Second Guess (The Girl in the Box Book 39)

by Robert J. Crane

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE

  Scout

  In a Denny's outside Jersey City, Scout stared at her menu, casting an occasional eye across the crowded restaurant.

  Surely, someone would see them. Recognize them.

  Surely, someone knew.

  Francine had bought a paper outside – well, stolen one with a little blast of electricity – and was paging through it. Their deeds were still front page, theirs and those of these so-called copycats.

  There were no pictures of them, though. Not even one of AJ's dead face.

  Can't even get my picture in the paper when I'm dead, he groused.

  They'd flown here from the woods, setting down in a thicket just down the road. It hadn't taken much coercion to get Isaac to fall in line and supply flight power to her – them, really. AJ had done most of the heavy lifting in that department while Scout had listened to the screams in her head.

  Now Isaac was sulking somewhere in the back of her mind. Which was fine. Let him sulk.

  They were going to do great things now.

  “This is really flattering,” Francine said, almost glowing now that she'd read the profile. “They make us sound like...gods or something.” She looked up, flashing a smile. “Unstoppable.”

  “Well, they haven't stopped us yet,” Scout said, sipping her coffee. It probably wasn't fair trade, and the waitress had said they were out of soy, but it was the first coffee she'd had in days and she was beyond caring. “That kinda makes us unstoppable. So far, at least.”

  Francine nodded along. She'd been the one to suggest they get a real meal. They'd taken the money out of Isaac's pockets, and he'd been hoarding a fat wad of cash. Scumbag liar. Preaching the cause to them while he'd been using them to make a fortune while screwing them all. It still burned in Scout's stomach, that sick feeling of betrayal mixed with shame.

  “Hey.” Scout looked up to find Francine staring at her. “You thinking about him?”

  Scout nodded tentatively. “A little.”

  “I know it'd be hard to put him out of your mind,” Francine said, leaning across the table and giving her a pat just above the sleeve, “but try to at least forget what he did. It's over. You got the best of him, he got the worst of you. You won.”

  Scout felt the slinking presence in the back of her mind. “Doesn't feel like I won. He took something from me.”

  “What, your virginity?” Francine scoffed loudly. “That's a stupid construct designed to keep women down. If a woman has sex with whoever she wants, whenever she wants, you know what that makes her?”

  A slut? AJ asked. Scout did not answer, but her eyes widened.

  “Powerful,” Francine said. “Not in the control of any man. When was the last time you heard of a man getting slut shamed for sleeping with multiple women? When was the last time you heard a man putting value on his virginity?”

  “Uh...” Scout tried to think of it.

  “Never,” Francine said. “Because we've internalized that misogynist view that it has value in order to allow them to control us. Well, screw them. Screw whoever you want, whenever you want. You'll be happier.” She turned back to her paper, then made a face. “Let's order. I'm starving.”

  Scout nodded.

  AJ's voice played in her head under his chuckling. Francine is crazy, yo. Be careful with her.

  I'll be careful with everyone, thanks, Scout said.

  “You know what you want?” The waitress came up.

  “Grand Slam,” Francine said. “Eggs over easy. Bacon.”

  I thought she was vegan? AJ asked.

  Scout didn't dare probe into that. She just ordered a Moons Over My Hammy and handed back the menu, settling down with her coffee.

  “We're just two free bitches with the world ahead of us now,” Francine said, paging through the paper, probably looking for more references to them. “We're going to save it. Nothing else matters.”

  “Can I have the entertainment section?” Scout asked. She was bored, and didn't want to mess with her phone. Some celebrity gossip would probably mitigate the boredom.

  Francine handed it to her without a word, content with her own section.

  Scout stared at the front page. The answer came to her a second later, and she said, “Hmm.”

  “What?” Francine looked up.

  Scout slid the paper around. MORNA GREY FAREWELL TOUR ARRIVES AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN; EXPECTED TO DRAW UPWARDS OF 20,000 FANS.

  “Morna Grey?” Francine frowned. “No wonder she's doing a farewell tour – she's old. My parents were fans of her back in the, like, eighties or some shit.”

  Scout nodded slowly. “All her fans are the olds.”

  Francine got it, and a slow smile spread across her lips. “The worst people in the world.” She leaned in, eyes shining. “How do you want to do it? A bomb?”

  The picture was of the inside of Madison Square Garden, and Scout stared at it. The massive, cylindrical electronic scoreboard/TV hung over the center of the arena, dominating the landscape.

  Scout stared. The answer was obvious.

  “What?” Francine must have noticed her expression change. “What is it?”

  Scout leaned in, trying to keep from smiling too broadly

  This was going to be good.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX

  Sienna

  I hate meetings. Especially government meetings with people who hate me.

  For some reason – presumably out of pure spite or because he was in love with the sound of his own voice – Agent Li talked for hours. Hours and hours.

  I managed to squeeze outside afterward, taking a breath of the city air and really appreciating the smell of Chinese food wafting from down the block for the first time in the months since I'd left New York. “I didn't miss you, island of Manhattan,” I muttered.

  “Guess that answers that unasked question,” Scott Byerly said, sidling up next to me. We were all waiting for the SUV convoy that was going to take us the two whole blocks to our hotel. “What else is on your mind?”

  “I'm thinking of taking up smoking,” I said, “in order to dodge out of meetings and give my fidgety hands something to do during uncomfortable conversations. Which I seem to be having a lot of, lately.”

  “Nice,” Scott said. Olivia and Angel were milling around nearby, and I kept catching their eyes. I was guessing they each wanted to say hello, but also didn't want to interrupt my conversation with Scott. After all, I'd hadn't really seen either of them since...well, that time I helped Angel and then went to the Cube. “You're really going to be setting a great example for kids everywhere doing that.”

  “So you're saying I should go with vaping instead?” I mimed taking a puff. “That's the trendy way to murder your lungs now, right?”

  “Hah,” Scott said, barely restraining a grin. “I sensed you were not a hundred percent mentally present during that meeting.”

  “What gave it away?”

  “Just a hunch,” Scott said. “Also, during the last thirty minutes, you were swearing, meta-low, under your breath, and taking Li's name in vain in every way possible.”

  “Was I? Didn't notice.”

  Reed passed by just then. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, not stopping or even pausing.

  “I don't know,” I said, “but I'm sure if you check Flashforce.net, you'll find a listicle with several answers to choose from.”

  Scott chuckled. “So...being back in New York. Bring back any memories?”

  I froze. “Like...recent memories for me? Or are you harkening back to that one time when you and I faced off over Gravity Gal and, uh...Nadine Griffin?”

  A little shadow passed over Scott's face. Annoyance, perhaps. A dark hint of things past. “I was talking about you living here, but thanks for reminding me about you killing a woman I slept with after we broke up.”

  “Allegedly.” I thrust a finger in his face. “Very important addendum to that statement. And it's not like she was a solid citizen, Scott
. She was hiring people to wreck buildings and steal evidence and destroy Gravity's very life.”

  “Also allegedly.”

  “Uh, yeah, cuz I'm the one who alleged it,” I said. “Also, I later hired and sort of befriended the people she used to do the dirty deeds and she definitely did all of it.”

  He looked at me very jadedly. “So...YOLO, then? No regrets? That's what you're saying.”

  “Let's go back to your original question...?” I tried to put on a happy face. And failed. RBF is my zone.

  “Did you miss New York after you got transferred to Washington?” Scott asked, not quite back to the level of easy peasy comfort we'd enjoyed before I took our conversation in that awkward direction.

  “No,” I said. “Also, I do not miss Washington, and would rather not go back if it can be avoided.” I waved a hand around to indicate the tall buildings all around me, and the slowly growing swarm of people filling the sidewalks as the hour crept closer to afternoon rush. “New York is a cool city, but I was raised in a house without serious noise, without people. This level of chaos wears on me after a while, and trying to live here was like running a cheese grater on my nerves every time I went outside.”

  “Right, that makes sense,” Scott said, nodding. “Well...good talk. Next time we do this, I'll try to pick a conversation that doesn't traverse a path that could lead to awkward discussion of murders past. Might take a little planning, though, so give me some time.”

  “Nobody likes a smartass, Scott.”

  “Explain yourself, then,” he said, shooting me a smile as he sauntered away.

  “Very few people like me,” I said. “This is why you're walking away right now. I can't even have a human conversation.”

  Angel beat Olivia over to me, and it wasn't even close. “Hi,” she said. Olivia stood about ten feet behind her, looking a little agonized, like she had to pee or something.

  “What's up?” I tried to smile. Judging by the look on Angel's face, it was another failure.

  “Just wanted to say it's good have you back,” Angel said. “Not that we worked together, exactly. Other than that one time.”

  “When we socked it to that Cartel bitch? And robbed a bank? And I slaughtered a bunch of mercenaries in a quarry?” I nodded. “Good times.”

  The most awkward look froze on Angel's face. “I thought you were going to try and avoid talks that led to murder.”

  “That was Scott's resolution, not mine,” I said breezily. “If I don't talk killing, I'm bereft of conversational topics, because there's very little I do that doesn't at least border on killing.”

  “Right.” Angel's smile was frozen in polite horror. “Well...I just wanted to say...it'll be nice working with you again...”

  “Bet you're reconsidering that position now.”

  Angel's grimace was pained as she backed away, slowly, and Olivia worked her way forward, almost as awkward as my last two conversations. “It's nice to see you again,” she said, verging on gushing. “You know, in the flesh.”

  “You too, Olivia,” I said quietly as I watched Angel back away. I felt a little bad about our exchange. Probably needed to patch that up later.

  “You really helped me while you were gone,” Olivia said, “during the Vegas thing.”

  “Well, for me it was the 'New Orleans' thing, because that's where I was at the time but...” I smiled. “...glad I could help.”

  “It's gonna be cool working together,” she said, effervescent in her excitement. “I really feel like after our talk, I was able to reframe past events in my life. Get some control, move forward. Also, I started standing up for myself with your brother.”

  “Good,” I said, “don't let that jackass run you over.”

  “I can totally hear you,” Reed said.

  “I know you can – jackass,” I shot right back. “Stop eavesdropping. I'm glad you did that,” I said to Olivia. “After the upbringing you had–”

  “It's more like the upbringing we had,” Olivia said, showing a little of that newfound assertiveness to interrupt me. “I know yours wasn't exactly like mine, but...we both kind of dealt with captivity.”

  I didn't want to point out the obvious difference: that my captor loved me and was trying to protect me from Omega so I could grow up and survive, while her captors were abusive pieces of shit floating in the swamps of Florida so they could control and dominate their captives. “Right,” though, was all I said.

  “But I think I get what you were saying,” Olivia said. “It helps to talk about it. To put these things behind us, you know?”

  I looked up. We were a few blocks off Times Square, and one of the tall buildings stretched up into the heavens. For me, it triggered a memory of an old – well, not friend, exactly, but someone I probably owed a call. “I know what you mean.”

  She nodded, smiling. “Well...it's gonna to be cool to work together. I'm glad you're back.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and she walked away happy. I even meant it.

  With a pang of guilt, I slipped my phone out of my pocket. Looking through the directory of contacts, I felt a little surprised when I found the name I was looking for. I shouldn't have been; Cassidy was probably the smartest person on the planet, and she'd culled my cloud from the last ten or twenty or fifty phones to get everyone in this thing that I'd ever called, just about.

  A hint of trepidation almost stopped me before I pressed the CALL button, but I hit it. And listened to it ring.

  “Hello?” came the answer. A strong, slightly weary female voice at the other end.

  “Hey...Jamie,” I said, “it's...uh...Sienna Nealon.”

  There was a moment's hesitation, then the voice got a few microns harder. “What can I do for you, Sienna?”

  “I'm in New York,” I said, “investigating this...thing. Chasing the bad guys, you know? And...I wanted to get together and...talk.” I closed my eyes. “Actually, I wanted to get together...and apologize.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVEN

  Scout

  Night was falling on Manhattan when they landed on the rooftop of Madison Square Garden. It was a light touchdown; she'd now mastered Isaac's art of coming out of supersonic flight straight down from cloud banks. Clever little technique, and it kept them from being seen as they darted out of the summer sky toward their unwitting victims.

  “How many old people do you figure are in here?” Francine flashed a quicksilver grin.

  Scout was already cutting through the ceiling with a plasma-covered finger, using it like a welding torch. “I don't know, but I bet this building is at capacity with the elderly.”

  Francine lifted her head back and cackled. “This is the greatest idea – and they're all the olds, probably all climate deniers. All driving their big, stinking, carbon spewing Cadillacs and whatnot. In their giant houses and sucking up Social Security.” Her delight was beyond containment. “This is going to turn out to be the most impactful thing we've done yet.”

  Scout finished, catching the smoking circle of cut rooftop with careful hands. There was no need to scare the living hell out of the old people below before they'd had a chance to set up, to prepare themselves for what was going to happen here.

  “Okay, you wait up here,” Francine said, slipping down and landing on the enormous scoreboard below. Classic rock wafted up in a guitar riff. Scout could see crowds writhing beyond the scoreboard's edges, the arena already dark, spotlights skimming the crowd. “I'll jump back up when I'm done.”

  “Got it,” Scout said, smiling quietly down at her. “I'll watch from here.”

  Francine looked up at her. “This is going to be so great. Look at all these olds!” She closed her eyes, twinkles of lightning starting to spark from her fingers. “I can feel the wattage running through it...” She threw her head back. “And pretty soon...they're all going to feel it, too...”

  Scout just watched as the electricity started to flow out of the scoreboard and into Francine. The arena lights began to flicker, and the cro
wd rippled their surprise below.

  “Yes...” Francine nearly whispered, audible to Scout but not the crowd.

  Scout turned her attention to the olds below. It was the perfect way to describe them: not “old folks,” or anything so deferential. They were “the olds,” doing nothing but taking up space and pissing carbon into the atmosphere without care or regard for anyone other than themselves. It was a sea of gray hair below the catwalk. Gray hair and bald heads, and that was it.

  It'd be a pleasure to take them all out. With a frown and dripping with pure contempt, Scout found herself watching the gray-headed crowd, and whispering, “Is there even anyone here under the age of 50...?”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

  Totally Not Friday

  (Anymore)

  The man once known as Friday loved music. He loved music from one side of the spectrum to the other, from the shades of Motown and Diana Ross to old country with George Jones, to classic rock to Celine Dion to heavy metal to whatever the hell Rammstein was to new pop.

  And thus, it almost went without saying that he loved him some Morna Grey.

  Swole H (because that was his stage name) was off the road for a few months, prepping to head back into the studio to cut some bitchin' tracks before headlining his own tour this fall, and he still liked to take in live music every chance he could.

  So when he heard Morna Grey was doing a farewell tour, and that it was stopping at the Garden...

  Well, of course he had to be there.

  She was deep in the middle of the sweet and savory tones of “Love is My Oyster (And Yours Makes Me Sick)” when the lights started to flicker.

  (Not) Friday's eyes narrowed, and he cast his gaze up to the rafters, where a blue light seemed to be playing across the metal superstructure of the scoreboard.

  Lightning.

  No.

  Not lightning, not the real thing...