The Crucible (Steel City Heroes Book 2)

by LE Barbant

  Dobbs looked good, elevated above the crowd. Rhett knew that he could make something of the man. He only wished he had started earlier, but some things were out of one’s control.

  “Thank you. Please sit. I know most of you are here for the free drinks, so I’ll keep it brief. My staff often brags that I can cram a twenty-minute address into forty-five minutes.” The crowd laughed like the joke was funny.

  Fucking Dobbs. Use what I gave you, Rhett thought.

  The mayor loved to ad lib, and it drove the speechwriter crazy.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, first, thank you for coming. There is nothing more beautiful than a summer day in Pittsburgh. Standing here in the University Club, I am reminded of just how amazingly blessed we are by our hometown. But no matter how idyllic this late summer day is, it remains shrouded in loss. Robert Vinton was a friend, a colleague, and an inspiration. Though young enough to be my own son, he taught me more than I could ever explain. So, as we come together…”

  The Mayor’s pacing was decent, thanks in no small part to Rhett working the delivery with him ad nauseum. Down in the polls and with fundraising lagging, it didn’t take much to convince the Mayor that this moment, these eight minutes of delivery, determined his political future.

  No pressure, dipshit.

  Vinton’s wife, on stage and dressed in black, set the tone. She was the hook. Citizens truly loved Carla Vinton. Rhett had convinced the media to paint her as the tireless wife, working to raise three young children. Those closer to her knew that she spent her days in luxury, with old Pittsburgh money paying for the nanny who served her children and occasionally her husband.

  Robert Vinton was no saint. No special gift was required for Rhett to dig up some dirt on the man, and infidelity was by no stretch the worst part. But by the end of the speech, Pittsburgh would be ready to canonize the mayor’s aide—by proxy sustaining Dobbs in his Steel City throne. That hinged, however, on the politician’s ability to nail his lines.

  Moisture accumulated at the small of Rhett’s back—his face flushed despite the cool of the room. He wasn’t nervous about his writing; he knew the text was sound. But he questioned whether or not the mayor could provide the elocution they deserved.

  “Bobby has left a legacy. One that will remain in the public memory for all time. Listing his accomplishments would take all night, and annoy the hell out of him.” The room laughed, not as much as Rhett expected. “My chief of staff wouldn’t want me to eulogize him or go on about the great accomplishments we achieved together. He’d want me to turn my eyes ahead—to look forward to a new Pittsburgh, a better Pittsburgh.”

  Come on, Dobbs, hit it.

  “Now I’ve been criticized by that kid running against me for being too conservative. Too old school. My opponent is captivated by bike lanes and hipster coffee shops rather than the things that really matter. Don’t get me wrong, we will continue working to raise the standard of living in our fair city. And I’m not against bike lanes. Hell, I’m a member of Bike Pittsburgh. But I am against a politician whose priorities are misaligned.

  “Miles of bike lanes, cool new stores, and even another Superbowl ring—believe it or not—will amount to nothing if we don’t have the safety and security to enjoy them. When fear and contentment battle, fear always wins.

  “Now a lot of people have been sticking their heads in the sand, one of them being my opponent. We don’t talk about the most pressing issue because, well, it sounds just downright fictional. But the most important issue facing Pittsburgh is an epidemic of grand proportions—literally.

  “We need to turn our eyes from potholes and zoning laws to something that is vital—a life and death issue. That’s why, when the people cast their vote to keep me in office—which they will—my number one priority will be taking on these monsters.” Dobbs paused, letting the last word ring. “A reign of terror, beginning last February, has gripped our city. The freak occurrence was something out of a high fantasy novel. I didn’t want to admit that they were real at first, but something led to Bobby’s death and I won’t rest until whoever, or whatever, it is is brought to justice. They aren’t going away, no matter how much we ignore them or rationalize their existence. My primary platform is safety. Without peace of mind, all of the delights of our city mean nothing.

  “Thank you all for coming. May God bless all of us and God bless Pittsburgh.”

  The crowd rose to their feet cheering.

  “I guess they liked it.” Rhett felt Paul’s hand on his shoulder.

  “I can’t believe they let you in here like that,” Rhett replied, seeing Paul in jeans and a wrinkled polo.

  He shrugged. “Maybe somebody thought I was too rich to care.”

  “What did you think?” he asked, not looking at his brother.

  “A eulogy seems an inappropriate place to call for more death and destruction. Wouldn’t a simple word of mourning have been enough?”

  Paul had never approved of Rhett’s vocation, but the speechwriter had gotten used to it. He could handle his brother’s disappointment.

  “I’m a speechwriter. Politicization is my trade. And we need all the leverage we can get. After all,” Rhett continued, “this is why we came here, do you remember that? You were the one who told me to move to Pittsburgh. You sent me to Dobbs.”

  “I know that,” Rhett’s twin said. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t boundaries.”

  “The only boundary is ineffectiveness,” Rhett said, the corners of his mouth curling up. “I’m going to do my job, Paul.”

  “Well, if your job is to manipulate with half-truths maybe you could be a little less adept at it.”

  Rhett’s face warmed again. It was the closest thing to a compliment he remembered his brother ever giving him.

  The applause slowed to a stop. People moved toward the bar. Having had enough of his brother’s criticism, Rhett decided to go quench his own thirst. “Time for drinks.”

  But Paul was no longer there to hear it.

  ****

  “That was yours, wasn’t it?”

  A woman in a dark blue dress stepped up beside Rhett. Hazel green eyes complemented the strawberry blond hair that fell to her shoulders. Light freckles that likely hid in the winter speckled her face.

  “I’m sure Mayor Dobbs spoke from his heart.”

  The two followed the line a step closer to the bar. “Modesty? Everybody’s been talking about the mysterious new guy in town. The superstar speechwriter. And…I’d consider that speech stellar.” The girl smiled and her pale skin flushed just enough for Rhett to see it.

  They finally stepped up to the bartender. Rhett asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “At an open bar? You’re quite the find.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “Well, you are in politics.” She turned to the bartender. “I’ll take a gin and tonic, two limes.”

  “Make that two.”

  Rhett and his new friend made their way to a high-top table and placed their glasses on the cocktail napkins. “So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  She laughed. “If you knew anything about girls like me, you’d know we hated being called girls. My name is Jillian.”

  Rhett stuck his hand out. “So nice to meet you, Jillian. Rhett Johannes.”

  “Rhett? A bit on the nose for a speechwriter, don’t you think?”

  It was Rhett’s turn to laugh. “My sweet mother was enamored by Gone with the Wind.”

  “So, you don’t give a damn?”

  “Not usually. What brings you to our little soirée?”

  “Free drinks, mostly. And, I’m a reporter.”

  Rhett raised his eyebrows. “This is off the record, right?”

  “You never know—better be very careful.”

  “Post-Gazette? The Trib? I’m pretty sure I know all the women at The Pittsburgh Times. Or are you the one that came all the way out from Harrisburg?

  Jillian leaned an
elbow on the table, grabbed a swizzle stick from her drink, and bit down on it. “None of the above. I’m actually from Keystone Voice.”

  Rhett sipped his gin and tonic. The bartender had given him a double, which didn’t disappoint. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you said you were a journalist.”

  She gave a fake laugh. “You think I never get that, right?”

  “Well I’m sure daddy’s proud of your blog.”

  “Daddy is proud, Rhett. I’m clearing six figures with a weekly readership larger than the number of people who have heard all of your speeches put together. So, yeah, I’m doing OK.”

  Rhett liked her. She was smart and could handle him, which put her in a small minority. “Kindle publishing, Noisetrade, blogging—doesn’t anyone believe in proper vetting anymore?”

  “Look who’s talking. I’m sure the one editor that looks over your speech brings sufficient integrity to your work. You probably got a handful of comments and ignored every single one of them. Or is it the Mayor? Is he your peer review?”

  “My credentials were my peer review. It takes a rare talent to do what I do. But it takes nothing to start a blog. We’re just letting anybody publish whatever,” Rhett said, shaking his head. “The fall of civilization.”

  Jillian wore something between a smile and a sneer. “Vivá la revolution. Maybe the establishment needs a little shaking up.”

  The woman was sharp, funny, and quick. Rhett realized she was just his type. It would be dangerous mixing it up with a journalist, but he wouldn’t mind taking the chance with her.

  “Sure, the establishment has its flaws, but it’s a known entity with accepted procedures. If we cast out all the intellectual gatekeepers, then what?”

  “Oh, I have gatekeepers. There are a hundred thousand of them a week. If they keep reading, I get to keep writing. Not to mention the comments. This is actually why the indie community is going to save journalism. We aren’t owned by anybody other than our true constituents—the readers. It’s journalism how it was meant to be—a true free market. Which, working for that neo-con jagoff,” Jillian nodded toward the mayor, who was smiling and shaking hands, “you should be into.”

  “I said I worked for the guy. Doesn’t mean he’s got my vote.”

  “Wow. You’re a real class act, Rhett. My daddy would be proud I’m talking to a guy like you in a place like this.” She grinned.

  Rhett found it difficult to assess how much honesty was mixed in with her sarcasm. Bleeding heart liberals loathed him. But so did conservatives, more often than not. “My old man worked in a Honda plant in Indiana. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna drive an Accord. Our culture has seen hundreds, if not thousands, of master artists commissioned to paint things they don’t want to by people they don’t necessarily like. I’m not all that different.”

  “So now you’re a famous artist?”

  “Not yet. But I’m getting there. And before I’m done, everyone will know my name and hear my speeches. You better be nice to me.”

  Jillian pressed the button on her iPhone to check the time. “Well, Rhett, I’d love to keep chatting, but I have an exclusive interview with the Senator. He turned down the Trib to make time for me and my little ‘blog,’ so I better not be late. I didn’t come here to socialize.” She smiled. “Unless you want to give me a quote.”

  “Not a chance. Remember, this was off the record.”

  “No sense of adventure.” She raised her glass and tilted toward him. “But thanks for buying me a free drink.”

  He smiled as she rose and walked away. “Next one’s on you, Strawberry Shortcake.”

  She replied over her shoulder. “Until next time, Rhett-orician.”

  His eyes followed her until she passed out of sight. Then the speechwriter returned to his drink.

  “You want to sleep with her, don’t you?”

  “Where’d you come from?” Rhett asked his brother as he joined him at the table. “And, of course I do.”

  “You are utterly distasteful.”

  “And I’d guess she’s pretty tasty.”

  Rhett tilted his glass all the way and drained the remaining liquid. He slid the ice into his mouth. “You should try it sometime, big brother. It might suit you.”

  “She’s not the one we’re waiting for. But she’ll be here soon and you’d better be ready. I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

  Rhett set down his drink and straightened his tie. “When am I not prepared? You’ve got nothing to worry about. We can handle your mystery guest.”

  ****

  Rhett prided himself on his attire. It was perfect. Life in Pittsburgh made fashion easy. The city dressed itself up from the sale racks of JC Penney, so Rhett always stood out. Jason Hamilton was the only one on Dobbs’ staff who could hold a candle to Rhett’s wardrobe, and the speechwriter resented him for it.

  “New shoes, Jason?” Rhett asked, handing him a gin and tonic, while taking a sip of his own.

  “Oh, these old things,” Jason’s teeth sparkled. His parents must have spent a fortune on the damn things. “Great speech tonight.”

  Mouthwash was fresh on the man’s breath. He was meticulous. “We did alright,” Rhett said. “He stepped all over a few lines. And that joke in the beginning?”

  “I know, right?” Jason smiled, drawing up crow’s feet around his eyes. Rhett assumed a surgeon would take care of those in the next few years. Jason was a rival, and Rhett was glad to have him. It kept him sharp. “Based on our data, that speech is going to do the trick. We’ll surge in the polls and dollars will start pouring in. All thanks to you, Rhett.”

  Jason placed his hand on Rhett’s shoulder. It lingered. Rhett placed his own over Jason’s and smiled. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without you and your data.” Rhett released Jason’s hand and stirred his drink.

  Nervous red splotches appeared on Jason’s neck. Rhett felt badly—he couldn’t imagine lacking control over such basic bodily responses to external stimuli. But the man’s tell gave Rhett what he needed.

  “How have you been mining that data? I’ve looked at our surveys and they couldn’t provide nearly as much nuance as you seem to have.”

  Jason tittered. “I don’t kiss and tell, Rhett.”

  Rhett raised his right eyebrow. “Never?”

  Splotches spread toward the researcher’s ears. He took a sip from his glass.

  “Come on.” Rhett whispered, “You can trust me.”

  Jason leaned in. Answers spilled out in hushed tones. “There’s not too much to tell. Truth is, I’m not exactly sure where the intel comes from. This woman delivers it to me periodically. My guess is that she’s some sort of outside consultant that Dobbs is contracting with.”

  “Interesting. You never got her name?” Rhett asked.

  “I tried to strike up a conversation once, but got no response. Whoever she is, Dobbs is keeping it pretty close to the chest.” Jason looked at his overpriced shoes. “Listen, forget about it. I should have never told you.”

  “Jason,” Rhett paused. His eyes darted around the room. “Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  You would think blood would come off of chrome more easily, the scientist thought as she applied more pressure to the steel-wool pad. She reached for a different chemical solvent, poured it onto the rag, and hoped it would erase the damned spot.

  Human blood had a distinct odor to it, and the smell made her sick.

  In her previous life, blood wasn’t an uncommon sight. But back then she worked to repair what was broken. Now her product caused the damage.

  She pulled a lever and the sound of machinery filled the room. A series of chains held her creation in place and, by manipulating mechanical gears and pulleys, she could lift it from the ground. The thing offered no resistance. As the object of her attention spun to face her, the scientist longed for simpler times.

  Amazing.

  In the lab, her creation was entirely hers to control. But when
she released it into the world it followed different orders. She knew what it was capable of and when it returned dripping with blood, her imagination ran wild. Though ignorant of what it had done, she knew full well that she was responsible for the fruit of her labor.

  In the same way, she was also responsible to the fruit of her womb.

  Dueling responsibilities were a certain kind of hell.

  Don’t worry darling. This will all be over soon.

  “Remarkable.” A voice interrupted her work. “You should have seen her in action.”

  The scientist spun, facing a woman who looked like an Olympian goddess without the toga. The muscles on her lean arms rippled with the tiniest of movements. She had dark brown skin, like the photos the scientist had seen of migrant workers in the Southwest. Her eyes were beautiful, but contained an intensity that told the scientist she was dangerous, untrustworthy.

  “I’ve seen enough.” She held a bloody rag up as if offering evidence to the jury. “What do you need?”

  The soldier grabbed the cloth and held it for a minute, observing the blood stained pattern marking the white fabric. Whatever story she read in its design upset her, and she threw the rag aside.

  “We need more intel,” the goddess said, “Our employer stepped up his game last night, and we need to know its effect.”

  “Here’s what I have so far. I’ll send out B.U.B.O. tonight for more reconnaissance.”

  She pulled a jump drive from her lab coat. What remained of her conscience told her to put it back, but, knowing the alternative, she passed it into the calloused hand of the otherwise flawless woman.

  The hand gripped hers.

  Their eyes met.

  “I know this isn’t easy for you,” the soldier said.

  You have no idea.

  The scientist forced a smile. “It’s a job. Like any other. I know the price tag, and I will be paid my due. You understand. Don’t you?”

  For a moment, her hard eyes softened. “You have no idea.”

  Pulling her hand away, the woman turned and left the laboratory without a word.