The bartender dropped off a drink for me and asked, “Get you anything else?”
“A refill, once I go through this,” I said, and he nodded, then meandered off, probably planning to return once I’d done some damage to my scotch. I hoisted it, preparing to drink; it wasn’t going to take long.
“You’re her,” a cracked voice said, and I almost slopped scotch down the front of me. I turned my head to look, and found myself staring at one of the biker gals. She was all done up in boots and with a leather jacket all her own, faded straw hair and looks that had probably really been something once, before now. Now she was a biker grandma who was trying real hard to just look like an aging, cool, biker mom. No amount of hair dye could hide the wrinkles and hard lines, though, and her sandpapery voice suggested cigarettes had been a constant fixture in her life.
“I’m a her,” I said, holding my scotch just inches from my lips. The heavy smell of alcohol rose into my nostrils, begging me to complete the circle, to dump it back down my throat, to let the healing begin. Or at least the numbing effect.
She sat down next to me, unasked, and I started to favor her with a vicious look that would send her skittering away. She didn’t skitter, though, instead looking around, left and right, surreptitiously, like she was about to confess something that she’d rather no one hear. “I know I don’t look it, but I’m a grandmother.”
I stared at her, trying to contain my shock. “You don’t say.”
“I had a baby at seventeen,” she said, keeping her eyes forward. “A little girl. Her daddy and I used to sit down by the river in Minneapolis … so I called her Mississippi … Missi for short.”
“Original,” I said, scotch still perched in front of my lips, wondering what the hell this had to do with me.
“She got married to a man who works for Lifetime Fitness out in Chanhassen,” she went on, treating me to the worst dinner theater I’d ever seen—because the dinner theater out in Chanhassen (actually a real thing) was quite good. Also, my scotch was my dinner, so that didn’t add any points to the current experience. “And they had a little baby of their own. Called her Clara.”
“That’s nice,” I said, my scotch still in a holding pattern. I was going to down it soon if she didn’t get to the damned point. I don’t know why I was holding back; taking it down might have made me more apt to listen. Except … I was listening, without fail and only the occasional sarcastic interruption. Maybe I was curious about where this old biker chick was taking this story.
“One night when Clara was real young,” she said, “her momma kinda hit her limit. Cooped up all day with the baby, she needed to get out. So she decided to take her out shopping. And Chanhassen has a few places, but she wanted to go, to really get out for a while—so she took her to Eden Prairie Center.”
I started to feel a little tingle across the back of my neck, working its way down my spine.
“And you’d think, you know … peaceful night of shopping. Nothing bad ever happens when you’re shopping … except something did.” She was still staring straight ahead, at the bar, but she was starting to get choked up. “Some man … some … superpowered man … he came charging through the store wearing this … this black armor.” She sniffed a little. “He was running from someone, see?”
Now I really started to tingle. Mainly because I remembered this. Remembered the man in black armor. His name was David Henderschott.
“He tosses a clothing rack across the damned store,” she said, and now she turned to look at me. “And Missi is right there, inches away—but she’d stepped back from the stroller where Clara was sitting to look at something—and that rack is just whizzing at Clara, and Missi told me—‘Momma, all I could think was our little girl was going to die.’” She shuddered. “Makes me sick every time I think about it—how close she came.”
I just sat there. My hand shook a little, and a cold drip of scotch hit me on the leg.
She pulled out a phone and tripped the touch screen so it lit up. A picture of a ten year old girl was right there, long pigtails and … a Grateful Dead t-shirt?
“You saved my little granddaughter,” she said, sniffing a little. “You threw yourself in front of that clothing rack and yanked her out of the way so fast her momma barely even saw it. She told me—told me later after—after the world found out who you were, she said—‘That’s her. That’s the girl that saved our baby.’”
Scotch was spilling all over the place now, and I sat my drink down in front of me, hand shaking. I remembered that night, now that she’d reminded me. It wasn’t a memory I’d lost; it was one I’d buried, an afterthought, jumping in to save that little girl—Clara. Some offhand action by me, pure instinct.
And here was the consequence. A little girl who’d grown up because I’d acted.
“I know,” Biker Grandma went on, “you find yourself in some trouble lately. And I don’t believe a bit of what they’ve said about you. Because I know who you are. You showed us when you saved my Clara, when you risked your life when you didn’t have to, when there was nobody who knew who you were. That told me everything I need to know about you.”
She reached over and brushed my hand. “The cops and the government and the press can say whatever they want. Call you a criminal. But I know who you really are—”
“Who am I?” I asked, a little afraid to find out.
“You’re a damned hero,” she said. “And you don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” She stood up, turned to the bartender and said, “Her drink’s on me. As many as she wants.” And with one look back, and a smile, she started back to her friends.
“Thank you,” I said, and stared at the spilled scotch in front of me. “But … I hope you’re not offended if I …” I smelled the scotch on my hand where it had dripped, strong and pungent, and …
… I didn’t want it anymore. Not a single sip. “… If I don’t, because …” I stood, composing myself. “… I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be. An … ass … I’ve got to kick.”
“You go get ’em, girl,” she said, with that same, encouraging smile.
“I will,” I said, as I turned to leave. “I just gotta figure out how.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Eilish met me at the door, peering in just as I was heading out. She sniffed the air once and declared, “Not exactly JD Wetherspoon’s, is it?” as I passed her.
The cold air hit me, bracing and powerful, frosting my cheeks where—frigging again—I’d been crying. I mopped my eyes and resolved that this was the end of the waterworks for a while.
No more tears. From me, at least. There were going to be lots of tears from the Terminator and the Predator. I was resolved to make those little bitches cry, then cry uncle.
“Harry sent you?” I asked as Eilish tried to follow beside me but failed to keep up with my quickstep.
“Uh, yeah,” she said as a car honked at me when I went to cross 61. I flipped him the bird and kept walking. “Seemed to think you were about done.”
“I am about frigging done, that’s right,” I said, clutching the quilt tight around me. “But why did he send you? I was heading back.”
“Hey!” the driver shouted out the open window from where he’d screeched his car to a stop. “You’re Sienna—”
“Would you kindly get back in your car and drive on?” Eilish asked, waving a hand at him. “You’re not going to call the cops or do anything else except drive home and go to sleep, right?”
The man just sat there, head stuck out his window. “I’m just going to drive home and go to sleep.”
“Good boy,” Eilish said. “Also, obey all traffic laws and make sure you yield to pedestrians, even when they’re not in the crosswalk, all right?”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.” And stuck his head back in the window and patiently waited for us to clear the lane before slowly accelerating away.
“Guess that explains why Harry sent you,” I mused as I stepped up on the sidewalk and headed back
toward the house. “He doesn’t move in very mysterious ways.”
“I don’t exactly consider him an open book, though, do you?” Eilish asked. “I mean, you still don’t know why he’s here.”
“Said he needed my help with something,” I said, turning the corner back onto the residential street. Even though the sidewalks were icy, I stuck to them because snow was piled on the lawns. “I assume I’ll find out what that something is when the moment comes, since he’s not exactly Mr. Forthcoming, and he’s been overly solicitous thus far in terms of giving help and asking for none in return.”
“Aye, he’s probably got a big favor to ask,” she said, nodding along.
“What about you?” I asked as she pulled her hands out of her pockets and blew on them ineffectually. This cold was miserable, probably way beyond what Ireland got in winter.
“What about me?” Eilish asked, stopping alongside me.
“Don’t give me that crap, Eilish,” I said, pulling the quilt tight. “You came to me in Scotland because you wanted to know the truth about Breandan. You got drawn into a fight you didn’t ask for, it’s true, but you could have left and gone back to London afterward. Instead, you got on the plane with me, came to America, and you’ve been hanging out ever since.”
“I appreciate free food and unlimited drinks, which, by the by, is a considerable incentive for most human beings,” she said with a totally fake twinkle of amusement. “Why, that’s the very incentive most casinos use to snare people in. Take it from someone who used to spend all her time in the company of a top-notch gambler.”
“Why are you here?” I asked, trying to cut through the BS, looking her right in the eyes.
She shuffled her feet slightly and looked at them. “Well, it’s a funny thing, y’see … I don’t really have anywhere else to go. My family … they went with the cloister outside Connaught, and Breandan …” she shrugged. “Well, ye know. So, you’re right … I could have gone back to London, where I still have an outstanding arrest warrant, and my days of dodging the female cops are probably waning. So damned many of them now, y’see; female empowerment—good for the soul, not so good for the Siren on the run who relies on men she can bend to her will.”
“What do you want to do, then?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, shoving those hands deep in her pockets. Her jacket was wholly inadequate to the task of keeping her protected from Minnesota’s vicious cold. She stamped her feet, but I was guessing that was unlikely to do much. “That’s why I’ve been hanging about with you. Doesn’t exactly require soul searching, what you’ve been up to of late.”
“Reed could use your help, you know,” I said softly.
She frowned. “How’d you know he was all right?”
Now it was my turn to hem and haw a little, though only because I hated to have to explain my chain of reasoning. “Because Harry didn’t say anything when I woke up, and it was the first question on my mind. I watched him as I was storming out; he didn’t have any bad news to deliver.”
“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “They’re all still in the hospital, but no fatalities. We don’t have much of an update on them, though—they’re just … in stable condition, as these things go.”
“I figured,” I said, drawing a frosty breath that made my lungs ache. “That means they’ll all recover, probably. Metahuman healing and whatnot. But this guy … the Predator …” I shook my head. “He’s looking for a fight. For a real fight, someone that can … I dunno, make him feel alive or something. He’s dangerous.”
“Harry said he was actually going to kill you,” she said, “if he hadn’t pulled you out.”
“I did piss him off,” I said. “And he’s causing no shortage of property damage.” I started back toward the house. “I have to find him. Have to wrap this thing up.”
“Uhm … forgive me for being all gloomy now that you’re … full speed ahead, because I don’t mean to be an anchor on your, uh, cheerfulness, but …” She paused. “How are you planning to kick his arse seeing as last time you bluffed him into taking it easy on you? And he still dusted the city streets with you?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said, “but that’s the least of my worries.”
“The least … ?” Eilish asked as I moved on and she followed in my wake. “Hell, girl, what’s the greatest of them, then?”
“The Terminator is still after me, somewhere,” I said. “And he’s got a habit of showing up where I show up.”
“Yeah, how’s he doing that, by the way?” she asked as we walked up the path to the house. Someone had shoveled it; probably some kind neighbor or maybe a plow service. Either way, it was done, and the remaining snow so hard packed that it wasn’t too slippery.
Harry opened the door for us a second before I reached for it myself, so I just cruised on in, Eilish in my wake. “How’s the Terminator finding us, Harry?” I asked as he closed the front door behind the Irish girl.
“Every time you make a scene or an anonymous tip—a credible one—is received about you, he uses it to triangulate your current position,” Harry said, folding his arms as he walked forward.
“His accent is American,” I said, “his bearing is military. And this isn’t the first time they’ve employed soldiers against me.”
“You are leaving faint traces,” Cassidy said, piping up from her spot in the corner, lit by the glow of her monitor. “You were stealth in Florida. No tips, no nothing. But when you started moving, you started exposing yourself to more random people, casual encounters.”
“Before, I was hanging out on the beach, I’d go to the occasional restaurant,” I said. “You’re telling me that no one noticed me then, but the moment I started moving—”
“You were acting like a vacationer among people on vacation,” Cassidy said, blinking. “The minute you started moving, you were back to old habits, whether you realized it or not. And so you looked like—”
“A dangerous fugitive,” I said.
“I was going to say a real bitch, but whatever,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah, your natural RBF … it’s the stuff of legends,” Eilish said, gesturing to my face. “It makes me want to surrender to the authorities. And you weren’t really like that in Florida, see. Too drunk, I guess.” She shrugged.
“Sobriety … why is this worth it?” I muttered. “So … people are going to recognize me now, even with the weight loss and different hair color.”
“As long as you’ve got that working scowl on your face … yeah,” Harry said.
“So help me if you tell me to ‘smile more,’ I will dedicate my life to making sure that when next you smile, you do it with less teeth,” I said. He shrugged, and he was smiling, the bastard. “Whatever. This is not a problem of the moment. I need to deal with these assholes that are out there causing me problems.” I shed the quilt, dropping it back on the couch where I’d found it. “How do I beat these guys? How do I level the playing field?” I looked at Eilish.
She looked back, and her eyes widened. “Oh. Uhm. Me, then?”
“There’s only one of us in this room that can wrap men around their finger like they’re talking seductively to a sailor on leave,” I said.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” Harry asked, smiling faintly. “I’ve got a way with words.” His smile disappeared. “A word of warning about what you’re thinking here …” He explained.
“Uh, let’s not do that,” Eilish said once he’d gotten it all out.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll work within the frame … work.”
“How?” Cassidy asked. “I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be the smartest person in the room, and while I’m very encouraged by the beating you were able to deal out to this … Predator, I guess you have chosen for him, namewise—”
“It’s a good name,” Harry said. “Fits the 80’s theme of our slate of villains. Plus, the Predator really did go looking for a challenge.”
“Whatever,” Cassidy said, totally brushing off Harry’s
keen observations. “I like what you did to rearrange his face and skull, but I am slightly skeptical of your ability to repeat.”
“Let me tell you a little trick about humanity, Cassidy,” I said. “This guy? He thinks he’s the apex predator of the planet. That’s why he was seeking me out. He wanted to be the best, and … now he thinks he is.” I smiled. “But the problem with being the champion …”
“Is that you have to defend the title every now and again,” Harry said with a smile. “Otherwise, you’re not the best anymore. We learned that in Rocky III.” He shrugged when I gave him the eye. “Sticking with the theme.”
“That kind of thinking on his part is dumb,” Cassidy said. “He beat you. He should take his well-earned victory and be happy with it.”
“Logically, yes,” I said. “But this drive of his—whatever demons are fueling his fire? Logic ain’t in the picture at this point. He’s running on fear and ego, and if he gets challenged, he’s going to fight. Which is why he’s dangerous. If this goes on much longer, his little over-the-top aggressions are going to stop finding hard targets like metas and he’s just going to run roughshod over everyone.” I walked over to Cassidy. “I need a place where I can fight him … and beat him.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but she answered almost immediately. “Try in your dreams.”
I started to fire off an angry retort, then stopped myself. “That’s … not bad.”
She smiled. “It’s a start, anyway. I expect that’ll get him … nice and ready for your next meeting.” She started tapping again at her keyboard. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can find a place where you can even the odds.”
Apex Page 22
