Desperate Times Read online

  I scoffed, "Yeah. Maybe." I stood, "I'm going to head back. Good to know you're safe. Any chance you're going to leave town?"

  Ted shrugged, "Like you said, it isn't like you can do anything about it if he wants to get you. After today, I might be the only one working on a solution."

  "And you think a gun is it?"

  Ted looked down at the fire hose on the table, "I see your point." He put his hand on it for a moment and then pushed it away, "Yeah, good point."

  I turned, making my way around all the junk on the ground. As I came to the end of the console, I noted a blue glow through a piece of paper. Intrigued, I moved the paper to find a glowing blue orb inside a shimmering bubble encased in a plastic box. I picked up the box and turned back to Ted.

  "Is this what I think it is?"

  Ted looked over, adjusting small glasses that weren't on his face a moment ago. "Oh, I've been meaning to give you that. Figured you might want it for a memento or something."

  A while ago, a super who specialized in flame powers had thrown this little blue ember at me. It was supposed to explode, but my Inertial Dampener had stopped it. Probably saved my life. Ted had placed it in a stasis field to render it harmless and had boxed it for me.

  "This thing safe?"

  "Oh yeah. There's enough power in that case to keep the stasis field going forever. It actually runs off the blue ball in there. See, what I did was..."

  "Fine, got it. Cool science-y stuff. What happens if the case breaks?"

  "Um...nothing."

  "Cool, later."

  "Unless you break the field emitter."

  I turned back to Ted, "And then what happens?"

  He shrugged, "Whatever is supposed to happen when that thing touches something else."

  A big, fiery explosion.

  "And how easy is it to break the emitter thing?"

  "Well," Einstein rubbed his temple, his eyebrow vibrating in response, "I wouldn't drop the case. Just to be safe."

  I shook my head, closing my eyes, "Oh, Ted, you know just how to impress a girl."

  "Ah, you worry too much," he waved me off. "But really, Bob, I'm going to send over some upgrades to your security. Just in case."

  I shook my head, "Whatever."

  Ted turned away, muttering, "Now, what could stop someone with that much power?"

  I got in the car and set the clear box down carefully on the passenger seat. Through the windshield, I could see Ted picking through the debris of his recent work, looking for inspiration. It always took him a minute or two before he'd remember to open the door for me. Usually, I'd honk, but in the back of the room the simulation was still playing. I couldn't help but watch. I grabbed my flask, trying to shake out a few last drops.

  # # #

  Chapter 4

  It was approaching midnight by the time I got back on the road. The top was down and the wind felt good on my face. I tried to ignore the smell of smoke. Ted's place wasn't far away as the crow flies, but I had to snake through some less desirable neighborhoods on my way back. The suburbs surrounding Ted's house were as quiet as they'd been on the drive out. As I entered areas littered with public housing and corner convenience stores, I started to see evidence that some of what the news had been saying was coming true. Groups of boys, young men really, peered out of dark alleys, watching me pass. Individuals ducked into doorways to avoid my headlights. One kid ran out from between two buildings and hurled a piece of brick at my car. It hit on the driver's side door. I swerved, too late to dodge the projectile, and slammed on my brakes sending the car into a skid. The box on the seat next to me shot forward, hitting the glove box door, and landing hard on the floor. I looked behind me and saw the youth sprinting back into the alley. He wasn't looking at me as he ran; he was looking up.

  Looking for supers.

  It was a fairly ridiculous test. Petty crime like that would often go unnoticed by the supers, especially when something as major as this day's events had happened. Thinking that the supers would swoop down after a bit of vandalism was naive to the point of stupidity. But, apparently, they were desperate enough to try anything. Anything to reassure themselves that there were still supers out there. Supers that could protect them.

  I scowled at the thought.

  Of course, I knew that Gale was still out there, so was Rod. They were powerful, probably two of the strongest supers on the planet even before the Tournament. But could they stop The Raven? When the amassed might of most of the world's supers had barely had a chance to react before he slaughtered them?

  I reached down onto the passenger side floor and retrieved the box. Of course, it was cracked. Ted might be able to build resistant clothing, but it looked like he had reused some sort of plastic box from God knows what. I shook my head. "Supers," I spat. I placed the box back on the seat and threw my hat over it. At least that would help hold it down a bit.

  I ground the car into first and punched the accelerator. The rear tires spun on the pavement kicking the back of the car out as I turned back toward the middle of the road. This was no time to dwell either mentally or physically. Things were just going to get more dangerous out here. Nissa was going to have to stay at the flat tonight. No way she was taking the train home.

  When I entered the apartment, Nissa wasn't in her office or mine. I entered the side door and immediately heard the TV from the other room. And a voice. Nissa's. She was talking to someone. The phone? Nissa had a professional voice she reserved for the phone. It was one of the reasons she'd worked out so well. While Khan had gotten along with everyone and had a way that put everyone at ease, Nissa could compartmentalize. With clients and phone calls, she was all detached professionalism. You'd never guess the girl at the other end couldn't sit back in a recliner without messing up her hair. But with me, it was more casual, informal. Now I heard nothing but professionalism mixed with stress. I sprinted to the end of the hall. Nissa was sitting on the couch in front of the TV with two phones in her lap. Her mohawk was listing to the side and her makeup was smeared a bit near her eyes. She looked up at me as I skidded to a stop.

  "Oh, here he is now." She held out the phone. Someone had called me back on my main line. "Gale. Talk fast."

  I nodded, throwing my overcoat over the couch and grabbing the phone in one quick motion, "Gale!"

  "Bob," it sounded like she was in a wind tunnel, "real busy here." Her voice was strained, tense. Like she was talking through gritted teeth.

  "Gale, what's going on? You okay?"

  "No, Bob, I'm not okay. That asshole killed just about everyone I know and I'm scouring the ocean for survivors."

  "My God. Any luck?"

  "No," she spat, frustrated.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, so unless you've got something pressing..."

  "Khan's dead."

  She paused. "I figured. God, if anyone could have gotten away..."

  "Yeah, that's what I thought too. But Ted showed me. He didn't make it."

  "Ted's still alive?"

  "Yeah, he put together some sort of..."

  "Force, Tinkerer's alive! Bob, I've got to go. I'll call you when I can."

  The phone went dead.

  I stared at it for a moment. Gale was like that when she was working. Even when we were married she'd hang up at a moment's notice. I looked up at Nissa. Her eyes were red. I handed her back the phone. She replaced it on the receiver.

  "Anyone else?"

  She shook her head slowly, eyes locked with mine.

  I nodded. "You're staying here tonight." Behind Nissa the TV showed images of people running through darkened streets, some holding rocks, others flaming bottles of alcohol. I nodded toward the screen, "But I suspect you knew that."

  She attempted a smile as she stood, "How'd it go with Ted?"

  "Dead. They're all dead."

  She inhaled sharply.

  I shook my head and turned to the wet bar built into the wall next to the TV. "Ted, he got some footage, all the footage, he said. P
ut together some sort of simulation. No one made it."

  Her voice trembled, "What does it mean?"

  I looked back at her. She was shaking. "How old are you again?"

  "Twenty."

  "Close enough." I grabbed two glasses off the shelf and filled one halfway with scotch. The other only got a finger's worth. "Here." I handed her the shorter glass.

  She took the cup with both hands. She brought it to her lips and sipped, coughing softly as a small amount of the liquid left the glass. I held out my arm, directing her to the dining table. She sat.

  I think there is some sort of biological imperative with males. Something to do with a female in distress. Every fiber of my being wanted to take her, hold her, tell her it was going to be okay. Of course it wasn't going to be okay. At least, not that I could see. Things were as messed up as I could ever imagine. Plus, if being around supers taught me nothing else, it was that you didn't judge a person by their looks. Woman or man, small or large, power resided in the most unassuming packages. I doubted Nissa needed my reassurances, real or otherwise.

  "You talk to anyone else?"

  She shook her head, looking into her glass. "Lines have mostly been down. Liz hasn't answered at all. No one else either." She brought the glass up to her mouth then stopped, "One of your contact numbers is wrong though. Lists a bar as his home address. Super named Flamer?"

  Flamer. Shawn O'Malley. He was quite a piece of work. One of those all brawn, no brains type. I'd done a quick job for him a while back. He probably did live at that bar.

  "Was he there?"

  "Didn't think to ask. Should I have?"

  I shook my head, "Naw. I would have told you not to call him if I'd had the chance."

  We got quiet. It was strange. Maybe Ted was right. All around, outside, I could feel the unease, the restlessness of the city. Those door locks and intercom felt woefully inadequate. For the first time, I felt unsafe. I took a deep breath and sipped my drink. Nissa did the same, but coughed after. I smiled.

  Given how short our relationship had been, I was surprised I had already developed quite the rapport with her. Not only did she speak her mind, but she had an intuitive sense as to when she could tell me to buzz off. That made me want to test her abilities by making more and more outrageous demands to see if she'd take me seriously. So far, she'd seen through me every time.

  Nissa cleared her throat, "I'm gonna hit the shower. You mind?"

  I shook my head as much at her familiarity as in response. Tonight was the first time Nissa had been farther into my apartment than the kitchen. It was strange to have anyone back here. No, that wasn't true. Khan had been back here plenty. But not a girl. A woman. She's young, fifteen years younger than me, but still a woman. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  "You okay?" she raised an eyebrow.

  "Yeah. Towels under the sink."

  "Cool. Thanks." She paused, and then added, "Would it be too much to hope for conditioner?"

  "Doesn't shampoo have that?"

  She rolled her eyes and turned and exited through the bedroom door, shutting it softly behind her. Man, this day. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. One a.m.. The television continued repeating the same footage and reports, occasionally adding something about the violence in the streets. I wasn't paying attention. I walked over to the set and flipped it off. Turning, I noticed my overcoat and hat on the couch. I picked them up and walked to the bedroom door. Just in time I stopped myself.

  "Oh, real smooth, Bob," I muttered.

  Out of sight, out of mind? The shower wasn't even running yet and I was about to walk in with my coat and hat in hand? 'Sorry miss. I was just going to hang these up and forgot you were naked in here.' I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. I threw the hat on the dining table and the overcoat on a chair. I added my jacket to the chair and loosened a button. I rolled my sleeves up to the mid-forearm and headed back to the guest bathroom. This one was just inside the hidden door from Nissa's office and usually only got use from her and the occasional friend. Now that I thought of it, it probably hadn't been used in months, if not years, by anyone other than an assistant.

  Khan.

  The bathroom had changed in recent weeks. Nissa's hand could be felt even here. Khan always kept it clean, but Nissa had taken it from a utilitarian aesthetic to something a bit more comfortable. No decorative soaps like Gale would have added, but little touches. Vanilla-scented liquid soap, a plush hand towel, and a tall, thin piece of slate in a pot in the corner that used a pump to create a waterfall. She'd told me she'd made it herself. I laughed as I remembered that I'd once complained that every time I walked by, it would make me want to pee. She had smiled wickedly at that one. I'd tried turning it off, but the pot had overflowed. She'd said it was an alarm to let me know when the power went out.

  I washed my hands and face with a bar of soap I kept under the sink. It's fine for clients and Nissa to smell like a dessert, but I preferred a more neutral smell. The cool water felt good on my face and I stared for a moment into my own eyes. Brown, outlined underneath by darker than usual circles, my eyes looked scared. Bloodshot. I stood up straight, pushing my shoulders back. My cleft chin did little to distinguish my squarish, lightly lined face, and small eyes. I was feeling all of my thirty-five years and the slight gray in my five o'clock shadow didn't help. My brown hair was, thankfully, still free of gray, and full. My hairline was square and always had been. I needed a haircut; it was almost two inches long. Pretty soon I'd have to give up the messy look I normally adopted out of necessity for something a bit more groomed. Short and messy I can pull off. Long and messy takes someone a bit younger than me.

  Someone Nissa's age.

  I dried my face and hands and took a deep breath. I'd figure it out. I always did. When my marriage fell apart, I'd thought the world would end. It didn't then and it wouldn't now. It couldn't.

  "This too shall pass," I sounded more convincing than I felt.

  I jumped slightly as a phone rang from the other room. I threw the towel on the counter and ran down the hall. It was the main line again. Someone else was calling me back. She'd been calling people all day; it could be anyone.

  Khan.

  Please let Ted be wrong.

  I picked up the phone, "Hello?"

  "Bob?" asked a female voice.

  "Yeah?"

  "Lord, I've been trying to get a hold of you all day."

  "Liz," I was relieved in spite of my disappointment.

  "Are you okay, Bob?"

  "Yeah, of course. How are you?"

  "As good as... Damn, Bob, what do I say?"

  "Huh?"

  "I'm sorry about Gale. I know you always hoped you two would..."

  "Gale? No, she's fine."

  Liz paused, "She is? She lived?"

  "Yeah. We were busting a terrorist plot to attack the games."

  "You two, together?"

  "Yeah. Force too."

  "Wow. Lucky, huh?"

  "Yeah, I suppose. Haven't really had time to process it yet."

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

  "Liz?"

  "Yeah, sorry. Sorry. Well, that's great. Gale's okay."

  "You okay? You sound...weird."

  "Well, it's been that sort of day."

  "Tell me," I laughed heavily.

  Liz wasn't the type to get rattled easily. She'd been running TOP, the Tippy Outreach Program, for years. They worked with non-powered - tippy - people that were the victims of supers. Usually as innocent bystanders. She used to be a high-powered banker until her boss turned out to be a super villain. Since then, she'd been dealing with supers and their fallout on a nearly daily basis. I donated a lot of money, and sometimes my expertise, to the cause and she helped me invest and hide my money. I hadn't heard her this shaken up since Tommy Tillman had threatened to pull off her pigtails in kindergarten. Me defending her was the start of our friendship.

  "You know, they're not even talking about the people wh
o were killed? Only the supers." Her voice was shaking. "A few thousand supers were vaporized, but tens of thousands of people died."

  "I know."

  "It's like we don't count."

  "You know how the media is; they don't care about us tippys."

  "You know I don't like that term."

  "And yet your organization is called the Tippy Outreach Program."

  "What was I supposed to call it? The 'Non-Super' Outreach Program? N-SOP doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

  "I know, sorry Liz."

  We paused, the familiar argument a welcome diversion from discussing the day's events.

  "Bob, it's good to hear your voice."

  "Yeah, you too."

  "I was going to come over, you know, a friendly face and all, but the streets..."

  "Yeah, I was out in it today. I think they are overblowing it a bit. At least, I didn't see much. But I'm not sure I'd want you out in..."

  "Bob?" a voice from my bedroom door. I hadn't noticed the shower cut off while I was talking. Nissa stood in the doorway, wearing one of my white, button-down shirts. The shirt was way too big for her and the sleeves flopped off the end of her fingertips. "I couldn't find anything but white shirts. Are you telling me this is all you own?"

  "Bob? Who is that?" the phone inquired.

  Nissa had left the top two buttons undone. It wasn't enough to show anything, but it certainly drew my eye. The shirt was long enough that she could have worn it as a short dress, but the split in the fabric at the front kept opening as she moved. Through the thin fabric of the shirt I could see that her athletic chest was unclothed. I tried to turn away or at least focus on her eyes. I shifted my weight to my other leg.

  "No. I mean, yes," I stammered.

  "What?" both the phone and Nissa responded at the same time.

  I put a finger up in the air to hold off Nissa.

  "It's Nissa," I turned away from Nissa and responded.

  "Nissa?"

  "Yeah, my new assistant? I'm sure I told you about her."

  "Oh."

  "She's been here all day. Couldn't let her take the train home."

  "Sure. Sure. Listen Bob, I should go."