Arthur twists the top off the bottled water and takes a slug. “I need to get cleaned up,” he says. He looks over the fruit before choosing an apple. “See anything that looks good?” He snaps a bite and chews.
The redhead offers the basket, and the blonde clutches her hands behind her back, tilts her chin at me, and smiles. The three of them wait for my answer.
“I’m good,” I say, breaking eye contact. “Maybe just some of that water.”
“As you wish,” the Indian says, and she leads them away. Arthur brings up the rear. I hear him say, “Bring my friend an Alka-Seltzer too.”
What my body needs isn’t anything so over the counter. The stolen brown bottle of Xonopexal is in our bathroom in the HALO, just behind my shaving cream. After last night’s excitement, and knowing the war game bullshit was ahead of me, I decided to pop one this morning. If I hadn’t, my back would be killing me right now. Instead, I feel only a persistent low ache.
Once I’m alone, I consider calling Deb. By now she’s joined Nate at her parents’. Back on the observation ship, she again invited me to come along to Connecticut, but I told her I felt obliged to find Arthur and speak to him. I told her that if the original Guardians were coming to an end, he had a right to be told in person. “Maybe you can come by later,” she said. I nodded and said, “Maybe.” She looked away then, and I knew she could tell I was holding something back, that I had erected my intimacy force field and deflected her love beams. There was no way my wife could guess my real agenda in coming here.
In Titan’s empty study, I sip at my water and browse the bookcases, look at some of the commemorative plaques and framed photos. One displays the front page of the New York Times from the day he diverted a plummeting North Korean communication satellite into the Bay of Bengal. One is from when a dam burst in Tennessee and the Yalobusha River threatened to drown the entire town of Danville. Titan knocked off the top of a mountain to stem the flow.
The one that really gets me is an eight-by-ten of the original six Guardians. It’s on the fireplace mantel. It’s a staged PR shot, from early on. Sparkplug, up on his tiptoes, has his hand behind Menagerie’s back, giving her rabbit ears with split fingers. Even in the faded photo, her green eyes, a rarity among Chinese I’m told, are stunning. Billy was always playing practical jokes on Huan, like the time he replaced her bed with a doghouse or gave her a hundred cat toys for her birthday. He teased her like a big sister.
In the picture, we all look so young. Grace’s hair hadn’t started to turn white, and her smile, something I haven’t seen in a decade, is radiant. In those days, she hadn’t even heard of twelve step. Couldn’t she see her own future? Ecklar, sitting cross-legged in the front, looks more like a kid than a warrior, but a few years later, after Hamburg, he’d been deep in the gears of his battle suit, ready to inflict violence all his own. Arthur and I are side by side, dead center in the back, each trying to out-flex the other. It’s clear, though, he’s bigger than me, and at that time, his blood was as pure as his intentions. I wonder what I would say to them, to me, if I could whisper back through history.
From a row of books I pull out Titan’s autobiography, With Great Power. I skimmed through it when it was originally published but never got around to really reading it. So I settle on the couch and open to the first page: “When I was five years old, my father taught me that there is no duty more sacred than helping one’s fellow man.” The opening chapter explores the lessons of his childhood one incident at a time. I’m reading about a bully in eighth grade when Arthur appears at my side, wearing a red bathrobe and smelling of minty soap. “You’ve got great taste in books,” he says.
“Yeah, but I know how this one ends.”
A freckled girl, Sylvia I presume, comes out wearing a robe that matches Arthur’s. On bare feet she crosses to the kitchen area, where she begins dropping fruit into a blender. Arthur introduces us, and with a southern accent she asks if I’d care for “the best smoothie on the planet.” I feel like a kid is asking me if I want a glass of lemonade, so I accept.
Arthur and I sit on facing armchairs before the fire. “Feel free to lose the mask,” Arthur says. “All my aides have signed iron-clad confidentiality agreements. Plus, I trust Sylvia.”
I consider this briefly, but it feels unnatural, so I change the subject. “Business seems good,” I say.
“Revenues across the company are up 7 percent this quarter, which barely covers my new capital outlay. The board is squeamish about my expansion plans, but I keep telling them we’ll only reap what we sow.”
“They say the economy’s in the crapper. How the hell do you keep making money?”
“People will always find ways to pay for what they need, Vince. That’s food, shelter, and dreams. Thanks to human nature, I’m recession proof.”
The blender churns, and Sylvia pours two tall glasses of something peach colored. She says, “Arty, will your friend be indulging?”
I turn to see her unscrewing the cap off a blue jar. She scoops out a white dust and stirs it into one of the glasses. “No,” Arthur says. “Just me.”
His pecs bulge through the split in his robe, two mounds of muscles that belong on a twenty-year-old. His blond hair seems to shine. By now he must be sixty, but he looks impossibly younger. I’m pretty sure he’s dyeing that hair, and I imagine myself poking around his bathroom, finding a bottle of Clairol for Men. I’m not sure what else I might find, and I decided long ago I didn’t want to know. The innuendos about Titan’s steroid use started on talk radio, but once the parents’ groups got on board, those rumors grew teeth. He retired before anything came of it, but nowadays the union enforces pretty strict testing for muscle enhancement. We’re recipients of federal funds, role models, et cetera. Xonopexal hasn’t yet been added to the screening list, but it seems inevitable. At some point, I could be asked to pee in a cup.
As Sylvia brings us our drinks, I notice she’s dropped a straw in mine to be sure to keep them straight. I feel guilty, but I wonder about the extra kick in Arthur’s concoction. She gives us our drinks and stands behind Arthur, lets a hand settle on his bare shoulder, just inside the robe. “We’re going to skip your muscle treatment?”
He takes a sip and tells me, “Sylvia’s a certified physical therapist. She’s also had training in Portuguese massage.”
“Those Portuguese,” I say. “They know their muscles.”
He pats her tiny hand. “I’ll come find you. Vince here isn’t the type to pay social calls unannounced. He’s got business to discuss.”
Sylvia leaves us by ourselves. I try my drink, and it seems bitter, pulpy.
Arthur sees me wince and says, “It’s not supposed to taste great. It’s good for you. And before you even start in on me, I’ve got legal documents on all my special assistants verifying their age. Last year I had one opening for Sylvia’s spot—chief special assistant—and I got three hundred applications. That’s just from in-house.”
“What happened to the former chief special assistant—she needed to finish high school?”
“Andrea’s taken a position as a graphic designer with our Prague team. She left on great terms.”
“No doubt.”
“Would you please take off the mask? Nobody cares who you are.”
Though undeniably true, this statement stings. It’s been decades since I had a secret civilian identity, since I was just Vincent Shepherd. Now, I feel more like myself under the mask. Still, I realize this is silly and unhealthy, so I peel the spandex hood over my head. “I’ve got a situation, Arthur. Clyde is pushing me out.”
He finishes the last gulp of his power drink. “Perfect. I’ll take you on. You can do weekday shows at the theater. I’ll double your salary and guarantee you better benefits. How do you feel about working holidays?”
“I didn’t come here looking for a job.”
“Doesn’t matter what you came here for. That’s what you should do. You can’t be a hero forever.”
I don’t
think Arthur ever doubted a single notion that came to him. But when has he been wrong? “I came here to tell you about something I have in mind. I want to do something before I hang up my cape, take care of some unfinished business.”
“Now you’re making me nervous.”
Between us the fire crackles, and a log drops down. Glowing embers float up the flue. “Arthur, I’m going to find him. I’m going to track down the son of a bitch and kill him.”
His mouth sets in a grimace, and he eyes me hard, trying to gauge just how serious I am. When he gets his answer, he rises, crosses to the hallway door, and closes it. So much for absolute confidence. He walks past the fire and says, “Let’s get some air.”
Outside, I feel cold just looking at him with his wet hair and his bare chest, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the chill autumn wind. We stand side by side, and he sets his hands on the railing. Together we survey his kingdom. The Ferris wheel spins. Riders scream on a plunging rollercoaster. A single red balloon floats in the air before us, surely leaving behind some crying child. Arthur watches it ascend and finally speaks. “All of us, we looked like hell for Chaos twelve years ago and couldn’t find him. Back then the trail was fresh. Now, you’ll never find him.”
I let him finish, then lay it out. “Bone Crusher’s shown up on the radar. Somewhere in the city. Clyde has him under surveillance and is offering him to me as a going-away present. But think about it. Any chance that guy’s stayed underground all this time on his own?”
Arthur furrows his brow, knowing I’m right. “No,” he says. “This is all a bad idea. Like taking a stick to a hornet’s next. Chaos is quiet somewhere, and you should leave him wherever the hell he is.”
I turn to him, but he keeps his face aimed at his park. “Arthur. I didn’t come here to ask for permission. It’s a courtesy. I thought you might want to help.”
He looks right at me for an instant, eyes narrowed as if he’s about to activate his laser vision, then he steps away. Hands clasped behind his back, he walks to the far side of the balcony. I follow, waiting for my answer. But he’s silent for a time, looking down on huge blue slides curving down into dirty ponds. A moat encircles the whole thing. “The waterpark is closed for the season. But next year we may look into heating that water, might keep us open into October, as least on weekends.” Now he points beyond it, to scrub forests that dwindle away as they approach the ocean. “If I can convince the board, I’m going to put in a casino in that parcel to the south. My architect has drawn up plans for a three hundred-room hotel. I’ve had Fazio stop by twice to talk about designs for a golf course. Men will drop off their wives and kids at the park, then play eighteen before hitting the craps tables.”
I take a breath to be sure he’s done. Then I say, “I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“Titan Enterprises employs almost twenty thousand people worldwide. Last year we donated over eight million dollars to worthy causes. My profits are feeding entire villages in Istanbul, cutting the malaria rate in Africa, doubling the literacy rate of children in Appalachia. My scientists, trying to find a way to run this park more effectively, are closing in on technology that may make solar-powered cars commonplace.”
He looks at me to see if I understand. All I can give him is a blank stare.
“I’m doing more good now than ever before in my life. I’m entirely happy with who I am and have nothing to prove. Why would I want to risk this?”
“Maybe because your friend got murdered.”
“Billy was a warrior. He knew the risks. I honor his death.”
“By having some joker walk around your park signing autographs in a Sparkplug costume?”
“Have you lost your mind?” he says. “We’ve never had a Sparkplug character.”
After a few seconds, I say, “Must’ve been some kid I saw.” Of course I know better.
Arthur shakes his head. “What happened in Hamburg wasn’t my fault. All wars have casualties. Don’t put his death on my doorstep.”
Till this moment, I never gave much thought to Arthur’s guilt. It makes sense, of course, since at the time of Sparkplug’s death, he was lying defeated on the ground. I’d somehow thought him above petty sentiments like regret. But with him glaring at me and feeling cornered, I need to say something I really didn’t want to. “You took a vow.”
He nods, grim faced. “So that’s what we’ve come to now, old chum? It’s your job to remind me of my promises?”
“Somebody needs to.”
He seems to be considering the possibility but then shakes his head. “I’m saying no. At least that will keep you out of trouble. You’re not fool enough to try this alone.”
I shrug. “You’re not the only one who took that vow.”
“Get serious. Ecklar’s too smart to waste his time on this. As for the others—”
“What about the others?”
He turns from the waterpark and aims a finger into my chest. “I doubt you can reach Menagerie, but I really don’t care. But Grace, you leave her alone. She’s free of all this.”
I ignore his hand. “She can make her own decisions.”
“What—you didn’t get that letter?”
I remember the glitter twinkling to the floor when I unfolded her note, mailed from New Horizons. “That was early in her treatment,” I say.
“You might feel differently if you read her latest doctors’ reports.”
My eyebrows rise.
“Who do you think has paid for therapy all these years? Insurance won’t foot the bill for more than one of those clinics. She’s in, what, number seven right now?”
An image from the KQEP story flashes in my mind: Gypsy’s sunken cheeks, her eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses like those worn by the blind. She looked like the Soul Stealer had sucked out half her life essence. Arthur has a point, but I say, “Maybe what she needs most is to be out of those places, back in action. Maybe it was a mistake for any of you to stop.”
He smirks, posts his hands on his hips. “Well, I’m convinced. Logic has always been your strong suit. I made a mistake by leaving to found a billiondollar-a-month global corporation that does more good than Gandhi, and you made the right choice by staying behind to help fight the occasional third-rate bad guy—when the Feds give you permission. You’ve got me there. Don’t forget how this has helped your personal life. I keep tabs on things at the HALO. I know how things are with you and Debbie. And I’ve been too polite to mention that clusterfuck in Mississippi last month. You’re embarrassing everyone associated with the Guardians. But you’re going to stand here—here in my home—and suggest that you’re better off than I am? You should take Clyde’s good advice, pick up Bone Crusher and get out of the game. Before something bad happens.”
He’s standing huge and powerful, and his empire stretches behind him. I know he’s right, like he’s always been. The rational part of me knows that I should leave Gypsy alone, that I’m likely fighting a failed cause. But logic has nothing to do with desire. I’m tired of Arthur’s self-righteous expression, and I find myself saying, “You know who I am, Arthur. I’ll grant you that. But let’s not pretend I don’t know you. You’re charging nine dollars for cotton candy, pumping God knows what into your veins, and banging teenagers for kicks.”
His arms extend to his sides, and his hands form into loose fists. I take one step back and feel my body ease into a combat stance. Then he smirks. “So we’re both assholes, and now we’re going to fight? We both know how that would turn out. I think it’s time for you to leave, Vince. I’ve really enjoyed our little chat. It’s always good to catch up with you.”
I give him the finger and say, “Go go Guardians,” then I drift up and away from him, not turning my back just yet. I leave him standing on the highest balcony of his private castle, king of a fantasyland he made in his own image. Then I turn to the west and fly back to the real world.
SEVEN
Victories of the Past. A Family Tradition. The Aphrodisiac of
Surrender.
Going into Overtime. Meteors and Comets.
Three hours after I float away from Titanland, I finally locate a landmark to verify that I’ve arrived in Suffolk County: the big iron bridge below crosses the river a few miles from my in-laws’. Not that I was ever lost, not really. Had I stayed over the interstate, I would’ve arrived an hour ago, but the reek of exhaust and the whine of tires on macadam got to be too much. So I let myself wander off into the countryside, thinking I’d just rely on my own internal compass. Before she died, this was one of my mother’s great strange joys, taking roads she’d never been on, just to see where they led. And she always managed to pop out closer to the place she wanted to be. Or she found somewhere that felt that way. On my seventeenth birthday, the last before she passed and left me without parents altogether, we wound country roads for two hours, me driving, her directing. Take that turn, she’d say. Now let’s head toward those mountains. And when we came across a sleepy town with a country inn, one with the best steak sandwich I’ve ever eaten to this day, it was like she’d planned every twist and turn. It was probably just the perception of a child, a devoted only son, but her navigating seemed perfect, predestined. She just seemed to know which way to go. I wish I’d inherited that gift.
Titan’s response to my plan has gotten under my skin, made me secondguess the whole silly scheme. I’ve been wondering how I’d really feel if I walked away from the Guardians altogether. The hero business is all I’ve known for so long, but maybe a change would do me good. Those fans back in Titan’s stadium, people who in the city might barely glance in my direction, were rabid with excitement. And even though I knew it was all pretend, I still got a buzz when I knocked off Gigantus’s blocky head. Would it really be so bad, spending a couple hours a day feigning mortal combat? We could relive our greatest adventures, bask in the glory of past victories. I could sneak out into the park sometimes, dressed in my costume, pretending to be me. I could sign autographs and chat with the faithful, let them think I was really just an average Joe. Part of me can’t help but cringe at this image, and I think of all those gray-haired rock-and-roll stars, strumming the songs that made them popular thirty, forty years ago. It’s pathetic in a way, but surely it’s better than not playing at all.
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