“So, what do you want to bet? He’ll have his tie loose or completely off?” Finster asked. He pulled the company car he’d borrowed into Rooke Pharmaceutical’s parking lot.
Finster ran his hand through his platinum blond hair. Mark had to admit Finster was unrecognizable after he had dyed his hair. The loss of his beard had a larger effect, completely changing him. Heather had forced him to shave off every bit of it after dumping the van. He had lamented its missing presence ever since. Yet there was no hiding the lumpy bruises peppering his face. When Finster had returned to the warehouse, Heather had declared that he was lucky to have survived Lydia’s attacks. Heather wasn’t in the best shape either, but Finster had been worse, blacking out off and on. She had suspected cracked ribs and a concussion at least, but he’d surprised her by recovering well over the past few days. He did move deliberately slowly, as if his body was still sore and stiff.
Heather was silent for a moment. “Twenty bucks that his tie is off.”
Finster turned around. “How about you, Mark?”
Mark didn’t care. After two days of laying low in the warehouse, dust still lingered on his skin. He’d been constantly reminded of the bank, no matter how hard he tried to forget it. If it wasn’t Heather and Finster discussing the botched operation, it was the news on a small beat-up radio Heather had scavenged from the warehouse’s trash. They had listened to the evening reports on the story, the news anchors warnings of the various symptoms of the SN91, including motor impairment, twitching, muscle weakness, and difficulty speaking. Mark left the room when he heard the anchors cautioning those who were experiencing these symptoms to visit their local hospital. He already knew what the anchors’ next request would be: that any person who had seen Mark and the two other criminals should call the local authorities.
He was anxiously looking forward to a shower and to a good night’s sleep in a normal bed, safe and sound. Not the uncomfortable cots they had been using, from which he jumped at every passing siren.
He returned to the present. “I don’t know. What tie?”
“Rooke’s of course,” Finster said. He drove into an empty space next to the numerous other white company vehicles and shut off the car. “Get in on the action. Going once, going twice.”
“Off, I guess,” Mark said.
As they walked to Rooke’s office, Finster continued to bet with Heather about upset their boss would be. For the most part, Heather simply shrugged when he asked her to gauge Rooke’s reaction. Mark was nervous about confronting Rooke, but the alternative of a displeased Whyte made Rooke the lesser of two evils.
“Hope he’s not in too bad a mood to fix my lines,” Finster said, stepping off the elevator. He’d had to ditch the snapped tubes, and he hadn’t moved his bones around since.
“You would think that after he fireproofed them for Kirk, you’d be set,” Heather said.
“I didn’t expect Lydia to be that strong.”
“Now you know. And she knows your silly Achilles’ heel too,” Heather said.
The secretary waved them into the room.
“At least I can use my power whenever I want,” Finster said, ribbing her. “I’m not on a timetable.”
“At least mine doesn’t hurt whenever I use it.”
Rooke was an absolute wreck. His collared shirt was rumpled and untucked. His tie had been tossed to the floor. Finster slipped Heather and Mark each a twenty. Rooke’s hair was frazzled, like he had jammed a fork into a light socket. But as soon as the three entered, he smoothed his hair down and slammed the desk.
“Where have you been?” Rooke shouted. He marched up to Finster. Although Finster outmatched him in height and strength, Rooke didn’t hold back. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Cops are running all over town! The BEP Division is breathing down my neck! To top it off, you released my newest batch of the SN91 in the middle of the city without telling me! I’ve been producing the antidote for the hospital nonstop, lest any more blood be spilled! Never mind people’s growing suspicions that I knew how to make it or that I’m involved!”
Heather smiled sweetly. “Hands feeling a bit dirty? Try scrubbing harder. Really get under those fingernails.”
“Shut up! I’m tired of this! But do you care? No!” Rooke stomped around the room. Mark thought his blowup would be terrifying if Rooke wasn’t so ostentatiously exaggerated in his rage. He swatted a lamp off his desk. “No, what concern is it of yours if more people die and I’m implicated? I’m only shelling out the money to clean up your mess, after all! I told you not to do anything! I said I wouldn’t be involved! Yet you dragged me in!”
The intercom buzzed. “Sir?”
“What?” Rooke growled at his secretary.
“You have an incoming call on your private line.”
Rooke’s enraged face paled. “Put it through.” Everyone turned to the screen.
Whyte’s image popped up. He was stroking his chin. A dying lamp faintly lit up parts of his face. His eyes, like two black holes in the cosmos, focused on each of his employees from the shadows. He folded his hands and settled comfortably into his chair. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “So, how did everything go?”
“Okay,” Heather said.
“Are you out of your mind?” Rooke asked. “Things did not go ‘okay.’ Things went terribly! I blame you for this entire thing!” He pointed a shaking finger at Whyte. “You went behind my back and released the SN91. You have gone too far this time and I won’t stand for it.”
“Bartholomew.” Whyte’s voice held a warning. Mark backed up, putting Heather and Finster between him and the screen. “I’ve had a good morning so far. Woke up feeling well rested, got a call from Finster telling me they had the blood, and I heard from my niece today, the little angel. You’re treading in rough waters right now. You’re very close to ruining my day. I wouldn’t want my day ruined.”
“Your day?!” Rooke cried incredulously. “Your day?! I’m the one who’s been through the worst of it all!”
Whyte leaned forward, his head fully illuminated. His black hair was streaked by small, silver lines at varying intervals and stretched back, ending in a dangling ponytail. His hard face, defined by his well-set wrinkles, was far more intimidating than any ranting display that Rooke had put on. Those black-hole eyes lapped up the weak light, greedily gorging. All anyone could see of their devouring nature were spotted hazel-yellow flashes as the light disappeared into the intense orbs.
“Heather,” Whyte said, not taking his gaze away from Rooke. “What have you brought for me?”
Heather reached into her coat pocket and produced the bloody glove, sealed in a plastic bag. “Lydia’s blood. As germ-free as possible.”
“Finster, what did you bring to the table?”
Finster nodded at the glove. “I took on Lydia. Got her to bleed.”
Whyte nodded. “You—Mark, is it? Did you bring anything?”
Mark looked at Heather. She spoke up for him. “He protected the detonator. Allowed us to carry out the test of the SN91 without a hitch.”
“Excellent,” Whyte said. “And you, Rooke? What have you brought? Everyone else followed through with my plan. They brought the blood you would need, tested your latest version of the SN91, and made a little market for you in the city. You always manage to draw suspicion to yourself one way or another. So I deliberately left you out, making your clueless reaction real and thereby sparing you more trouble than if you had known. Yet what do I get in return? What do you bring to me? Griping, complaints, and the audacity to continuously challenge my authority. Congratulations. You have effectively ruined my day!”
“Wait,” Rooke said, pleading with Whyte. He fell to his knees.
“No, I have waited long enough,” Whyte said, sitting back in the shadows. “Perhaps we should permanently conclude our business dealings here and now. I’ve forgotten why I keep you around when all you do is cause headaches.”
Finster eyed Heather. They drew back their coats carefully, hands rea
ching for their holsters. Mark ducked away.
“Wait, wait!” Rooke said, crawling to the screen. “I can get you the drug to make people strong and invincible! Both at the same time! We have her blood now, so not only could I recreate the concoction for her and determine Mark’s from it as well, but I could combine them!” He frantically gestured to Whyte. “Think about it. All your people, as strong as oxen and built like tanks.”
Whyte rocked in his chair. He smiled. “Ah, now I remember why I keep you around. Get to it, then. Send over the reports of the SN91 test.” The screen went black.
Rooke went to his desk and collapsed into his chair. Heather left while Finster stayed behind to discuss tube repairs. Mark sprang out the door and headed for the showers, happy to be away from all the tension.
Halfway Heroes Page 63
