by S. J. Delos
I wasn’t trying to judge or control Alexis’ life. I just wanted her to be safe. To keep her from making the same mistakes as me.
The bartender, a slender, blonde coed-type with tribal tats running up both arms stopped in front of me to slide a cocktail glass next to my hand. “Here you go, hun,” she said in a chipper little voice.
I glanced down at the orange and pink beverage. The faint aroma of liquor and citrus rolled into my nostrils, sending icy fingers dancing up my spine. I shuddered. A Tequila Sunrise, my once-upon-a-time drink of choice. I lashed out, snatching the bartender’s tiny wrist, squeezing it in my hand.
“I didn’t order this,” I said, pulling her closer to me. “Where did it come from?”
For a moment, her glossy lips smacked open and shut, her eyes widening comically. I tightened my grip. “Answer me, or I’m going to rip your arm off and beat an answer out of you.”
She finally found her voice as she pointed over my shoulder to a booth in a darkened corner of the room. “T-t-the guy over there… he ordered it for you.” Pained terror rolled across her sickly pale face. “Please don’t hurt me.” Her other hand reached out, a folded napkin in it. “H-he wrote a n-note.”
I released my hold on her arm, grabbing the paper from her trembling hand. As soon as she was free, she retreated down the length of the bar, as far away from me as she could get. She massaged her wrist, and the expression in her eyes made me feel like a pile of crap.
Great, now I was taking my frustration out on Norms. If that made the news, on top of everything else, Greg was going to shit kittens. A whole damned litter of them.
However, I couldn’t work up enough concern at the moment to really worry about when, or if, that happened. Instead, I turned around on my stool to put my back to the bar. Then I opened the napkin.
One side of the napkin sported the pub’s logo, a blurry coat of arms with a stag running behind it. The opposite side had two sentences on it, penned in handwriting with which I was intimately familiar.
Stop sulking at the bar like a dejected prom date and join me at my table. Otherwise everyone in this lowly establishment is going to die in an excruciatingly painful manner.
I glanced around the room. There were about sixty people inside, enjoying their evening without the slightest idea there was a monster—possibly two, if the barkeep’s opinion counted—in their midst.
I might not know what game Martin was playing, but I knew enough to assume it was already rigged in his favor. No way could I clear out all the InBees in time to foil whatever horrible fate he put in place to ensure my cooperation.
I balled up the napkin, throwing it back on the bar next to the untouched drink. Sliding off the stool, I dropped a twenty on the bar as an apology to the blonde bartender, marched across the floor to the dimly lit booth in the corner, and dropped into the empty side.
“I have to tell you. This is really not the night to mess with me,” I spat, glaring at him. “What the hell do you want?”
Martin smiled silently at me from his side of the table. As usual, he was impeccably dressed. I noticed, however, that his hair was in a bit of disarray, and there were angry red lines streaked through the whites around his blue eyes as he looked up at me. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one running on a sleep deficit.
The difference was Martin only suffered from insomnia when he was working on something big. Some grand scale scheme. During those times, he would forgo nearly every physical need, including his regular hour of sleep, to pursue his goal.
Doctor Maniac’s big ideas never boded well for the rest of the world.
“A good evening to you, as well, my dear.” His silken voice was just loud enough to reach me over the din of the room, each syllable perfectly enunciated.
I leaned back against the bench, narrowing my eyes.
“Actually, it’s been a shitty evening that just got shittier. When are you finally going to leave me the fuck alone?” The last time we were sitting at a table across from each other, he gifted me with surveillance photos of our daughter and the supposedly classified documents pertaining to her adoption. God only knew what he planned to hit me with this time.
He frowned, running his fingers along the stubble decorating his chin before waggling one at me. “Come now, Karen. I see no need for us to be rude to each other. Besides, I’m sure the unsuspecting peons around us would prefer to go home this evening whole in both life and limb. Whether or not that happens is entirely up to you.” His smug smile remained in place, but his voice hardened to durasteel. “So you better play nice.”
I ground my teeth together before drawing in a slow breath I released even more slowly. “Fine,” I sighed. “Hello, Martin. Good to see you. To what do I owe this extremely less than expected displeasure?”
He laughed softly, nodding. “See? Wasn’t that better? Civility makes all the difference in the world.” He steepled his fingers together to press them against his chin, just below his lips. “You know, I have rather fond memories of how we used to talk all the time, about a great many topics. Or don’t you remember?”
“I remember my time with you all too well.” I crossed my arms. “Please tell me that you’re not interrupting my night because you were feeling nostalgic. What’s the matter, did having a pair of Karen clones around all the time lose its allure?”
Before he could answer, a long-legged brunette with an exaggerated bust line and enough makeup to start her cosmetics empire, sauntered up to the booth. She placed a plate containing a thick, bloody steak with a giant baked potato on the side in front of Martin.
“Thank you, Shelia.” Martin looked from the steaming plate to me. “Would you care for something, darling?”
I shook my head and waved my hand to dismiss the server. She rolled her eyes at me, then looked back to Martin, her mouth forming a grin so wide it threatened to cut off the top two-thirds of her head.
“If you need anything else, honey,” she said in a syrupy drawl that made me want to kick her in her jean-skirted ass. “Just give me a wave.” Then she sashayed away as if she just scored some victory or something.
Martin watched her depart, then turned back to me. “Nice enough girl. For a Norm peasant. Of course, if she screwed up my order, I would have made her as dead as four o’clock.”
I sighed. “Is there something in particular you came here for? Because I know it wasn’t for the food.”
He shook his head. “So much for civility,” he said as he picked up a fork and knife, going to work on breaking the slab of undercooked meat into bite-sized pieces. He looked into my eyes as he popped a chunk in his mouth, chewing slowly.
He did it just to infuriate me, and I dug my fingernails into my thighs to keep from knocking his plate onto the floor. After he washed the food down with a sip from his wine glass, he dabbed at the corner of his mouth.
“You know,” he said, gesturing at the plate with the knife. “That’s actually more delicious than I honestly expected from an establishment of this caliber. I’ll have come back again.”
“Martin…” I made sure to use my warning tone.
He took another bite, chewing a bit faster this time. “Interesting fight with Carbonado the other day. When I saw the footage for the first time, I hoped it would end with you breaking his moronic neck. Too bad that annoying Mister Manpower stopped you.”
“I’m not a murderer, Martin.”
He shrugged. “Something which I have always felt was quite a shame. Just imagine what you would be if you had put aside that ridiculous morality, and simply eliminated your opponents permanently. It would have been glorious.”
He would never find out just how close I actually came to doing that over the years.
“I have imagined,” I said. “Many times. It wouldn’t have been glorious, Martin. The word you’re looking for is ‘nightmare’.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
I rolled my eyes. “And you aren’t having this stimulating intellectual conversation with one
of your little shape-shifting bimbos because...”
He smiled. While I knew, or at least hoped, he would never actually harm me, that expression gave me chills.
“Last month, they decided, together, that they were tired of having to wear your shape all the time. Especially in the bedroom. They also informed me, with a great many vulgarities, they were insulted by the fact I never bothered to tell them apart. Ergo, they are no longer in the picture.”
“What did you do to them, Martin?” If he could hurt someone who looked like me, maybe my sense of security was way the hell off base.
“You know how much I abhor dissension in the ranks. So, I ordered Callie to erase both of their memories. Then I sent them away,” he said with the causal emphasis of someone recounting the chore of dropping off their dry-cleaning.
I arched a brow. That was a rather light punishment for the transgression of attempting to go against the wishes of Doctor Maniac. “That’s all? They’re just wandering around town with amnesia?”
“Not exactly. It’s possible they might have been forced into the forms of a couple of elderly Chinese peasants before I locked them out of their abilities.” He held up a finger, waving it dismissively. “However, don’t worry your pretty little head about them, my love. I hear Jiangsu Province is beautiful this time of year.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Martin.” I shook my head, barely resisting the desire to smash his head through his dinner and the table beneath. “All of that just because they wanted to stop being a pair of sexual playthings? You really are quite the royal bastard. You know that?”
“Careful,” he warned. “If I have no problem destroying my own recreational partners, I certainly wouldn’t hesitate to do worse to yours.”
I planted both hands on the table, leaning forward. “I swear to you, if anything happens to Kurt, I’ll snap both your legs off, then hand-deliver your crippled ass to the Max.”
He laughed as he held up his hand. “Ah, there’s that fire I remember so well. It must be love. Or what you imagine love to be.” He put down the cutlery, lowering his voice. “Tell me, have you told him yet?”
“That’s not any of your business.” I pounded my fist on the tabletop. I was letting Martin take control, steering the conversation where he wanted it to go. “What do you really want? Other than to flirt with a skanky waitress, boast about ruining a couple of Enhanced lives, and harassing me about my new boyfriend?”
He pushed the plate away from him.
“Very well then. I tracked you to this dive for two reasons. The first was to congratulate you on your nomination for Hero of the Year. As ironic as it may seem to you, I really am proud. After all, I always knew you would do great things with your powers. I just never thought they would be heroic in nature.”
I blinked, nearly releasing an embarrassing snort. “Wow. Nice backhanded compliment. Next are you going to tell me that I look good, despite having gained some weight?”
“Shall I continue?” he asked in a clipped tone. When I didn’t respond, he leaned back in the seat. “The second reason is to tell you not to go to Chicago. Have them send you the award by FedEx or something.”
“You don’t want me going to the Heroes’ Banquet?” I tilted my head to the side and stared at him. “Why don’t you want me to go? What are you planning?”
Before he could answer, Sheila returned to refill the water glass. She lingered at Martin’s side longer than I felt necessary, so I glared at her until she finally shuffled off with a spoiled pout.
Martin laughed softly. “For someone who has never actually taken another’s life, you certainly do an excellent ‘I’m going to kill you’ face.” He took another sip of wine. “Contrary to what you may believe, I still care a great deal about you, darling. Sure, I completely disagree with the life choices you’ve made recently. Plus, I’m still somewhat put out about you helping the EAPF. Of course, none of that has diminished my feelings for you by a single micron.”
I think I actually responded with a real, live snicker. “Riiiiight. Your feelings for me are so deep you sought solace in the arms of a couple of metamorphs.”
“Metamorphs I forced to wear your appearance, you mean.”
I clenched my jaw and placed my hands in my lap. A headache sprang up out of nowhere, pushing my attitude from “cautious” to “fuck it all”. I was going to give Martin about more five seconds to get to his point. After that, I was going to rip the table from its moorings and slam it over his thick head.
“What are you planning to do in Chicago, Martin? Tell me, or so help me…”
“I am not planning anything, Karen.” When I gave him an unconvinced look, he raised his right hand. “I swear on our daughter’s name. However, I still insist that you decline the invitation. Stay in Charlotte that weekend.” He gestured around the room. “There are plenty of good deeds for you to do around here. There’s no need to go where you shouldn’t be.”
His invocation of our child caught me off guard, keeping me from doing much more than stare blankly at him. How dare he swear on her.
“Tell me what you know,” I growled low, “or I’m going to beat you with my fists until you resemble that slab of meat.” The pounding in my temples increased in tempo, becoming an annoying conga. Lewcy, you got some ’splainin to do! A little titter came out of my mouth.
Martin merely regarded me with an amused look before returning to his meal. The aroma wafting from his plate became more pronounced. I’m a steak girl at heart, so the smell should have been divine. Instead, the scent of charred flesh wrestled with my headache to make me feel nauseous instead.
“You know I cannot divulge privileged information, my dear. While I fear no man, it would be a terrible business faux pas to spill an ally’s secrets.” He took another bite, chewing slowly. “Suffice to say, I would much prefer our daughter not grow up without her mother, so stay out of the Windy City.”
I opened my mouth to tell him where he could shove his warning, coughing harshly instead. A surge of bile shot up my throat. It paused for an eternity at my larynx before thankfully going back down. The horrid taste made me gag, and I reached for my beer to make it go away. There were two bottles where there’d been only one. In my haste, I knocked them both over.
Martin deftly plucked the napkin from his lap, dropping it over the running tide of barley and hops before it could come anywhere near his side. Then he placed his hand on the back of mine, his fingers stroking lightly.
“I think we will call that a rather successful field test,” he said from the bottom of a tin can.
I glanced up from the darkening napkin. The action brought with it a surge of vertigo. I planted both hands on the top of the table. Martin One and Martin Two grinned at me. The room behind him swayed as if we were on an ocean liner in the middle of a typhoon.
“Test?” I asked. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed that instead of nursing a half a beer, I was doing whiskey shooters for the past two hours. Not the watered-down rotgut, either. Top shelf stuff.
“What did … you …” Words became hard to form. My eyes drooped, threatening to close, as a curious sense of wonder about the softness of the booth’s seat washed over me. Would it be comfy? Maybe a nice place to take a nap?
Martin put down the silverware, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his pinkie. “I don’t put a lot of trust in people, you know that. How many times did we vet potential recruits before allowing them to join? Five times? Ten? That was even after they’d managed to get past Derrick.” He laughed, but the sound wasn’t joyous, it was eerie. Mainly because it echoed.
“Derrick?” My brain tried to flip through memories, but the pages kept wanting to stick together. Finally, I remembered the white-haired man responsible for giving me a nudge toward accepting Manpower’s offer to join the Good Guys.
“He said to tell you ‘hello’, by the way.”
The swaying of the room worsened, and it took a few seconds for m
y foggy brain to realize that the swaying was being done by me. I tried to focus on Martin’s words, but his voice seemed distant. Like he was calling me from the other end of a long pipe.
“It would have been a lonely existence if I never allowed anyone to get close. So, in order mitigate any potential betrayal, particularly from those I trusted, I devised some… precautions.” He took a sip from the water glass. “I can honestly say that I never expected to have to use yours.”
“Mine?” It was getting harder to follow his words. The world around me seemed to grow dimmer, slower. Like my brain was all stuffed with cotton. “What mine?”
“No need to worry, love. Just know that it works much better than anticipated and you will be fine in a few hours.” He slipped out of the booth to move over to my side. He put his hand on my forearm, squeezing lightly. “Now, I admit I do feel a little guilty about doing this to you here. However, please take some solace that I hope I’ll never have to do this again.”
I reached up, wrapped my hand around his throat, and threw him against the wall on the far side of the restaurant. At least, that was what I intended to do. My arm felt far heavier than it should have. When I lifted it, all I managed to do was drop it in my lap. I needed to slap the shit out of Martin, but I was far too tired.
Martin put his hand on my drooping shoulders, pushing me sideways until I was lying on the suddenly super comfortable bench. I closed my eyes to let darkness engulf me, pulling me away like a bottle on the tide.
The last thing I was aware of was Martin’s hot breath on my neck and his voice in my ear.
“I mean it, Karen. Stay out of Chicago.”
CHAPTER 14:
PROBLEMS ALL THE WAY DOWN
Later, while flying home in the darkness, I prayed that the pounding, hangover-like migraine tap dancing in my skull wouldn’t cause me to fly through someone’s apartment building.
I awoke from whatever Martin did to me to discover that, not only had he left hours earlier—after finishing his dinner, ordering a slice of apple pie, and requesting that Sheila not wake me—he had stuck me with the goddamned bill.
