“Just don’t get any on your uniform.”
“See? That just sounds better.” He uncapped his bottle of strawberry Nesquik and gulped half of it down. “You really should try this—you’re missing out. Good morning, fellow citizens!” he shouted at the couple entering the coffee shop, paralyzing them with dread. “Quite a choice you’ve made today. The service here is without equal.”
“Shit, I forgot he comes here,” muttered the guy.
“Oh, sorry,” said the girl, “actually, I think we don’t have time for coffee.” They shuffled back out.
“Have an adequate day!” he bellowed at them. “And you can quote me!”
“You know, we,” Jaleesa started, but gave up mid-sentence. She didn’t even bother trailing off.
“It means ‘satisfactory or fair,’” he protested. “It’s a perfectly . . . uh, a perfectly adequate greeting.”
“You really can’t hear how sarcastic it sounds? Like you can’t be bothered to wish them a great day or a fantastic day?”
Her boss stared at her, unblinking. “No,” he said, mildly hurt.
“Oh,” Jaleesa said. “Well. You know, it’s probably just me then. Sorry.”
“No apologies required,” he said, his good nature returning.
Quick recovery, she thought, grumbling at the choice of words. After a while, he wore off on you.
“Alright!” he said, wiping the crumbs from his face. “The day’s getting away from us. On the double-quick, Ms. Reagan! Let’s go serve the people of Uptonville!” He tried hopping to his feet but stopped midway, stooped over. “Hold on, hold on, the cape. Don’t say it.”
She reached under his seat to free him from where he’d snagged himself. “Don’t say ‘I told you to take your cape off when you sit down at restaurants’? Don’t say that?”
“Yes, exactly. Thanks for acquiescing.”
11:01AM - VANDERGELDER CITY PARK, EAST UPTONVILLE.
“My goodness! It’s Uptonville’s very own superhero, QED!”
Jaleesa ordered her eyes not to roll. At least this guy knew to spell the codename out. Two weeks ago, some lady had called him “Captain Qued.”
QED stood and basked in the spotlight, such as it was. The onlookers were more puzzled and curious than adoring and thankful, but he accepted their polite stares with the humility and grace one would afford a throng of fawning acolytes. She smiled without intending to. “Yes, fellow Uptonvillers,” he said with a friendly laugh, “in answer to your inquiry, it’s me, QED. I’m afraid I’ve been recognized.” He threw Jaleesa a wink. “Just here for a stroll, enjoying the tranquility.”
“Yes! Yes! It’s the Quixotic Master of Q-Power himself, I knew it!” his fan continued. Jaleesa relented and let her eyeballs react of their own volition. Just terrible. Didn’t anyone read these scripts aloud first? “It’s such a genuine thrill to meet you, sir!”
QED blushed beneath his masque. She was amazed at how he could summon that reaction at will, even when he was talking to an obvious plant. The hero shook the man’s hand vigorously—”Quite a squeeze you’ve got, citizen!”—and posed for a selfie with him. That seemed to signal to the rest of the crowd that they, too, should probably be asking for selfies. QED dutifully obliged, doling out manly shoulder hugs, handshakes, demure kisses on the cheek, and even posing with someone’s golden retriever. “I’m partial to Basque shepherds, personally,” he told her owners, “but retrievers are a close second. Top five at least.”
“I’m rather surprised you didn’t mention the Queensland heeler,” an older man with a walker piped up. QED looked at him, his smile frozen on his face. “It’s a variety of Australian cattle dog.”
“Of course it is!” the hero said, glancing at Jaleesa. She scribbled on her notepad: Google Aussie dogs.
QED moved on, trying to corral a few stray park-goers who were trying to make a break for it. Jaleesa edged over toward the planted extra, whose enthusiasm had evaporated.
“Encore, encore,” she said to him. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed to be found out, so he split the difference with a smile and a shrug.
“How was I?” he stage-whispered to her.
“I can’t talk. I’m too choked up for words.”
The actor frowned. “Hey, I thought I sold it pretty well.”
“Olivier couldn’t have sold it. Although he probably wouldn’t have been dropping his lines like they were heavy armloads of firewood.”
He shrugged. “Everybody’s a critic. As long as I get my SAG voucher for this.”
“You’ve been a huge help,” Jaleesa said. The extra nodded and vanished off to wherever desperate actors go. She was trying not to get too irritated about this. QED had been stationed here in Uptonville for almost a month now. Planting cheering fans in crowds was the kind of hand-holding you extended to rookies and newly promoted sidekicks on their first day on the job—not seasoned veterans.
The crowd finally managed to break apart and peel away in twos and threes, having fulfilled their civic responsibility to “Be Nice to the Hero.” QED bounded over with a hundred dollar smile on his face.
“This community patrolling approach is really starting to pay off! Did you see them queue up?” he said. “I think we’re really piquing their interest now. That one guy even knew my complete sobriquet!”
Jaleesa didn’t know what to say. She hoped a cheerful thumbs-up would suffice. It usually did with Q.
1:14PM - “GET TO KNOW YOUR HERO” MEET-AND-GREET, SESQUIPEDALIA COUNTY LIBRARY, LOWER UPTONVILLE.
QED had made Jaleesa promise not to stand next to the fire alarm handle—and she’d consented—but she made sure it was within her line of sight. But so far, her fears had been ungrounded. He was killing it up there.
QED: “—so that brings us to my favorite part of these events: the Q&A.” [Polite chuckles.] “The other microphone should be working now, so—yes?—yes, there it is. So, don’t be shy, I won’t be brusque. No question will be squelched.”
Questioner 1: “Hello, sir. Thanks for coming here today. My question is about the time during the Fomalhaut Catastrophe, when you and Dr. Comet were both facing the Titanthrop—”
QED: “Oh, there’s a story from antiquity . . .”
Questioner 1: “So my friend thinks you weren’t strong enough to take the ’Throp on, because of the Acid Demon’s curse still being in effect on you, and that you had to hide while Comet beat him.”
QED: “Hmm. A rather oblique account. And your take?”
Questioner 1: “Well, I think you tried to help him but got knocked out, and then Comet beat him.”
QED: “The Doctor and I are coequals. We conquered the Titanthrop together. Okay, next query.”
Questioner 1: “Yeah, but I—”
QED: “Yes, right there, next in queue. What’s your question?”
Questioner 2: “Hi there. Thanks for being here. I was wondering what Thunder Lizard was like after he came back to life. Was his personality any different?”
QED: “Uhhh . . . well, that’s not really something we frequently discussed. Thunder’s fairly opaque; he kept his feelings on the QT for the most part. I mean keeps. Sorry. Present tense again.”
Questioner 2: “But was he in heaven while he was dead? And is he alive now or undead? I mean technically—”
QED: “Maybe we could . . . yes, the young man in the red shirt, right behind— Yes, there you go. Hello, young squire. Inquire away.”
Questioner 3: “Hi. I . . . um. I was. Um. I was going to ask, do you know Space Leopard?” [Laughter from crowd.]
QED: “Well, yes, I have met Space Leopard before. He’s a very nice man. He fights for justice, like I do.”
Questioner 3: “Um, yes. I think—I think he’s the best of all superheroes.” [Uproarious laughter.]
QED: “I agree, he’s a very qualified vanquisher of crime and injustice. But I think I do pretty well, too.” [More laughter, somewhat strained.]
Questioner 3: “Space
Leopard is my favorite. I think he should come to Uptonville.”
QED: “We’re making pretty good time here. Next to the podium, please. Yes ma’am, your question?”
Questioner 4: “Thank you sir. Delilah Currie, Uptonville Universe. Dr. Quatermain, I’d like to ask about your recent experience with—”
QED: “Whoa. Hold it. Time out. I don’t . . . I’m not quite sure to whom you’re referring . . .”
Currie: “So you’re claiming that you’re not world-renown quantum physicist Quenton Quatermain, to whom you bear a striking resemblance?”
QED: “Alright. I’ll quit pretending to be unfamiliar with the man. The fact is, Dr. Quatermain is an acquaintance of mine who happens to value his privacy. That’s obviously why we’ve never been photographed together.” [Laughter.]
Questioner 1: “Come on, everybody knows you’re him.”
QED: “Please, let’s not breach etiquette and speak without the microphone.”
Currie: “Mr. QED, I have the phone number for Dr. Quatermain’s campus office right here, perhaps we could put him on speakerphone and—”
QED: “He’s on sabbatical, actually.” [Laughter.] “Wait, wait, if we’re friends I would know that! Besides—wait, wait—besides, as everyone can see, I have this acquired mole right here on my cheek. And Dr. Quatermain does not. So obviously—”
[Deafening squeal from PA system. Library assistants help escort everyone out through the fire exits.]
• • •
“Did everyone make it out alright?” QED asked. “Hang on, I just want to make a final sweep of the building.”
“Q, come on,” Jaleesa said. “Do you smell any smoke? I just needed to get you out of there.” She had already scribbled on her notepad to nix any future audience interactions until QED got some coaching on public relations.
“Oh.” QED’s face looked pained. “You don’t think it went well? I thought it went mostly well.”
Jaleesa bit back a smart remark. “Q, the goal for today is to reinforce the QED brand and get people to see you as a hero. You weren’t a hero up there, you were a celebrity, and ripping celebrities apart is the national pastime.”
“Well that certainly doesn’t square with my experience,” QED said. “And I have some real qualms about how you tricked everyone back there. In fact, I find it highly questionable. I request that you never do that again. Quite frankly, I require it.”
Jaleesa looked Q in the eye. “Look,” she said. “I like you. You’re a good guy, and I don’t always say that. I’ve worked for some real prizes in this job. But I don’t actually, technically, work for you. I work for the Support Services Division of the Justice Guardian Brigade, LLC.” QED looked like he wanted to interject but thought better of it. “And sometimes I have to do things you don’t like—not because I want to, but because doing my job means keeping you from becoming a laughingstock. Because when that happens to one hero, it’s hard on every hero. And that was about to happen back there.”
QED looked at her. Through her. She could feel what he called his “Q-Power” broadcasting on all frequencies, out of every pore of his body, every atom of his being. “When you misuse safety equipment like fire alarms,” he said quietly, “you make people mistrust their efficacy. And that puts people in danger, however slightly. Actions have consequences.”
Jaleesa found it hard to maintain her frustration with his Boy Scout mentality. She didn’t know if that was due to the Q-Power or not. “Q . . .”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t care if some cub reporter puts the squeeze on me. I know sometimes I come across as a quavering milquetoast, but I’m hardly quailing at the prospect of Miss Currie’s inquisition.” Then he tried out a curious and unfamiliar expression. “Besides, if she wants to sell papers by claiming to know my real identity, she’ll have to try harder. Who would possibly equate me with the likes of Quenton Quatermain? It’s absurd. He doesn’t have a mole!”
“I . . . you know, I never realized it, but you’re right. I was skeptical before, but the mole thing really clinches it.”
“Quite right it does!” QED said. “I . . . hold on. I’m picking something up over the law enforcement channels.” His eyes darted left to right as he read the incoming message scrolling across his optic LED. “Looks like there’s a robbery in progress down at the First Bank of Uptonville. A quintet of hostages. We’d better move.”
“Got it,” Jaleesa said, switching from conversation mode to work mode. She began striding through the library parking lot toward their car. “I’ll check in with Headquarters and let them know you’re—” She frowned. “Hang on. I’m not seeing anything here, with either FBI or UPD. Where is it you said—”
She stopped. There was no flapping. Usually, when he took off with a running jump, his cape flapped loudly in the wind. “You really leapt into action there,” QED said, catching up with her. “Maybe you should wear the cape and masque and I should drive.”
“Oh, but I’m not the Quixotic Master of Q-Power,” Jaleesa said sourly.
“My only point was, there are other ways to quit an event early. I’m quick on the uptake, I can play along.” He looked at her until she was forced to smile and kept looking until it was genuine. “You really like the sobriquet, don’t you? Everyone told me they were too quaintly old-fashioned, but I think they’re coming back into style.”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, anyway. There’s been something I’ve been wanting to talk to you—wait. Hold on—” His eyes darted left to right.
“Leave it to you,” Jaleesa said. “You actually managed your once-a-year tricking of me and now you blow your accomplishment by doubling down and trying to pull the exact same gag two minutes later. Unbelievable.”
“No, no,” QED said. “This one’s unequivocally legit.” His eyes bulged. “Quetzalcoatl’s quincunx!” he exclaimed.
Jaleesa burst out laughing. “Q, you cannot be serious with that one! That’s your worst epithet yet! Sweet Jesus.”
QED waved her remark aside. “It’s the Ruinator. He’s tearing up the park. UPD can’t quarantine him. Let’s go.”
“Ughhhh,” Jaleesa groaned. “We were just. There. What a pain.”
“No, not Vandergelder,” QED corrected. “He’s across town at Schuyler Colfax.”
“What’s he doing, stealing ducks? The Ruinator is strictly a banks-and-jewelry-store guy, what’s he looking for in the middle of a public park?”
“Me,” QED said. He backed up to get a running start through the parking lot. Jaleesa was already halfway to the car, but she waited to hearing the flapping before calling it in.
4:44PM - SCHUYLER COLFAX CITY PARK, NORTH OF UPTONVILLE.
Jaleesa leaned against the tree, sipping her French roast. She suspected it was almost over now. The Ruinator was looking pretty haggard; her boy Q had ripped his helmet off and pounded on the Ruinator’s ghastly orange-green-and-purple armored suit so badly that smoke was pouring out of the vents. QED had blood running down his cheek onto his aquamarine uniform, and he was breathing heavy, but he still looked like he had another five or six rounds left in him.
She checked her wristwatch. They’d long missed the costume contest Q was supposed to judge over at the Uptonville Mall, but that was no big deal. Actually, that was probably a net positive at this point, since Q could not keep his disdain in check when it came to supervillain cosplayers. “I just do not understand the appeal,” he’d said once. “They’re burlesquing the grotesque. Colorful rogues with chequered pasts is one thing, but some of these guys are literally serial killers. Two or three of them have attempted genocide! Would you walk around dressed as Pol Pot for fun?”
“Maybe if Pol Pot had worn a jetpack and carried a pulse cannon,” she’d offered.
Now the combatants were staggering back toward what was left of the park’s county-famous grove of vice presidential statues. Most of the nineteenth century had already been decimated during their tussle, but the Ruinator managed to up
root a still-standing Levi P. Morton and swing it like a club at QED, head first. QED summoned a surge of Q-Power and decapitated the former governor of New York with a single punch, then grabbed the torso and tried to wrench it free from his opponent’s grasp.
Jaleesa walked over toward an animated cluster of UPD officers. The rookies, who all looked young enough to have arrived at the park via school bus, were watching the battle excitedly; the veteran officers were ignoring it, engrossed in a conversation about their softball league and next week’s barbecue party next week. “Beats traffic duty, doesn’t it?” she asked the nearest cop.
“Shit yeah it does,” he said excitedly, then noticed she wasn’t wearing blue. “Ma’am, get back,” he started to bark. “This area is off limits to civilians. Get behind the barricade—”
She flashed her JGB credentials. “Ma’am? Really? I’m all of 32.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, losing interest completely, either because she was allowed to be there or because she was too old to harass. Jaleesa wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“What do you say there, Brigade,” said a gray-haired lieutenant. He shook her hand. “Bill Tremaine. Your man’s going to town out there. If he demolishes Dick Cheney, the department will buy the two of you dinner.”
“I’m hypoglycemic. I can’t eat donuts,” Jaleesa said.
“Zing,” said the lieutenant. “I prefer Italian myself. I’m open to Asian fusion, though.”
“Another giant stride for diversity in the police department.”
The younger officers groaned loudly in unison; the Ruinator had put Q on his back with a sweeping kick and was trying to crush his skull between the headless torsos of a Democratic-Republican and a Whig. Q rolled up into a kneeling crouch and caught the Whig, crushing it to rubble, but took a Daniel D. Tompkins to the ear and fell back down. “My friend Andrew Jackson thinks GED won’t get back up,” said one of the kindergarten cops.
“I’ll take that,” said an even younger-looking one.
“You assholes,” Jaleesa said. “This isn’t pro wrestling. Show some decorum.” No one showed a flicker of remorse or embarrassment. “Besides,” she added, “my friend Ulysses Grant here says that QED is going to make Captain Mardi Gras out there eat the rest of the nineteenth century and thank him for the privilege.” She made every taker pull out their wallets to show they were good for it.
Behind the Mask Page 14
