We Could Be Heroes

by Mike Chen

  “Hey. Can we talk?” she asked. Zoe stood stronger than the woman he’d seen at the support group. The lines under her eyes were gone, her posture was straighter and her hair was neater. Even her clothes gave off the vibe that she’d recently done laundry.

  “I thought we were going to stay out of each other’s way. I haven’t done any robbing, mind or otherwise. But you’ve been busy.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Despite standing in the shade of trees from the apartment complex’s courtyard, Zoe’s cheeks burned a visible red. “Yeah, I’ve put the suit on a few times.”

  “A few times” seemed to be an understatement. Rolling blackouts hit the city almost every other day now with no official explanation, just a promise from San Delgado’s utility provider that they’d get to the bottom of it soon. Problem was, criminals found blackouts to be a good time to loot stores.

  That was, until the Throwing Star showed up.

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” Jamie replied. “I’m on indefinite hiatus.”

  “Good. That’s good to hear.”

  “But remember that I didn’t really steal from anyone. FDIC coverage and all that.”

  Zoe nodded, the sides of her mouth curled upward. From behind Jamie, Normal clawed at the rug, meowing to herself relentlessly. “You have a lot of books,” she said, pointing at the stack of library returns he set near the front door. Normal seemed to take that as an invitation, and the chubby cat trotted over before circling in and out of Zoe’s legs, which was already better than her reaction to Chesterton. Jamie made a note to stop Zoe if she tried to pet the cat, though if Zoe handled puncturing concrete with ease, a cat scratch probably meant nothing.

  “Oh. Yeah, I like memoirs. Everyone has a story to tell. Library is filled with them.” The small talk chewed at his anxieties, and maybe it was because she failed at social cues. Not that he was much better. “How did you find me?”

  “Oh. That night after the fire, I tracked you when you went home.”

  “Tracked?”

  “Yeah. I followed you,” she said with a shrug. Nothing extraordinary about it.

  “Are you just checking on me?” Jamie asked.

  “No. Actually, I have a proposal for you.”

  “A proposal? This isn’t one of those ‘let’s get married for tax or citizenship purposes’ proposals, is it?”

  “No,” Zoe said with a smirk, and Jamie smiled back. It was natural, not awkward or forced or defensive. The very fact that such a moment could exist between them felt like a small miracle. “It’s much more interesting than that. Can I come in?”

  “It’s fine. Normal likes you anyway.”

  Zoe knelt down, hand extended. “Hi, kitty. I’m not that bad. I protect San Delgado from criminals and—”

  The room echoed Zoe’s sneeze. And another. And another. Sudden tears began streaming down her cheeks, and the sneezes went rapid-fire. “Oh crap,” she said between sniffles.

  “You allergic?”

  “I guess so.” She stepped back outside, head in hands, and Jamie followed. “Ah. Alright, we’re not talking there. Is there a good bar nearby?” she said through sniffles.

  “I don’t drink. I don’t like feeling out of control.”

  “Okay, then. That’s probably a good idea. Booze and me have not been pals lately. Coffee?”

  This time, it was Jamie’s turn to smirk. “I love coffee.” He pointed past the courtyard toward the strip mall nearest to their neck of suburban South San Delgado. “There’s a good spot a few blocks that way.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s—” Zoe stopped abruptly, a full-fledged grin lifting her cheeks and brightening her eyes. “I got an idea. You curious about the hovering thing?”

  9

  GODDAMN RAIN.

  Zoe looked up, the drops gaining momentum from a sprinkle to a downpour in a quick minute. Still in her clutches, Jamie seemed too stunned to notice. His eyes barely blinked beneath his windswept hair.

  Zoe had instructed Jamie to trust her; they’d walked discreetly to an alley between buildings, his posture tight. He kept insisting he was fine, and right before they launched up, she realized that this wasn’t about trusting her.

  Jamie was nervous about trusting anyone.

  But like she did on her FoodFast deliveries, Zoe stayed on the highest rooftops, jogging while hunched over to keep an eye out for maintenance workers or drunks. The darkening clouds and disappearing sun helped too, and they probably moved fast enough to be a mere blink for anyone up there.

  To Jamie’s credit, he held tight and didn’t scream or flinch, not even when she jumped roof to roof. Her speed remained controlled, faster than human but not enough to require her suit and/or cause Jamie to barf. During work, she usually packed the food tight in a hefty backpack lined to keep the meals warm; Jamie was heavier, bulkier than that, though she kept a brisk pace, even when they stopped to figure out where the coffee shop was and how to get back to ground level in the most discreet fashion.

  By the time raindrops started painting the sidewalk, he seemed to relax, and they walked into the café like old friends rather than rivals, her opening the door for him, making jokes about the wet rain, ordering at the counter together. Jamie even offered to buy her a pastry, which she gladly took him up on.

  “Well,” he said after they slid into a booth, water still dripping down the tips of his hair. The back of his hand wiped his forehead and they locked eyes.

  No tickle at the base of her skull. He was holding up his end so far.

  “Where do we begin?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We worked well together. I think we’ve even earned a little trust?”

  “When you save us from a burning building, that’s a few points right there.”

  “When you protect secret identities, there’s another few points.” The coffee burned her lips with the first sip, one packet sugar and one packet creamer, just the way she liked it. Jamie went the other route, the deep black pool thick enough to be sludge. “Mmm,” she said, “this place is good.”

  “People forget about us out here in the south suburbs. Since we’re so far away from the city center. For a lot of reasons, most of them valid.” He sipped from his mug, and groaned with satisfaction before letting the space drift into awkward silence.

  Uncomfortable pauses were the worst. This was why Zoe didn’t deal with others. “So? What do you think?”

  “I think...” Jamie hesitated, Zoe clinging onto the passing moments. Her pulse quickened, the answers so close that they seemed ready to emerge from the shadows if he only said yes. “Best coffee around. There’s another branch in Oakmount—”

  “Damn it, I’m serious. We work well together. We should do it again. A trade,” she said. “I help you. You help me.”

  “A trade? Sorry, I’m a bit skeptical. You don’t need me.” He gestured to her, then around the room, which presumably meant the city. “You can fly.”

  “You can read minds—”

  “Memories. It’s a little different.”

  “Right. Whatever. Memories. Look, that’s exactly what I mean. I can’t punch my way through memories.”

  It seemed like Jamie needed a moment to fully grasp what Zoe said. Which wasn’t much, and maybe more than she wanted to lead with. But still, his brow crinkled and his fingers tapped against the mug. Seconds ticked by until he took another sip and then locked eyes with her. “You can get away with anything. I don’t understand why memories are so important. Why not just get a ton of money and hide forever. Live in security. Peace and quiet.”

  Zoe was hardly an expert on people, but even she could pick up on the hint of jealousy in his voice. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Peace and quiet. Security.” She held the half-empty mug to her lips, coffee no longer steaming out of it. “Robbing banks doesn’t seem like peace and quiet. Why no
t, I don’t know, rig the lottery? Or a casino?”

  “I can’t rig the lottery. That’s predicting the future. And I can’t read minds. Only memories. There’s a difference. I’ve tried the casino bit. It doesn’t quite work. You need to wait for the dealer to observe the cards and imprint it in memories. Then it takes a little bit to get that and make a decision. Creates a lot of awkward silences. It’s like files saved on your computer. Not livestreaming.”

  “I don’t have a computer. They’re expensive and break.”

  “Okay, but you get the analogy, right? This is easier. And this part?” His arm twirled dramatically and his chin stuck out; if he’d been wearing an eye mask, he would have exactly matched the security footage floating online. “It’s all for show. The more people who know that, the more scared they’ll be. And the less trouble they’ll make for me. I get in and I get out.”

  “Except when someone has a heart condition.”

  “Yeah.” His face dropped, eyes staring at the table between them.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you feel bad about it.”

  “Are you being my therapist?”

  “Better. Extraordinary therapist.”

  “Good. I need that. So we’ve established that I’m not a terrible person. I’m just trying to get by.” He shook his head with a short laugh. “Alright, fine. How do we help each other? Besides therapy?”

  “What I said at the support group, it’s all true. I think—think—this whole Throwing Star thing comes from the not knowing part.” Hours of staring at her detective board and some recent reevaluation of things made it easy to say that part. But that was merely the surface. “It eats at me,” she finally admitted, perhaps more to herself than Jamie. “Who was I before this? Why do I feel this drive to be more? Don’t you wonder where it all comes from? The abilities, the memory loss? What happened to us?”

  “I told you before, I’m all about moving forward,” he said. “Only bad things happen when you look back.”

  “You say that like it’s a certainty.”

  “It’s a hunch. Something in my gut tells me that.”

  “It’s all I think about,” she blurted out. Well, there wasn’t any walking back that statement. “I’ve tried to piece it together, you should see the wall of my apartment. Pictures and notes and strings connecting them together, like I’m trying to be the world’s greatest detective. But I’m not. I don’t have the skills or resources. Who am I? What did I leave behind? I need to know that I’m someone. I don’t even need to be extraordinary. I just need to know that I mattered. Though you know, I’ve never been to a therapist. Well, maybe I have. I just can’t remember. But...” Her voice trailed off, and she took one long draw of coffee, emptying the mug. “You can get into minds. You can dig into memories. Maybe you can find something in mine to see who I am. Where I came from. I get these fragments. Me being chased or cornered, like on a rooftop or something. That has to be connected to everything.”

  Jamie’s brow crinkled in sympathy. “I want to help you. But there are no guarantees. I’m not sure what I might find in there.”

  “There has to be something.”

  “But what if there’s not? Can’t you just be happy being...you? I mean, look at you. I’m sure kids will dress as you for Halloween. There’s probably even bootleg merchandise of you floating around.”

  “It’s nothing special. All it does is give me something to focus on. I need to know I’m more than a...a weapon. A weapon for justice, sure. But still. Just a weapon.” They sat in silence, the rain tapping a furious rhythm against the window. Outside, the streetlight flickered, causing the shadows of passersby and cars to seemingly strobe as they came and went. Behind them, the din of cups on saucers, laughter and conversation sat on the periphery from their tiny corner of the café.

  “So you help me,” Zoe said. “You do your mind thing. You punch through this wall blocking all of my memories and find out who I really was. Really am. And I’ll help you rob a bank.”

  Jamie’s expression shifted. First a puzzled brow, then dropped jaw, then wide eyes, all before resetting to neutral. “Um... I think people will be able to see that it’s you helping me.”

  “I have an idea for that. But I’m talking bigger than what you do. You’re getting cash, right? But there’s a limit on that. A limit on how much you can carry, how much you can get access to. You need a way to haul it all. To break through the vault doors. I can help you with that. You said it yourself, banks are insured. We won’t be hurting anyone. You take that fortune and you set yourself up so that you never have to rob a bank again. Take that money, go live out your life. No more guilt. No more danger. Peace and quiet.”

  “Insured up to two-hundred-fifty grand per bank.” Jamie leaned back, his gaze shifting past Zoe to the ugly wallpaper of stylized font and pictures of coffee beans. But she knew he was picturing something greater. “Peace and quiet. Maybe. Hopefully?” His wistful question dropped to reality, the lines on his face grounded in the now. “Without him, I could connect with people again. And maybe that’s my best bet. A real life. I have a goal, you know. Me and Normal hiding away, somewhere on a tropical beach. With a lot of books and good coffee.”

  The lights flickered several times, prompting a murmur from the baristas and a handful of people in the café. At their table, the two of them stayed quiet.

  “Tomorrow night?” he finally said.

  Zoe was about to agree when the power cut out. The hum of the room—the music, the blow of the ventilation, the whirr of the espresso machines—all dropped, leaving only a room full of confused people. Seconds passed before everything returned. “Eight o’clock?”

  “Yeah.” Jamie nodded. “And you don’t have to worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Want to meet here? Should be quiet enough.”

  Such an easy pledge to make. Too easy, in fact, and the idea of a double cross floated through Zoe’s mind. She considered secretly calling the police and having them lock away the Mind Robber forever. No more risks, no leaving herself vulnerable to the person who battled her physical strength with mental powers. But that also took away her only chance at having someone unearth the possibilities of her history. Stuck forever in a life of being the Throwing Star and nothing else.

  Not good enough.

  “My place.”

  Zoe considered her inner sanctum, her secret lair—which, really, was just a shitty apartment in the Lower Heights part of San Delgado. There weren’t security measures or ways she could stop him if things went south. Her neighbors hardly spoke to her; they probably just knew her as the woman who stumbled home at odd hours, sometimes drunk and sometimes sweaty, and on occasion, both. If Jamie stunned her, or left her incapacitated indefinitely, probably no one would check on her until the odor of her soiling herself got too horrific to go on.

  On the other hand, all of her notes and research were there. If this was going to be a deep dive, they needed all of that handy—her detective board, the folders and papers tucked away, the notebook of musings, all of it.

  Jamie’s brow rose, and he let out a low sound, the “uh...” of being caught speechless. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he finally said after what seemed like far too long.

  “Are you worried about a double cross?” She left out the part where she’d considered it too, the other way around. Maybe they would make good partners, after all, if they were equally suspicious of each other. But suspicions didn’t amount to much in the big scheme of things, even with her true identity on the line. Because this life of fighting and rooftop sprinting and bad choices wasn’t really a life. “You can trust me. Besides, why would I wait to double-cross you there? I know where you live. I could punch you out there.”

  “Fair point.”

  She asked a passing barista for a pen, and as she did, her ears picked up the familiar screams of someone in peril. About
four blocks over.

  She scribbled an address onto a spare coffee cup sleeve and stood up. “I have to go.” Adrenaline surged through her, the lure of danger and rescue locking her sensibilities into a tight focus, a coiled spring ready to explode. She offered a short farewell, then made a hasty exit and assessed the situation. Was there enough time to go get her suit? If not, maybe she’d just cover her face with her jacket.

  Duty called.

  No FoodFast shirt required.

  * * *

  Jamie watched Zoe dash out the door and run off despite the heavy rain. Her footsteps splashed in puddles until she ducked down an alley, and a second later the slightest of silhouettes flew upward, landing on a rooftop.

  He leaned back in his seat, returning to the less extraordinary world of a coffee shop. As he did, something caught his eye. Not Zoe, she was long gone, not outside the window but on it. In the mix of rain and dirt on the glass, the word HER was smudged. The wind picked up, tossing the rain horizontally against the glass pane, and as the droplets danced off the window, they pecked away at the letters, gradually removing any sense of form to them.

  He peered closer, reaching across the table until his face was almost against the glass. And from there, even as the letters became reduced to just another blemish on a storefront window, his nose picked up the faint smell of burning.

  Jamie had told himself that he wasn’t going to abuse his Mind Robber powers right now, that he was putting that all behind—especially given the deal with Zoe. But this was too strange. Was it some trick Zoe was playing on him? She did leave abruptly, and he had no way to know how sincere she was. It seemed possible that acting might have been one of her extraordinary abilities, as well.

  Jamie’s bottom lip stung as he bit down on it, pondering the possibilities. He decided to pop through the memories of the remaining patrons of the café, scrolling back through the recent past. Conversations, coffee, one trip to the bathroom (which he elected to cut off before it got too personal)—nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he got to the barista.