by Jamie Quaid
Which shows where conceit gets you. I’d stupidly thought I could intimidate the intimidators, forgetting that goons carry guns. The one barring the door pressed one into my back.
“This official enough?” he asked, shoving me toward Scaredy-Cat.
Fury fully engaged. I struggled with the red rage, ready to damn them to hell whether they were evil or not. Except, for a change, I’d actually planned ahead and knew precisely how to do this using my smarts. I didn’t need Saturn’s powers or to risk my eternal soul.
Calculating the goon with the gun behind me wouldn’t risk offing his pal, I fell forward and rammed both palms into Scaredy-Cat’s chest. He was twice as big as I was, so I couldn’t hope to knock him down, just throw him off-balance with surprise. While he staggered to regain his footing, I grabbed his jacket and located the bulge of his gun. I aimed my knee at his balls at the same time I relieved him of his weapon.
I’m not much on guns, and Pearl was in the way of a shoot-out, so disarming was my only intent. I flung the weapon into the shrubbery as Scaredy-Cat gasped and curled around his bruised junk. Saturn had fixed my lameness. That didn’t mean he’d made my knees any less bony.
Milo shrieked his mighty roar and leaped for the guy with the gun. But my cat had to sail past Pearl, and his aim was off. He merely landed on the intimidator’s shoulder. The goon shouted with pain as Milo ripped at his ear, but he didn’t drop the gun. I had to act fast before my cat got hurt.
There were no water sprinklers to imagine raining on this parade. No pots of shit available. I did the best I could with what I had on hand—I called on the yellow-jacket nest I’d been giving wide berth all summer. While Milo ripped an ear, I envisioned enraged wasps and directed them at the intimidator with the gun.
When the right tools are at hand, justice can be swift. I needed to add that to the handbook.
I dropped to the ground, and Pearl had the sense to step out of the way as well.
Man, you’d think the intimidator had personally kicked wasp ass, I thought admiringly as a black, angry cloud rose over the rail. With a little help from my visualization, the furies of hell swarmed out of the bushes like all the plagues of Egypt. Yellow jackets hurt. Even Milo leapt to the rail and over to Tim’s porch for safety.
With furious wasps swarming his head, the intimidator hurdled the railing, screaming. He crushed a few half-dead azaleas below and fled for the sedan. While Scaredy-Cat nearly fell off the step dodging angry insects, the main mass of the yellow-jacket nest followed on the gunman’s tail. Pearl shrieked and ran back inside. The bugs didn’t follow her. They stuck with the gray-suited goon.
With the wasps safely heading in the right direction, I straightened when the guy with bruised balls tried to run and kicked his knee, hard. He howled. That’s when the cop cars screamed down the street, a little late for the party.
The med student and his suit merely stared and wisely stayed out of the way of the swarming insects. I figured Tim dodged back inside. He didn’t like police or wasps.
I hadn’t had my breakfast yet, and I get mean on an empty stomach. I just leaned against the porch rail, crossed my puny brown arms, and let the big men figure out how to handle the situation. Innocent little ol’ me couldn’t have caused all this ruckus, right? They’re all twice my size. I shook out my glossy hair and smiled pretty for the men in blue.
Andre arrived in his Mercedes convertible right after the cop cars parked a fair distance from the raging insects. The intimidator was inside his sedan, but yellow jackets have a reputation for a good reason. They’d followed him in, and the ones on the outside were circling the car, hunting for new openings. The goon was screaming bloody murder and swatting too hard to turn on the ignition.
Scarcely giving the swarming bugs a second glance, Andre strolled toward me, both fighting a grin and wearing his stern, don’t-mess-with-me demeanor. Two-faced shark, the bastard.
“I was thinking pancakes for breakfast,” I called, remembering my bedhead and combing my fingers through my thick mane. That was usually all it took to tame it. Andre’s appreciative gaze said the gesture worked. “Leo said he’d be here shortly. Want to join us?” I asked.
“Blueberry with antifreeze syrup?” he asked sarcastically. Despite my most excellent offer, he didn’t take my arm and retreat to more pleasant environs. Instead, he grabbed the collar of the guy I’d just kneed and dragged him upright.
Now that the Zone’s unofficial mayor had arrived, the cops warily climbed out of their cars. The yellow jackets stuck to the unmarked white sedan. The baddies weren’t going anywhere in their vehicle anytime soon.
I nodded at the corner and called to the cops, “There’s another car blocking the alley, if you want one that isn’t under attack.”
A pair of uniforms peeled off in that direction. The other pair separated, one taking Andre’s prisoner, the other advancing on the frozen fool on the other porch. So maybe that one really did think he was legitimately evacuating the neighborhood, which made him an even bigger fool.
“We think they’re the same thieves who broke into the warehouse,” I lied to the officers. “They were threatening poor Pearl and pulled a gun on me. I’ll happily press charges.”
Policemen didn’t like the Zone because we were peculiar and our troubles seldom fell under normal laws. So I prettified the situation in terms they understood.
“What have you got inside that they’d go to this much trouble for?” one uniform sensibly asked, handcuffing my black-and-blue-balled victim.
I pulled the fake evacuation orders out of Scaredy-Cat’s pocket and handed them over as evidence. “Green gas,” I said with a straight face. “Evidence of chemical warfare and valuable only to Acme.”
“Neighborhood dispute?” the cop translated wryly.
“You can call it that. We may not have evidence on the warehouse break-in, but we have witnesses who saw them attempt to enter our houses under false pretenses. Waspman pulled a gun. You’ll find it in the yews. Just let me know what you need and I’ll comply,” I said with good cheer, hiding my fury. If I didn’t have to work regular hours anymore, I could spend as much time as I liked testifying against bad guys.
This realization was a totally major development and walloped me upside the head.
By offering to take me on as partner, Julius was doing me a favor so large I couldn’t comprehend the immensity. Without Judge Snootypants breathing down my collar, I had time to pursue justice legally, without interference from anyone, a hitherto unknown freedom. I wanted to pop champagne and dance, but I’d have to save it until I had Acme where I wanted them.
I wasn’t pretending my new job would be easy. The walls I had to climb next were perpendicular and towered way out of my sight. But I stupidly preferred challenges to pouring coffee for twerps.
Andre stalked up the stairs to shut me up, apparently not liking the determination in my eyes. He wasn’t fond of the law interfering in his territory, but that gun had been in my back, and I wasn’t his territory. I glared back at him.
“Let’s have those pancakes, Clancy,” he said menacingly. “The men in blue can handle your prisoners, if you’ll call off your wasps.”
I appreciated that he understood who was in control here. “Anyone have a hose?” I called helpfully. “Just squirt them down.”
I was still furious, but I hoped I had it under wraps. No one came after me with a gun or threatened my friends without consequence.
21
“If I open an office in your building, will I be placing Pearl and the others in jeopardy?” I demanded as soon as Andre and I hit my apartment. “I don’t want them waking up to any more mornings like this.”
“They woke up to green gas from Acme the other day,” he said grumpily. “The ground is threatening to crack open and swallow us. They know this isn’t a safe neighborhood. At least they’re not dealing with gang shoot-outs and druggies on the corner.”
I wasn’t mollified. If I was to be a free agent, I
didn’t have to toe anyone’s lines but my own. I had Acme in my sights. I had no idea if the gas cloud had been intentional, but I hated that they were experimenting with dangerous chemical weapons that had reached families up the hill as well as the trolls who hung around the Zone. Bill and Sarah had made their own choices, but kids didn’t have that opportunity.
I didn’t tell Andre that. He had a murder charge hanging over his head. That had to be his priority. He was peculiarly pale after his encounter with prison bars, but at least he was alive and not a zombie. I tried not to give him ideas by showing my relief.
“I have to go in and tender my resignation,” I told him, distracting him from the morning’s exercise. “I need to stay on the judge’s good side if I’m to ask for any cooperation over at the courthouse. How soon can we have an office up and running here?”
He shrugged. “No difficulty. The warehouse needs to be torn down, but if we’re careful removing them, the contents are still mostly available. I can salvage tables and bookshelves. I’ll call Boris to set up computers. You just have to order whatever online services you need. Do you have a credit card?”
“You’re kidding, right?” I mixed pancake batter and nuked frozen blueberries. “You know how much you didn’t pay me. Hard to get a credit card without a W-2.”
“Well, apply for one now while you still have a real job,” he said snidely. “You won’t qualify once you’re self-employed. In the meantime, I’ll give you mine. We’ll have space cleaned out by the time you return.”
Andre filled my tiny kitchen with his presence and his restlessness. I was still running on adrenaline. Pancakes were the last thing on my mind, but they gave my hands something more useful to do than running themselves through Andre’s blue-black hair and seeking release for overstimulation.
I poured half a dozen pancakes on the old griddle on the stove and handed Andre a spatula. “Flip them when they bubble. I have to dress for work.”
Rather than deal with the hyper sex drive between us, I left him to make his own blasted pancakes. By the time I returned to the kitchen, Schwartz had joined him, and Andre just about had pancake flipping under control. Leo was Norwegian big, and blond. Andre was Mediterranean dark, and sleek. Choices, so many lovely choices. I couldn’t afford to take either of them.
“You two look good together,” I said, grabbing a pancake off the top of a stack. “Have a nice life. I’m heading into town.”
They were probably glaring daggers at my back as I dashed out, but Milo purred a happy farewell.
Instead of pouring coffee when I reached the judge’s office, I prepared probate papers to file at the courthouse on Paddy’s behalf. Reggie stayed out of my way. Once the judge finally put in an appearance, I cornered him in his lair and pleaded my case. I was determined not to be a loose-cannon superhero. I wanted the law solidly on my side.
When he learned Julius was taking me on as a junior, Snodgrass actually managed a smile. “I didn’t know Montoya was still alive! What’s he been doing? Have him give me a call, will you? We can catch up on old times. How is that lovely wife of his?”
Now I could see why Julius hated making phone calls and talking to his old friends. It had to be painful to keep saying his wife was in a coma—and, ultimately, impossible to explain. The Zone had completely claimed him, even if he hadn’t been otherwise affected by the chemicals.
“She’s stable,” I said noncommittally. “Opening an office near his home is the only reason he’s agreeing to this. I’ll have a commute to the courthouse, but I can do that more easily than he can. Padraig Vanderventer wants me to file the probate papers while I’m over here. I’m doing it on your time, so you can invoice him. If there’s any problem, can you follow up?”
I knew how to play nice. I puffed his ego, said all the right things, and took care of business. I was no longer a twenty-year-old hothead egging the provost’s office. Admittedly, I’d sent my boyfriend to hell in a fit of fury, but I’d learned from the experience and brought him back—sort of. I hoped I was mature enough to take on this next step.
After we wrangled an emergency approval, probate was mostly paperwork, collecting a million copies of Gloria’s death certificate and filing them hither and yon. I was already hoping I could earn enough money to pay for a clerk. I’d developed a taste for action, and paperwork and errand-running no longer rang my chimes.
I writhed with my need to bring Acme down and rescue poor Bill and hunt for the missing cloud can. Maybe once Paddy was set free at the plant, he could stop whatever was shaking the ground and discover what was wrong with the pink particles. That was pushing my luck, I knew. But if he could just find the bad guys . . . maybe I could wish for the victims to be cured while I sent the bastards to hell. I still had a lot to learn about this Saturn business.
Max called after I’d tucked Paddy’s documents into my messenger bag and was on the bike, ready to head home. I would have to buy a briefcase, I realized. Carrying legal papers in a messenger bag full of cat hair wasn’t very professional. It would have been nice if I’d had a loving normal family showering me with congratulations and fancy briefcases for graduation instead of one that sent me links to strange websites, but I’d make do. My lack of family had taught me a self-sufficiency that had kept me alive all these years.
“Temporary probate filed,” I told Max when I answered. “You and Paddy will share equally unless a will is found. Want me to set up a meeting between the two of you?”
I shouldn’t be so malicious. I had no idea what the relationship had been between scientific Paddy and his son, the materialistic, greedy Dane, but I was pretty certain it hadn’t been great. Throwing Max’s social conscience into the scenario would bollix it up nicely. I didn’t have to have my own family to understand the meaning of dysfunctional.
“I’d rather you sent me back to hell,” Max growled. “Except I think you’re right. I think Dane’s in hell, and he’s trying to kill me. The gas logs exploded this morning.”
My concern was instantaneous. I gunned the Harley and prepared to turn toward his condo instead of home. “What happened? Are you all right? I don’t want to be visiting you in a hospital room ever again.”
“I’m all right. The fire department called it a malfunction and turned off the gas. I’m having the gas stove replaced with electric.”
“Consequences,” I sighed, turning off the engine again so I could hear. “I knew playing with fire had consequences. I just didn’t know what they’d be. If I’m opening mirrors on hell, it can’t be good.”
I hadn’t been visited by any of the other cretins I’d dispatched to their just rewards. But maybe the Vanderventers were as privileged in the afterlife as they had been in this one. An affinity for wealth and power sounded evil enough to entice Satan.
“You didn’t take out Gloria, so you’re safe,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll probably look for a Realtor, but I’ve got the condo under control for now. I am not ashamed to admit that I want no part of Gloria’s hell house. Paddy can look for a damned will if he’s not happy sharing. Andre might want to stay out of the mansion, too. Logic has even less purpose on the other side than it does in the real world. All that bottled-up rage, hate, and fear is pretty raw and gruesome.”
“My expert on hell,” I said dryly, hating to think about my bighearted Max suffering such horror.
And I was fretting because I realized that, technically, Andre had brought about Dane’s death as well as Gloria’s, even if they’d caused their own demises. My very own demon slayer—and if she could, Gloria would go after him.
I wasn’t precisely innocent in Dane’s death. I figured illogical rage would find me if it haunted the mansion. I didn’t want any of us out there.
“Without a will, your trustees have to work with Paddy against your parents and grandmother for control of Acme,” I warned. “Divided this way, neither of you will have a controlling share. And I suspect Paddy won’t be satisfied until he’s searched the mansion and found Glori
a left no surprises that might blow up in his face should MacNeill get to them first. It would be better if he had witnesses.”
“I don’t think Paddy is ready to work with anyone,” he said cynically. “Can you trust me to send out a team to help him?”
“You can try. Don’t feel bad if Paddy rejects them.”
I debated whether I should tell Paddy about the Dane/Max soul transference, but I still wasn’t positive Paddy was sane, and I doubted whether Max wanted his scary secret spread to the world if Paddy talked. I’d have to play that one by ear.
We agreed on a time, and I roared home, enjoying the ride down country lanes struck with more autumn colors with each passing day. I wondered what would happen if I tried to plant a tree in Pearl’s backyard. I would have to clear out the dead appliances and old sinks first.
I wheeled home, grabbed a sandwich, added Milo to his new tote bag, then trotted next door. Julius had crates of books stacked in the foyer, ready to be moved to our new office. I was already having second and third thoughts about Andre’s grandiose scheme.
“Won’t you need these?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if I just came over here when I need your library?”
“I have a photographic memory,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve read these enough that I can recall what page each case is on. I’ve kept them up to date because I don’t want to memorize ever-changing computer pages. But reading law and practicing it are two different things. I can tell you what cases are most applicable, but you have to decide how to apply them.”
That sounded like more responsibility than I had the experience to handle, but I pretended I agreed. Maybe I could learn to hypnotize a jury before I went to court. In Andre’s case, I was hoping we wouldn’t get as far as a courtroom.
After learning there’d been no change in our patients, that the cloud can hadn’t been found, and that Julius would give Paddy my message about probate, I shouldered a small box and crossed the street to my new office.
