm
talking to her press secretary or something."
"No, I'm just sick and
tired of you pretending you know her better than anyone else, that you alone
can see through her, I don't know, elaborate ruse. Maybe it really is just
that's she trying to do the right thing."
"Oh, very funny, Jessie.
I'm not allowed to pretend I understand her but you can? That's fair."
I shut up. There was really
no good way to respond to that. I mean there was - I did feel uniquely
qualified to comment on Geisha's motives, but what could I say to Sam?
"Every time she's on TV
this happens," Sam sighed.
"You don't have to keep
bringing her up."
"I don't bring her up, I
just can't get away from her. She's like the new Britney Spears."
"That's hardly the same
thing."
"You say that now, but
just you wait, for some unfathomable reason they root for her now, but just
wait for it, they'll be screaming for blood soon enough," Sam looked at
me, "Trust me, when it comes to the press the Suttons have first hand
knowledge."
I was still mad, but Sam at
least seemed to have calmed down. He even hazarded a hand on my knee. I didn't
respond, but I didn't push him away, either.
"I don't understand why
you get so worked up about it," he said.
"I get worked up!" I was dumbfounded.
"YouÉ"
There weren't words to
describe it. I settled for "...agghhhhh."
***
I got back to my apartment
exhausted, emotionally at least. The TV was on, but it didn't look like anyone
was home. It was WNYW news. Someone was talking about the Geisha. I turned up
the volume, my own personally spiteful little stab at Sam who was probably
having to endure the same kind of reports as he drove home.
It was typical coverage, just
an update on the most recent sightings, other things like that. It was strange
what made the news - Geisha stops attempted mugging see the exclusive camera
phone footage only on FOX -- and what didn't. Apparently no one had made the
connection between the strange crater in a scrap heap and me. Didn't much
matter to me, it actually served my purposes pretty well.
I thought back.
***
Reina woke up suddenly,
springing up to a seated position. She looked around and seemed a little
surprised to find herself on top of a building downtown.
I had made sure to pick a
vantage point far, far away. Somewhere I could sit back and gauge her reaction
safely through a pair of binoculars.
She looked down at herself.
Taped to her stomach was a piece of paper. She pulled it off violently, as if
it burned her. I had written in large bold sharpie letters: "Ask me about Las
Aves."
Her hair whipped back and
forth as she looked around the empty rooftop. I could tell she was yelling
something, but I wasn't to inclined to go and find out what it was. Finally she
calmed down and noticed the writing on the back.
Her eyes widened as she read,
and she bared her teeth in frustration. When she had apparently read enough she
crushed the piece of paper into a ball and stuck it into her blouse pocket. She
turned around again, searching for something on the lonely rooftop. She was
yelling again.
When there was no reaction
her shoulders slumped and she rubbed her palm into her forehead. She seemed to
be talking now, but I couldn't tell if it was just to herself or not.
She pulled out the crumpled
piece of paper and unfolded it. She sat down against the lip of the building
and read it again. And then again. She only occasionally looked up to see if
anyone had shown up.
I couldn't read it from where
I was, but I didn't need to. I knew what it said:
I know your secret now.
How many people do you think would like to know it, too?
If what Gabriel says about
you is true, I can think of a handful of paramilitary commanders.
Gabriel's going to prison. You can't help him, so help yourself instead -- and
your family.
I'll be watching.
I had to admit I felt a
certain amount of guilt as she sat there, alone, hands over her face. What
choice do I have? I had
to admit I felt a certain amount of pleasure, too. I beat you. That joy also made me feel guilty.
Finally Reina stood and
walked over to the edge of the building. She stepped up onto the edge and with
some quick flips of the wrist reduced my little blackmail note to a handful of
confetti. She turned her palm down and let the wind turn it into anonymous
litter.
She then looked up and
floated up, hovering for a moment before she drifted away, soon lost somewhere
in the New York Night sky.
Now to deal with Gabriel.
***
I watched as the cop cars
boxed him in. Detective East himself moved toward the driver's side door, his
weapon drawn. They had finally caught up to him outside his apartment building.
The driver's door popped open
and Gabriel tried to run, but East caught him with a forearm behind the head
and doubled him over so his face was smashed up against the hood. The hollow
metallic sound that accompanied it made me wince.
I was watching from above,
perched above a billboard, the bright lights below me making it almost
impossible to see me. I could see, and hear, the scene just fine though.
"I think I've already
read you your rights once, haven't I Gabriel?" East quipped as he
holstered his gun and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Maybe they didn't
stick though, so I'll try again."
"You have the right to
remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in the court of law,
although to be honest we might not hear you, I've got my men wearing earplugs.
I hear you can be really persuasive sometimes."
"You have the right
to..."
"Reina!" Gabriel
yelled. I looked to the apartment buildingÕs front stoop. She was standing
there, barefoot, arms crossed against her chest.
"Reina!" Gabriel
yelled again. East turned to look at the woman behind him. She was still
beautiful, even if she looked very, very dirty. East's eyes narrowed. My whole
body tensed as I began to imagine myself standing next to her.
She didn't move though, just
stood a haunted look on her face.
"Reina! Ayude me!"
Gabriel wasn't yelling anymore. He seemed to be pleading.
She began to take a step
forward. East swung Gabriel up, now handcuffed, so that he was between Reina
and himself. East looked confused but very nervous. He shuffled his feet
further apart, as if preparing to be charged
Reina stopped. She pulled her
back up straight and closed her eyes. She shook her head. She seemed to be
shaking with exertion.
"Reina, ayude me."
Something changed about Gabriel's voice. It was authoritative, and strong, no
longer begging, but commanding. Reina clenched her eyes shut. She seemed to be
pulled forward by Gabriel's words, but she stood still. It seemed to take a
mighty effort to keep her feet rooted on the ground.
Gabriel watched her, and when
it became clear she wasn't moving he collapsed. East caught him, but it seemed
like the life had gone out of him. He nodded dumbly as East recited the rest of
the Miranda rights, but made no further effort to resist as East guided him
into the back of a patrol car.
East looked back up to where Reina
was standing eyes still closed and fist clenched, and then back to Gabriel who
looked like the living dead.
"What the hell was that
about?" East asked no one in particular.
***
Sam tugged off his coat as he
walked toward his office. The law firm was closed, but the TV in the lobby was
still on. He was about to shut if off when he saw her face. That unmistakable pure white face.
"I hate that girl,"
he vented. "I swear she's going to be the one responsible for my break
up..."
Sam jumped at the sudden noise
behind him. One of the couches he had thought was empty had, in fact, been
occupied. Sam looked to see who it was.
Sam vaguely recognized her as
an intern, but couldn't remember her name.
"I'm sorry." He
mumbled, "It's just..." How could he even explain?
"I'm sorry," she
said, head bowed. "I was working late and..." She didn't make eye
contact with Sam.
Sam recognized her.
"Reina?" He said his voice hushed, afraid he might wake up any other
hidden sleeping interns.
She nodded, but kept her eyes
averted, although they did briefly flick toward the television. Sam remembered
Reina, a tall confident woman. They had met somewhere before. This, although
clearly Reina, was not the woman he remembered. She seemed timid, almost mousy,
hiding behind her glasses.
"Yes." She
answered. Her arms were behind her as if she was waiting to be punished.
"Sorry, to wake
you." Sam said finally."I needed to get back to work, anyways,Ó she
mumbled.
"Alright, don't forget
to go home occasionally."
She smiled but it seemed like
a mechanical nicety. Her attention was clearly not on Sam but on the TV behind
him. He turned and watched.
It was shaky hand held
footage, a confusing wild shot that finally focused on a white faced woman
dressed in black save for a bright red cord wrapped around her neck. That image
froze on the screen. They regarded it in silence.
"You know," Sam
said, "I think I really do hate that girl."
Reina, straightened up,
pulled off her glasses slowly. She seemed to actually transform before Sam's
eyes, one second a forgettable intern, the next a dark haired amazon.
"What a coincidence," She looked at Sam, as if seeing him for the
first time. "Do you want to get breakfast?"
THE END