Desperate Times

by Tom Andry

  I rounded the corner trying not to wheeze, "Yeah, just tying my shoe."

  "Level 5. Hey, it's 2814. I'll leave the door open. I’ve got to grab a quick shower. There's soda in the fridge. Sorry, no scotch."

  "Fine."

  She left. I sat down on the nearest step to catch my breath. I looked up, mouth open, gulping air. To my right I noted that the faded paint on the door revealed only three more flights to go.

  I might make it.

  There is a big difference between not being fat and being in shape. I'm not fat - not really. But I don't exercise, other than on-the-job running for my life. My thighs were on fire and my lungs felt like they were full of jello. I coughed a few times and then slowed my breathing. A few deep breaths later and I felt like I might avoid a heart attack. I could at least take solace in the fact that going back downstairs would be a lot easier. At least I would be much less likely to have my life flash before my eyes.

  I closed Nissa's door behind me as I entered. Her apartment may have had character, but it was hard to see past all the cracks in the plaster, scuffed floors, and scurrying bugs. There were a number of interior partitions that featured arches instead of the standard square openings. There may have been an intricate tile pattern on the ceiling, but it was hard to see behind all the posters.

  I don't think there is ever an age where you don't think of people as either in or out of your age group. And if you like someone, click with them, they are your age. Even if, as in Nissa's case, they are fifteen years younger. Her apartment was plastered with posters of movies I'd never seen, bands I'd never heard of, and actors I'd only seen on commercials and supermarket magazine covers. To her credit, I only noticed a few supers among them.

  The staccato of the shower filled the apartment as Nissa, I assumed, rinsed out her hair. I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a cola from the extensive selection. Back when I was in college, everything in my fridge was either a condiment or a takeout container. Not Nissa. The shelves in the door looked like a patchwork quilt made up of exotic sauces. The shelves were full of labeled and dated plastic containers. I shook my head. Past the kitchen was a door that led to a small room enclosed by a half wall and a lot of windows. Inside was the washer/dryer combo unit, probably a selling point to a young college student, and a small balcony.

  It was colder on one of the two chairs Nissa had set up on the balcony than it was on the street. The chairs flanked a small table with the remains of a large candle on it. There were no signs of smoking, legal or otherwise, and the chairs felt the sort of unsteady you get from found furniture. From twenty-eight stories up, the city almost looked peaceful. Except for the occasional glow of fires and burning garbage cans at intersections. If not for the hint of a shout or gunshot on the breeze, it was positively relaxing up here.

  "I see you found the balcony."

  I nodded without turning away from the cityscape. "Good view. All this place needs is a fresh coat of..." I turned to see Nissa trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to keep herself contained in a one piece, black vinyl outfit. It had a buckle at the neck and was cut from under the arms to the neck, leaving the shoulders free. There was a large, green, diamond portion that started at the neck and apexed just below the belt line. I swallowed hard.

  "A bit of help?"

  She turned her back to me to reveal a zipper that started someplace lower than I could see and ended at the neck just below her hairline. It was only half pulled up, revealing the flawless skin of her back. I set my cola down on the table, and it immediately slid off. Cursing, I reached down and saved about half the contents. Without a viable place to set the can, I tried keeping it in my hand while pulling on the zipper.

  "Careful. It tends to want to pinch."

  "I can see that." The skin kept bunching up under the zipper, and I had to pull it away from her to keep from catching her skin in the teeth. In the reflection in the windows, I could see the vinyl material pulling taut (or more taut really, given that it already looked like she had been poured into the thing) over her athletic chest. She was also wearing a studded belt and what looked to be a huge, fitted, cowhide glove that covered her right arm completely to the shoulder and looked to be designed for welding. It was out of place with the black and green vinyl and I was having a heck of a time navigating around the leather strap that wrapped under her left arm to keep it in place. "What the hell is this thing, anyhow?" I tugged on the strap.

  "Oh," she responded, "just part of the look."

  I shook my head, "Whatever. Just...can you take it off? The glove, I mean. Or can we at least go inside so I can put this can down somewhere?"

  "Sure, sure," she led me back into the apartment, through the kitchen and into the living room, which was right off the front door. Past that looked to be a single bedroom without any sort of guest bathroom. A true bachelor pad. Or rather a bachelorette pad as it was.

  "It's easier if I sit."

  Nissa sat on her futon couch, her back to me. She arched her back as much as possible to give me free access to the zipper. I set the cola down on the marble top coffee table that looked like it had been picked up at a garage sale or perhaps a grandmother's house. With both hands fully in play, I was able to easily complete the task at hand.

  Nissa turned and I once again found myself shocked at seeing her without makeup or hair stiff enough to resist hurricane force winds. Somehow she looked more womanly than she did with all that crap on her. Beneath the makeup and hair was a beautiful woman. Maybe insecure, but beautiful.

  She looked at me quizzically, "You okay, Bob?"

  "Yeah. Where'd you get that getup anyhow? And what's with the glove?"

  "Oh, you know girls always have an outfit like this in a drawer somewhere."

  My eyebrow lifted. I certainly didn't know that. And I had been married.

  Noting my expression, she blushed slightly, "Costume party. There was a theme…" her voice trailed off. She shrugged, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." She turned, quickly, and bounced back to the bedroom, "Just let me put my face on."

  I exhaled a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, running a hand through my hair. I stood nervously. I felt like a kid going to the prom for the first time. I didn't quite know what to expect. I couldn't believe I'd never heard of this Inhumanitas place. I started walking slowly around Nissa's apartment, looking more closely at the pictures and knickknacks. I'd been a college kid once (for a long time), so I knew intimately how to read a college apartment. Somewhere there would be a box. In that box would be the stuff you didn't want your parents to find. If you were clever, it wouldn't look like a box. I was sure there was one around here somewhere.

  I ran my finger over the spines of her books. Nissa seemed to spend more time reading than watching TV as her shelves were full of two things - books and pictures. Most of the pictures were of her with friends in various stages of inebriation or at amusement parks or beaches. Some were of her and an older woman. A few were of a young girl, obviously her, performing gymnastics.

  The books were a mixed bag, but I was surprised to see such an eclectic array. There were offerings from fiction and histories, empowerment and travel, reference and even old comic books - the ones that had superheroes in them. I hadn’t seen one of those in years. There were quite a few different textbooks showcasing a variety of interests - everything from pottery to photography to drama to statistics. Most were from low-level classes, evidence that she'd taken a break from college. I'm not sure working for me would help her "find herself" if that was the plan.

  There were two things I didn't find in the five minutes it took Nissa to "put on her face." First, I didn't find the box. That didn't mean anything. It very well could have been under the bed or in the drawer she used to hide the outfit she was currently wearing. More importantly, however, there were no pictures of a father or father figure. Not to mention grandparents. Nothing but her and an older woman. It was obvious Nissa and the woman were related as they looked like they could have be
en sisters. She must have had Nissa when she was young because she barely had a line on her face and still looked very fit. I was holding a picture of Nissa hugging the woman who was looking at the camera with her intense, green eyes when Nissa returned.

  "That's my mom."

  I turned. In the short time she'd been gone she'd managed not only to apply her normal eye makeup that surrounded her eyes and angled back towards her hairline (her eyes outlined in black and accented with a green hue nearly matching her outfit), but also to completely restore her mohawk (which she had also colored black with green highlights). Through the powder on her face, I could see her blush.

  "You're an eye mask away from a super."

  She extended a hand containing a matching green and black eye mask. Her smile turned to a cringe.

  "What the..."

  "Well, it's a super/tippy S&M club. One of us has got to play the part."

  "What?" I demanded, "I can't pass for a super?"

  She cocked her head.

  "Fine, check this out." I reached down to my belt buckle and flipped open a small panel. Bending over, I examined the small dial. There wasn't a ton of light in the room; Nissa didn't seem to be fond of direct light and all the lamps were heavily shaded or pointed at a wall or the ceiling, so I had a hard time seeing it. From memory, I turned it two clicks counterclockwise. I turned back to her.

  She put her arms out, "And...?"

  "Give it a minute."

  Slowly, my suit, all but the shirt, started to change color. Unfortunately, I'd remembered incorrectly and instead of the leather finish I was expecting, it turned into a pinstriped zoot suit. I cringed.

  "Oh my. Very Level 5."

  "Shut up; I turned it the wrong way."

  "So there is a right way?"

  "Damn Ted. It's his idea of a joke. I just wanted some protection and he had to add his stupid PPP to it. He said he could program it to look like anything I wanted. I could only think of a regular suit and a leather version."

  "Leather?"

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ted said he had extra spots on the dial, so he put in some he thought I might use."

  "Like that one?"

  "Oh," I laughed, "this isn't the worst of it. I got kicked in the belt once and found myself in a clown outfit."

  "Sounds about right."

  "Ted," I said his name like a curse. "He never listens. He can't just give you what you want. He's always got to do something else to it."

  "You mean, he tinkers?"

  We both paused for a moment locking gazes. She laughed first, but she had more to laugh at than I did. In the end, I couldn't control myself and joined her. I switched my suit back to the normal setting.

  "If we can hang out for a few minutes, I'd like to recharge the Inertial Dampener. Noticed it was low."

  She shrugged and sat, her vinyl outfit creaking as she sank back into the couch. I removed the unit from the belt buckle and extended the cord. I couldn't find a free outlet so I had to unplug a small lamp near the picture I had been holding earlier. I picked it up again, "Looks like you two are very close."

  "Yeah, we are."

  "Didn't see too many pictures of your dad."

  She smiled, "You didn't see any and you know it."

  I smiled back, "Just covering my bases. And he's..."

  "Not sure, actually. I never knew him. My mom doesn't like to talk about him. Well, refuses is more like it."

  I exhaled, "That's tough."

  "Ah, screw him, I say. The one thing she would say is that they were very much in love until she got pregnant. She told him and that's the last she ever saw of him. The way she tells it, he walked out right after she gave him the news. Didn't even try to make good."

  "Wow. Harsh."

  "Yeah."

  This conversation had gotten serious. It was odd how that tended to happen. I wasn't sure if it was just me, but if a girl ever wanted to get me to talk, all she had to do was to put on something sexy. It was as if my brain decided that in order to keep from thinking about what the rest of my body wanted to think about, it'd turn the conversation serious. It was the worst defense mechanism ever. Nothing kills the mood like a deadbeat father.

  "So, this Inhumanitas place has rules?"

  "Yeah," she took a breath, her eyes deep in thought, "supposedly there are safe words. You have to respect them. If you don't, you get in trouble. And you don't want the kind of trouble you'll find in there."

  "Supers and tippys together, huh? Sounds dangerous."

  "Yeah, they say you better be honest. Don't say you've got powers if you don't."

  "And your outfit?"

  "What, this?"

  "Yeah, aren’t people going to assume..."

  "That I have powers?" She placed the eye mask over her eyes. It blended perfectly with her makeup and was held on by something like glue. That was pretty common. Flamer, I mean Fireannach, liked to tie his on, but most supers used a treated mask. There were tons of different solutions, but most made the mask stick to your face like a second skin. It'd have to be surgically removed if the owner didn't take it off (or someone who knew how that particular mask worked if it was an off-the-shelf model). They were usually pricy. I was surprised a college student would have one. "You've never been in this type of scene before, have you?"

  "Not really."

  "As long as I don't say I'm bulletproof or anything, I'll be fine. Plus, if they think I’m a super, maybe we'll have an easier time getting in."

  I grimaced, "I hope so."

  # # #

  Chapter 12

  I didn't know what to expect, but it hadn't even crossed my mind that the entrance to Inhumanitas would be inside another, normal nightclub. The Dragonfly was not my style of club. Unlike the establishments I preferred, which normally had a single bar, The Dragonfly had one exterior in the back and two interior bars. From the posters both inside and out, it seemed the Dragonfly always had some loud electro-pop music or a live band. From what I could see, they seemed to be the kind of place that served more beer than liquor, unless the liquor required a blender and at least three additives. All around me were people who were drinking with the sort of ambition normally reserved for marathon runners. They weren't here to have fun with friends, celebrate a milestone, or hunt the illusive animal known as the one night stand. No, they were here to get drunk. Not just "oh, I had such a good time last night" drunk, the kind of drunk where you wonder what happened the night before and whose clothes you were wearing the next morning. The kind of drunk that you never talked about. Where you nodded to those who participated knowingly, but didn’t dare broach the subject, even in private. The kind of drunk that required a doctor's visit afterwards just in case you picked up a disease or a baby.

  Their wide eyes and forced smiles barely covered their fear. They clicked their glasses too loudly, laughed too hard, and ordered rounds of drinks before they finished the ones in their hands. This was a group of people who didn't know if they would last the night. They were like soldiers on leave. They spent money, fully expecting that they wouldn't be around long enough to enjoy it if they didn't. They looked for comfort in drink that didn't care and in company who couldn't give it.

  If it weren't for the music that was so loud it seemed to force my heart to beat in rhythm, I'd have liked the place. At least on this night with this atmosphere.

  Nissa grabbed my hand and led me through the throngs of people. There were a few recesses in the walls for scantily clad dancers and a few poles strewn around with more of the same. The dancers, both male and female, looked as disinterested as if they were sitting in a dentist chair, waiting for an exam, and the patrons were so self-absorbed, they walked around the dancers like they were plants waving in the wind.

  Nissa had insisted that I wear my hat and overcoat, which was fine when we were outside and there was a bit of a breeze, but in here, with all the bodies, I was quickly growing uncomfortable. Nissa's outfit (she had removed the eye mask) commanded a few in
terested looks from men - and some women - nearly half my age, but it hadn't slowed her. I could feel those same eyes shift to confusion about me as we passed.

  Nissa led me to a few bar stools surrounding a table that curved around a raised platform supporting a girl dancing in a cage. Nissa yelled something into my ear then bounded away. I took that to mean I should stay put. I watched her go, her mohawk like a shark's fin in a sea of heads. Turning back, I saw the dancer give me a bored stare as I tried not to look up her skirt. She rolled her eyes and bent over to give me a clear view. I shoved my hands in my pockets and turned away. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the female form, far from it, but there was something about live women putting themselves on display for money that made me uncomfortable. At least until I'd had a few drinks. I felt something in my pocket. I pulled it out...

  A pack of matches.

  Damn University Club.

  I tossed the pack on the counter a few seats down and glanced around the bar. I guessed half this crowd was either underage or barely of age. It was actually a pretty good cover for an underground S&M club. The police had plenty of people to bust for legitimate reasons. They wouldn't often look too close. With supers involved, if they did find something, they'd probably be bought off. It only took one high level member of the Super State to frequent the club in order to receive almost complete immunity. Supers had more money to throw around than they knew what to do with, and the police were constantly trying to suck up to them. All it'd take is a word for all manner of sins to be swept under the table.

  "Scotch, neat."

  I turned. Nissa, a glass in her outstretched hand, was doing her damnedest to be heard over the throbbing music. I took the glass from her and swallowed half of it in one go. Not bad. A little heavy on the peat and smoke, but a decent single malt. I wouldn't have guessed it. Nissa was drinking a light beer. With a lime in it. I tried not to look condescending.

  "So, what's the plan, little lady?"

  "We wait."

  "Wait?" I yelled back, "For what?"