by LE Barbant
“We damn well don’t know what the hell he was doing out there,” Boyd interjected.
“Yes, but no one else knows that, Frank.” Rhett scribbled nothing in particular on his yellow, pissed at the interruption. “Then we pivot to the coup de grâce that will ensure your reelection. Kinnard will never see it coming.”
All eyes were on him.
Rhett kept them waiting, working the room.
“Oh? What was that?” Boyd asked.
Rhett forced back a smile. “The Mayor hasn’t told you his plan yet? We’re taking a stance on the monsters.”
****
Rhett crossed his right leg over his left and looked up at the man in charge. Fresh out of the District, he expected the Mayor’s office to be a bit more regal, but Dobbs’ digs were more like a high school principal’s workspace from the 90s. The floor-to-ceiling drapes were a bit gaudy, and the furniture, while not threadbare, had seen better days. The whole place smelled like the back room of a public library—one part mildew, two parts old paper.
“Are you sure you can pull this off?” the Mayor asked.
“You’re the one pulling it off sir. I couldn’t claim something so adept. I’m just a humble writer.” Rhett gave a subtle closed-mouth smile, knowing everything he said was a lie. “But I’m sure that my speech will convey everything you asked for. Harris’s polls confirmed your instincts. The people want a strong leader. When fear and scarcity are the primary motivating forces in a man’s life, he will cast aside anything else for the sake of survival. History has proven this to be true since the beginning of time.”
Dobbs nodded. “Vinton’s death has got me thinking. What if they blame me for the monsters? This all happened under my watch.”
“It’s foolish to change leaders in the midst of battle, sir.” Rhett got to his feet. “And with my words, they’ll see this for the war that it is. Monsters will always exist. They’re certainly not your fault, but you are the one who’s going to stop them. Trust me, by the time I’m done, they’ll make a damned statue in your likeness on the steps of this building. You’re going to be a superhero.”
Dobbs flashed a million-dollar smile. “Alright, kid. Get out of here, and I’ll order a cape.”
Rhett walked past rows of cubicled civil servants, answering calls or responding to emails. He remembered his first job as an intern, phoning for donations at a state congressman’s office in South Dakota. It didn’t take him long to rise from that position. He entered his private office, pleased to shut out the noise of the lesser staffers.
The silence was broken by his brother’s voice. “It won’t work, you know.”
Rhett loved his brother, even if he were a pain in the ass nine times out of ten. “Aren’t you supposed to be out finding a job or something?”
He looked at this brother, who lounged in the corner chair of Rhett’s office. “That’s not important right now.”
“Well, brother, according to our landlord, it is. Why is it that I’m always working to support you?” Rhett paused, taking in his twin’s goofy smile.
“Not sure, but you keep taking me with you, so things seem to be working just fine for me.”
Rhett laughed and responded to Paul’s opening comment. “What do you mean it won’t work? Dobbs is a genius to cash in on these monster attacks. And I’ve orchestrated the plan perfectly. This strategy is based on research. If the nation bought it in 2001, these backwoods hicks masquerading as urbanites will too. You’ve got to remember, we’re not in D.C. anymore.”
“They may fall for your tricks now, but he’ll be unmasked in the long run.”
Rhett dropped his notebook on the desk. “Who cares about the long run? My job is simple, get the man elected. It’s not our job to judge him.”
“Then what? What happens when your masterpiece is disrobed?”
Rhett picked up the Pittsburgh snow globe left behind by the previous speechwriter. He gave it a shake and watched flurries fall on PNC Park. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure by then you’ll have figured out what our next move is. You’re the one who led me here, by the way. Have you forgotten—”
But when Rhett looked up his brother was gone.
Dammit. Can’t persuade someone who isn’t listening.
CHAPTER NINE
“What the hell were you thinking?” Chem had a short fuse, but Tim had never seen him yell like this before. Cat sat on the ex-mercenary’s lap, waving its tail as if all was right with the world.
The louder Chem yelled, the smaller the living room felt. The tall man paced back and forth, covering each length with only three steps.
“Those guys were assholes,” Tim said. “So I ripped them new ones. You talk a big game about making the city better and then you just go stitch ’em up and send them back on the streets. You’re…what’s the term? Aiding and abetting.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Elijah asked as he came out of his room. He held a book thicker than Tim’s head.
Chem stopped pacing. “Nothing.”
Tim laughed. “So, Eli here doesn’t know about your side business? Easy to justify it to yourself, but…”
Tim turned to Elijah. “Our doctor here runs a clinic for all the drug dealers and wannabe gangbangers running around Pittsburgh. I just made sure he has repeat customers.”
“Tim, what if you need my help someday?” Chem pointed his finger as he talked. “You want to come pull me off my night shift at Walmart? I have to pay the bills. And a few stitches on some low-level criminals keeps me researching and taking care of my friends.”
“Ends justify the means? You should get a tour with Blackbow. You’d fit right in.”
“They might be criminals, but that doesn’t give you the right to put them in the hospital.” Chem got to his feet. “And you’re asking me if the ends justify the means? Really?”
For a moment, Tim wondered if the academic was dumb enough to engage in fisticuffs with the seasoned veteran. “Justice justifies any means necessary. I’m afraid personal profit cannot command the same allowances.”
“You didn’t kill them, did you?” Elijah asked.
Tim ran his right palm over his left knuckles, watching the skin go white. “I’ve had my fill of killing. But that doesn’t mean I can’t stand for what is right. A few broken ribs go a long way.”
Tim knocked Cat off his lap and stood. Grabbing his keys off the table, he moved past Elijah toward the front entrance. “I’d love to stay and debate the finer details of vigilante ethics, but I have a date.”
He opened the door and looked back at the two academics. “I’ve made my choice. But you two better figure out what it is you’re doing here. From where I’m standing, you’re closer to the problem than the solution.”
****
“Did your mamá tie that, Timoteo?”
Anna’s teeth were blinding. Their brilliance was only exaggerated by her skin, darkened by long exposure to summer rays. He ran his hand across the tie self-consciously as he took in her black evening dress. It was a far cry from her fatigues and combat boots, but he wasn’t complaining.
“No, yours did.”
She laughed. “You and my mamá go way back?”
“Way back, way forward. She and I go every way.” He grinned.
“Well, you can take the man out of the service, but you can’t take the service out of the man.” Her dimples deepened. “Speaking of serving, you dating anyone since you’ve been stateside?”
Tim took a long pull on his bottle of Yuengling and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. In Pittsburgh, mid-level beer was an acceptable drink, even at dinner-jacket type establishments. The familiar lager made him feel more comfortable despite the completely foreign nature of the restaurant. “Nah. I’m afraid I’ve lost the knack for appropriately interacting with civilians. You know what it’s like. Takes a while to come back to normal living.” He looked down. “And the last run—it was hard.”
“You never told me. Were you in the shit?”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, something like that.” Tim cleared his throat, sweat beading on his forehead. “But let’s forget all that.” He grinned. “What brings you to the Steel City?”
“Can’t a lady swing through town and visit her old lieutenant?”
“Just cause you’re wearing that cute, strappy dress and heels don’t mean you’re a lady. I remember you in Fallujah.”
Anna folded the cloth napkin over on the table. “Hard to forget.” She took a long sip from her vodka martini. “You know me, Ford. I’m on a job. You looking for work? We could use a few more boots. Pretty easy assignment. Not like Bogotá.”
“Me? Nah. I’m retired.”
“Retired? I don’t believe it. The Tim Ford I knew would be bored shitless sitting around, jerking off all day. How do you keep from going crazy?”
Tim fidgeted in his seat. He unconsciously checked to make sure his brass knuckles were still in his pocket. “I’ve got my methods…But I didn’t know Blackbow was working PA.”
“You’d be surprised,” Anna said. “The company is doing more and more in the states. Mostly private companies looking for security. It’s a lot easier than dodging IEDs and raiding villages. But the money’s still decent; not great, but it works.”
“So, what’s the job?”
“Really, Tim? You’ve been gone a few months and already forget the code?”
Tim’s eyes smiled at his C.O. He wondered if Anna would be steadfast or if she were playing hard to get. “Come on. For an old friend. It’s my city, after all.”
“Even better reason to keep quiet,” she said. “A code’s a code. How could I ever expect you to trust me if I roll over and give it to any hot guy that asks for it?”
Tim flushed. “Exactly how much asking does it take to get you to roll over?”
“What do you say after dinner we find out?” Anna said, flashing her brilliant smile.
“I’m gonna have to make that intel priority uno. Let’s pound these drinks and get out of here.” Tim felt his fancy pants getting tighter.
“Deal.” She threw back the remnants of her martini and flagged down the waiter.
****
Tim’s head pounded.
No surprise, since the two of them polished off the bottle of Antioqueño that Anna had stowed in her luggage. The Columbian liquor was too sweet for his taste, but he would have drunk turpentine if she were pouring it.
Turning his head, it felt like somebody was shoving an ice pick through his temple. He squinted, taking in her form lying next to him. The bleach-white sheets hardly covered her exquisite ass, shaped by hours of training fit for the battlefield. Her torso was lighter than her arms and face. Anna didn’t have the bikini tan lines of most women her age, but rather contrasts formed by the standard issue Blackbow uniform. He traced a finger over a four-inch scar in the middle of her back—lightly, so as not to wake her. He was there when she got that one. A shoulder tattoo, an ornate bow and arrow shaped into a B, completed the tapestry. It was identical to the one on his arm. He read the three-word phrase indelibly printed on both of their bodies.
The clock on the end table read 3:42 a.m.
In need of a gallon of water and some painkillers, Tim got out of bed. The room spun and he wondered if he was still drunk. He downed the four tiny pills and started to rehydrate. He remembered days staying in places like this for weeks, hotel rooms that would never feel like home. Closing the door to the bedroom of the suite, he took a seat at the desk. Spread out on the surface were assorted papers and a few manila folders, each of them had the Blackbow logo emblazoned on the center and CONFIDENTIAL in bright red written across the top. A smirk spread over his face. Tim always wondered why anyone would write confidential on anything; it begged to be read.
He looked over his shoulder and listened for signs of movement from the room.
What would Blackbow be doing in Pittsburgh?
His hand swept over the top folder, fingers finding the edge. Tim thought about his code. He withdrew his hand. This wasn’t the way. She deserved better.
Instead, he grabbed the hotel stationery and jotted a note:
Anna,
Thanks for the memories. Don’t be a stranger.
Timoteo
Ferocia Fatum Fugant
He considered tearing up the note and sticking around, but even Anna and a hangover couldn’t keep him settled. A nervous energy filled the soldier, and he knew of only one release.
He got dressed and slipped into the hallway. As he walked toward the elevator, he slid his right hand into his pocket, fingering the brass knuckles concealed within it.
CHAPTER TEN
Willa’s quads burned as she took the steps two at a time. Pain had become a part of her status quo. The training was intense, not only the physical but the mental as well. But justice required strength in body and mind.
Several weeks of researching people from her grandfather’s photograph only increased her resolve. She visited the offices of nearly every living emeritus professor from local universities and spent hours scouring the Internet. Most members of the Vox Populi remained a mystery, but an aging administrative assistant from Duquesne provided a lead on her principal target: the man in the chair next to her grandfather.
The grainy photo exhibited Edwin’s hand on his shoulder. This gesture of intimacy was so foreign for the magician that Willa knew something special existed between them. Standing on the porch her heart rate increased. The poet-magician had no idea what she would find, but she knew this was her only next step.
She stepped through the door.
****
Dr. Crane’s living room was cramped. Low ceilings and dim lighting added to her claustrophobia, and Willa made certain to keep her eye on an exit.
The aging professor sat in an orange upholstered chair sagging from decades of use. A picture of a kind-faced woman with sparkling eyes sat on a side table alongside a teacup and a hardback novel.
“Yes, Edwin and I were friends.” He paused. “No, that’s not a strong enough word. Your grandfather was something more. He was like a brother. Though I was older in years, he was more mature in experience and dedication.” The man stared at an invisible dot across the room. Willa let him dwell in the memory. After an eternity, he continued. “I could hardly believe it when I heard of his death. On the other hand, part of me always assumed his fate would have caught him earlier.”
Willa leaned into the space dividing her from her grandfather’s friend. “What do you mean, Dr. Crane?”
“Well, your grandfather had a knack for sniffing out trouble. It’s probably what made us so successful.” He paused, a smile added to his heavily wrinkled face. “But of course, that’s what you’re here to discuss, isn’t it?”
Willa nodded but remained silent. She feared spooking the old man when she was so close to an answer.
“Yes, right. The Vox Populi. I’m embarrassed at how pretentious that sounds. We were small at first, and Edwin had recruited most of us. He never revealed how he knew where to look, but he could see the potential in us—our powers. I’ll never forget the day he talked with me after class. To say he was forceful would exaggerate it only a little.”
Crane blew across the lip of his cup and sipped. “I mean, I was terribly confused as my own abilities developed. My words started to affect the world and no one could explain to me why or how. Frankly, I thought I was going mad. That’s when Edwin got a hold of me.”
“How many of you were there?” Willa asked.
“Hmmm, let’s see…” The man stared at the ceiling. “In the beginning there were eight of us. We were young—stupid, really. But we had energy and, I guess you would say, courage. It started almost as a hobby, saving helpless damsels and confronting petty crimes. I had pictured myself as one of those characters in the pulp fiction books—a guilty pleasure of mine that I hid from my colleagues.”
Willa leaned back in her chair and crossed a leg. While the story was captivating, it was nothing she hadn’t heard fro
m her grandfather. She pictured the men, young and heroic, running through back alleys by night and teaching by day. “Then what happened?”
Dr. Crane grinned. “‘Good enough’ wasn’t in your grandfather’s lexicon. I think that most of us were happy to make a little dent in the crime of the city, you know, to right a few wrongs. I felt pretty damned good about myself—pardon my language. But not Edwin.” The man shook his head. “Edwin had his sights set higher. Restoring the city one pickpocket at a time was chump change for him. Your grandfather started researching the city’s underbelly. I think he put twice as much time digging into Pittsburgh’s dirt than he did studying nineteenth century poetry. He rarely slept.”
“And what did he find?”
“What didn’t he find? That’s the question. You know, these weren’t the days of your Internets. Detective work required a more personal touch. Edwin was fearless. He’d walk right into the backroom of some smalltime mob boss and start demanding information. That’s when, well, the problems started.” The professor glared at his mug, as if considering whether or not to advance with the story. “That’s what ultimately would lead to…um…what happened with your mom.”
Willa squeezed her leg. “It’s OK. I know. Go on, please.”
Crane removed his glasses, held them up to the light. “Of course. It doesn’t take a genius to realize you can’t mess with the bull without eventually getting the horns. Edwin didn’t care. He was unrelenting. I tried to warn him, but he kept pushing deeper. And that’s when they stepped in and changed everything.”
Willa bit her lip. “The mob?”
