“I won’t let them back inside,” Barb sniffed.
“We’ll make a run for it,” Roland said. “Encourage them to track us and leave your mother alone.”
“Let me drive. I know all the local streets,” I offered.
“Why don’t you throw them off guard by going out to the car alone?” Roland proposed. “We’ll follow.”
“Keep them off balance,” Jerry said.
“Then throw in a twist,” Roland added.
We made a plan. A few minutes later, I opened the door. The two men, whom I mentally called Mutt and Jeff after the old comic strip, sprang to attention. As I walked to the rental, they came over and positioned themselves one in front of me, one behind.
“Are you planning to mug me?” I asked, looking at one and then the other.
“No, Ms. Cole,” the first one, Jeff, said. “Eric told us to stay here and guard the house.”
“You should go back inside,” Mutt said. He didn't smile or try to be nice like Jeff. Of course Mutt was the one behind me.
“Wow. Tough-talking editors. I’m shaking in my boots,” I said. Although I was disturbed. Up close, they were dead ringers for the two costumed henchmen who had given me and Roland so much trouble in the other dimension. Also in my dreams. Other Barb claimed thugs weren’t violent in her world. Our world was not hers.
Roland swaggered out of the house, leading Jerry. Roland put on an act of being very busy talking to him. The editor-thugs immediately rushed over to them, leaving me free to hurriedly get into the car.
“Well, boys,” Jerry hammed it up, offering each handshakes. “Thanks for all your help. I’m counting on you to keep guarding the house in case the Purple Menace shows up here,” he said, laying it on thick. He’s good at that.
This did not seem to impress Mutt, although Jeff went for it. I started the car.
“You have to stay here. Eric’s orders,” Mutt said, trying to block them from heading down the path, but also looking briefly in my direction. Maybe he’d noticed the alternator’s sound.
“You can wait for Eric to call you off. We’re leaving now,” Roland said, pushing forward.
The guys had talked tough to me, but they didn’t try to strong-arm Roland and Jerry together. Roland and Jerry kept walking, straight to the car, while the editors fumed and argued.
“I said, get back in the house,” Mutt ordered. He was going to play rough. I quietly pulled out the plastic cigarette lighter Barb had given me. Good thing, too, because Roland’s modern rental car did not have one.
“Guys, we don’t work for Eric. You do,” Roland said nonchalantly, as he kept on moving toward the car.
I lit a cherry bomb and tossed it in their direction. It went off with a major bang.
Jerry and Roland had been expecting it and hurled themselves inside the car. I slammed into reverse before the two minions could recover from their surprise.
As we backed out the driveway, Roland leaned out the window. “You’ve exceeded your editorial mandate,” he yelled.
“Stop!” The two creeps ran toward us, but it was too late. We took off.
“Oh, man. That was fun,” Roland chortled. “Illegal fireworks from a different dimension. Totally awesome.”
“Yes, but what’s to stop them from following us?” Jerry asked.
“Always the doubter,” I replied. I pointed at a police car turning into the street as we made a right. “Barb’s call about loiterers ought to keep the editors busy for a while.”
Chapter 14
The trip to Manhattan wasn’t long. Unfortunately, the evil assistant editors must have been convincing with the police, because we’d only been driving for a few minutes when I saw their car gaining on us. It was a blue Nissan Versa. Roland had rented a boat of a car, an enormous Ford Grand Marquis. A cop mobile, in other words. It had more than enough power to pull away from the Versa—a puny thing at best.
“It’s them.” I sped up, but the Versa did, too.
Roland said, “Take evasive action.”
“I’m not a NASCAR driver.”
“Pull into the exit lane, go through the exit, and get right back onto the highway,” Jerry offered.
There was some aggression in his soul after all. I could try his idea because the expressway is organized with connected exit and entry lanes.
Roland got into the spirit. “Good idea, Jerry. First, Chloe, go all the way into the fast lane. Confuse them.”
“It won’t be easy,” I warned.
“That’s the point. They’ll try to follow us anyway.”
“I might not make it.” I seized my moment and pulled all the way over through five lanes to the far left lane. I annoyed a trucker, who I’m pretty sure gave me the finger.
Also in the rearview mirror was a very unwelcome car.
“I see them,” I announced tensely.
“Now switch lanes again and head for the exit as fast as you can,” Roland urged. “There’s an opening.”
It was a tiny one, but by nearly fishtailing our car, I accelerated in time to cross in front of the trucker again, who sounded his air horn. I got behind a car and slammed on the brakes so I didn’t rear end it.
“Way to go!” Roland crowed.
“Be careful, Chloe,” Jerry urged.
“This is nuts,” I said. Cold sweat formed on my back.
I took off for the next lane over. And the next. My adrenalin was on high alert.
As I tried to drive like an action hero, with no regard for safety, Roland whooped and laughed and made triumphant hand gestures.
“Stop that,” I said.
“This is great! Go for it, Chloe!”
As I zoomed back to the right, I heard more angry horns. A man in a Lincoln shook his fist at us. I hoped he didn’t have a gun on the seat beside him. He looked like he could be connected.
“Don’t actively stir up road rage against us,” I said. “It’s bad enough I’ve just cut off at least five cars.”
I checked my rearview mirror again. “Those guys are still behind us,” I said in despair, as we all heard more honking and screeching brakes. “I can’t believe we’re being aggressively tailed by guys who spend their entire day at desk jobs.”
“Editors live deprived lives,” Roland said. “Like programmers.”
“You’re doing fine,” Jerry encouraged.
“I executed dangerous maneuvers twice, yet haven’t shaken them off our tail. Meanwhile, I’ve made a lot of enemies.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Jerry offered. “Once they try to pull the same tricks, the other drivers will realize we’re being chased.”
“Yeah, maybe, but Roland acting like a total pig, cheering and carrying on when I’ve cut people off is dissipating whatever sympathy they might have.”
“Aw, don’t be a party-pooper,” Roland complained. “This is like an action movie.”
“If I crash us, we won’t get a re-take.”
I gunned the engine. “Hold on. Here goes the next attempt.” I zoomed out the exit lane to an intersection at the top of the ramp. The light was green. I zipped across. I bounced us over a manhole cover and a string of potholes as I put us right back onto the highway.
Roland kept watch behind us. “I can see their car stuck at the red behind us.”
“Not good. If we can see them, they can see us. My crazy maneuver was probably a waste of a couple of cat lives.”
“We’re substantially ahead of them now,” Jerry disagreed. “Why not take the next exit for real? The highway divides up ahead. If they don’t see which route we take, they might lose us.”
“Good idea,” Roland seconded the notion.
With sweating hands gripping the wheel in a death squeeze, I gave in. “Might as well keep trying.” Instead of hopping from lane to lane, I concentrated on lengthening our lead. It worked until a couple of the drivers I’d cut off spotted me and decided to give me a hard time. Suddenly I was boxed in, behind the Lincoln, which was going slower and slower. A Honda
Civic and a Toyota Camry blocked me on the left. I couldn’t even slow down to get around them. The trucker I’d outraged twice was right behind me.
“See?” I yelled at Roland, “We made these crazy New York drivers even more crazy than usual and now they want revenge. We’re going to lose our lead on the Versa. Your fault, Roland.”
He whooped again. “They’re helping us!” His voice rose. “They’ve formed a protective block. The Versa can’t even see us now.”
“What do I do next?” I asked. My eyes searched for an opening, but there was none. “Should I still try to aim for the exit?”
Jerry said, “Put on your turn signal. Let’s see what happens.”
I did as instructed. To my amazement, as the exit came up, the semi behind us slowed even more. If the Versa was behind it, the Versa couldn’t accelerate.
“Yay, team!” Roland crowed. “Thanks, guys.” Out of my side view mirror, I could see him giving the other drivers high signs.
I concentrated on getting us safely to the intersecting highway. No sign of the Versa. I switched to the Triborough Bridge a few minutes later. Still no tail.
“Wow. I think we did it,” I finally said. “I don’t see them anymore.” I began to tremble in reaction. “That was way too much like a movie. I can feel the adrenalin.”
“What a rush. I love movie car chases. But it was nothing compared to your zapping the Purple Menace with power bolts a couple hours ago,” Roland said.
“Debatable,” I replied.
“Think we’re okay now?” he asked.
“Manhattan is too congested. They won’t catch up,” I said, hoping I was right.
Jerry offered a practical suggestion. “Once we get into the city, hide the car in a parking garage. We’ll take a cab to Dave’s office.”
Which was what we did, this time parking legally and very expensively in a midtown garage. Jerry paid, since Roland and I were close to tapped out. My purse was still in a 30 Rock locker, and I hadn’t thought of asking Barb for a loan.
I had another concern as we rode the final few blocks in a taxi. “What if Diabolical Dave has left for the day?”
“He probably sleeps there,” Jerry said. His sourness was an unusual break in his tactful style, but he knew Diabolical Dave from years before. Maybe Jerry had some negative feelings about his erstwhile co-creator.
We got to the Baxter Building and went inside. “Diabolical Dave’s office is on the 7 1/2th floor,” Roland said, reading the lobby directory.
“How can there be a half-floor?” I wondered.
“When two buildings are joined together but were built at different levels,” Roland said. “In Seattle, they have whole streets at different levels.”
“Oh. Weird.”
Jerry was still with us, although we’d offered to drop him at his hotel. Pretty game for an old guy.
“How do we get to the half-floor?” I asked.
“See the sign? Access is from these stairs.” Roland said. We hiked up the stairs. Jerry took them quickly, showing us why he was whipcord thin and in great shape for his age. At the landing for Floor 7 1/2, we found one solitary door, its old-fashioned translucent glass half-panel proclaiming nothing more than the room number.
“I don’t like this,” I said, knowing it was too late to object to any incredible scenario.
We knocked, and Diabolical Dave himself let us in. My father. The mystery janitor from the TV studio. Today he wore a white shirt and dark khaki pants, and glasses. He looked like any old guy, even an artist type. He had a tiny one-room office space, no more than 12 by 12. It was stuffed with file cabinets and tables and desks and chairs. Artwork covered all of them. A page was pinned to his art board, and I stepped closer to look at it. Yes, it was the mystery art style none of us had been able to identify.
“I know who you are and why you’ve come,” Diabolical Dave said. I felt his gaze study me in particular. Yet when I turned back to him, his calm expression betrayed not an ounce of fatherly affection.
I suppose I had hoped for some sentimental reunion. It didn’t look as if Diabolical Dave was interested in one. I kept my tone of voice brisk and businesslike. “We’ll skip the introductions and get right to the point. You did the drawings showing up on my computer. How did you send them to me?”
“I got a hacker kid to enslave your computer. Your mother helped by supplying all your e-mail addresses and the model of your machine.”
“My mom helped you?” I didn’t expect loyalty from a man who’d ignored me for twenty-five years. But from my own mother? Oh, I was steamed now.
Diabolical Dave examined me like I was some curious kind of bug. “Barb said you’d be upset. I see she was right.”
“Of course I’m upset. What kind of father enslaves his daughter’s computer?”
“It couldn’t be helped. I had information to send you.”
“Why didn’t you just call me and ask me to—to what?” I suddenly stopped my impassioned tirade. I dropped into the only empty chair, the one in front of the drawing board. I was totally confused. I looked up at him pleadingly, not caring how weak I sounded. “Please. Tell me. What’s this all about?”
“It’s a bit complicated,” Diabolical Dave replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Your story involves another dimension, we know that much,” Roland prompted.
Jerry leaned against the door, saying nothing.
I was silent, too, although I lifted a hand in an impatient gesture. Still, Dave did not continue. I leapt up. “You ruined two months of my life. What for?”
Dave stared down his long nose at me.
“Come on, Dave,” Jerry said. “Time to talk.”
Dave turned and stared at the man he’d worked with many years ago, the man Barb said betrayed him. Dave’s expression gave away nothing of his feelings, if he had any feelings. “In essence, I’ve created, or contacted, a world in my head. It’s a real world. People from that world cross over into our dimension.”
“When we used the Amulet of Life, we went into your brain?” Roland asked.
I was glad he spoke up. I was too stunned to move my tongue.
“Technically,” Diabolical Dave replied. “Although it would be more accurate to say you visited the multiverse.”
“I don’t follow you,” I finally managed to say.
“The multiverse is what scientists now call parallel universes,” Roland explained.
Jerry intervened, seeing my blank look. “They theorize our entire universe could be contained in one drop of water. Infinitely small. Did you ever see the movie, Being John Malkovich?”
I shook my head.
Roland replied. “I saw it. Characters enter a portal taking them into a man’s brain, and they can live his life for a few minutes.”
He turned to Diabolical Dave. “Why don’t we see through your eyes and get spit out in New Jersey like in the movie?”
“Because my brain holds another dimension. It’s as real as this one. Thus your experience there is your own, not mine,” Diabolical Dave replied as if what he said was completely logical according to the laws of science.
As Roland peppered Diabolical Dave with questions, and Jerry got in an additional observation or two, I sat there stunned. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Why involve me?” I wailed. I balked at calmly discussing other dimensions. “Why me?”
“You have a crucial role to perform. Someone related to me by blood has to stop the Purple Menace.” He waved his hand to cut off the obvious next question. “I tried with others.”
“What happened to them?” I asked, although I feared I wouldn’t like the answer. I had visions of imperfect teleportation beams that scattered human atoms across the universe. What kind of weird experimenter was this man? Was my long-lost father a monster?
“Nothing,” he said sternly. “Their attempts to fight the Purple Menace failed.”
“If I’ve got this straight,” Roland said carefully, “you allowed
the Purple Menace to believe Jerry had the amulet. This caused the Purple Menace to attack Jerry in front of Chloe. Which pushed Chloe to use the amulet.”
“Correct.”
“But why?” I wailed.
“Only seeing the other world could convince you of its reality. And thus of the grave danger to our own.”
Jerry made an impatient noise, disapproval in every line of his body. “I was threatened and our world has been endangered because of your arrogant, reckless experimentation.”
Roland looked shocked that Jerry dared to judge. Inside Diabolical Dave’s brain, or in the multiverse, what did the details matter?
Dave appeared to consider Jerry’s accusation carefully. He had the manner of a scientist, not an artist. All he needed was a white lab coat. He nodded. “I created a world in my head. I made it the way I think the world ought to be. I made frequent contact with the other dimension in my mind. That’s when the situation got complicated.”
A fleeting smile crossed his lips, and his eyes took on a fervent gleam. “Imagine it, Jerry. There, men are still men, not whining weaklings who publicly confess their addictions and beg for absolution. Women still wear feminine garb, instead of aping men’s clothes. They still honor the home instead of running out to bars and behaving like tramps. The strong individual, either male or female, can freely excel. Why, in my dimension, Barb is the president of Fantastic Comics. We have highways in the sky. Some men can fly.”
“Yeah, and the Purple Menace flew right into our world and caused a heap of trouble,” I said with a sarcastic edge to my tone.
“Succinctly put, young lady,” he responded, not bothered by my hostility. “Although the world in my mind is wonderful, it has its share of bad apples who need stern correction.”
“How do the villains in your head cross over to our world?” Roland asked.
“While I’m asleep, I dream. They get out through my dreams.”
Now we were at the sticky topic. “Why did I dream about these events, too? Why was I always a superheroine in the dreams?”
“The amulet amplifies my mind’s connection to yours—a blood tie. Your mind provides the superheroine characterization.”
Temporary Superheroine Page 11
