“Your real name. Who are you in your real costume?”
“Zany.”
“Appropriate. Aren’t you going to ask who I am?”
“Nah, I’d rather call you Koala.”
“Excuse me?”
“You talk like a koala in a cartoon.”
She almost laughed. “I’m Portia.”
“Is that your real name or …”
“Both.”
“What’s your ‘p’?”
“I’ll show you.” The roar of passing motorcycles made Candilyn jump. Portia glanced out the mesh-covered window as she extended her handcuffed wrists to Candilyn. “Hold these”
Candilyn held her cuffs. Portia squeezed her left hand with a series of fluid movements. The bones popped out of their joints. She slipped her limp dangling left hand out of the cuff and shook it. With a series of pops her hand regained its shape.
“What did you just do?” asked Candilyn.
“It’s called hyper-physiological control. I can make my body do anything. And I can make yours do anything with deft touches to the right spots.”
“That’s hot.”
Portia looked out the window. “Put your head in my lap.”
Candilyn tensed. “Uh, not on a first date.”
Portia tapped Candilyn’s shoulders. Her upper body went so limp she couldn’t resist when Portia grabbed her head. It was deep in Portia’s lap, with Portia curled over her, when the dry cracks of gunshots and the shrill tinkle of breaking glass surrounded the bus. Tires popped loudly. The van shook and turned sharply before it screeched to a stop.
Portia curled her body around Candilyn. “Stay down.”
Candilyn quit resisting until the gunfire stopped. The other prisoners screamed like teenagers at a horror movie. One was coherent enough to shout, “They killed the driver!”
Someone knocked and shone a light through the back window. Portia put a raised thumb against the glass.
Portia put her head up and spoke loudly without shouting. “Last stop. Everyone out.”
The prisoners pushed and shoved their way to the exit. Candilyn didn’t move. The glass behind her chair shattered under a sledgehammer’s strike.
“You know what’s going on, right?” said Candilyn. “‘Cause I don’t. All I know is my face is in your crotch and I hear fireworks.”
“It’s called an escape. You can get up.”
Candilyn followed Portia out of the back of the bus. Bearded bikers herded the prisoners into a rough crowd. The denim vests over their black leather jackets bore orange reflective letters that spelled VANDALS.
Portia stepped into the intersection of four motorcycle headlights and spoke loudly without yelling. “Ladies, we have a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it. Take your personal effects from the van, hop on a bike, and we’re out of here. We’ll get the cuffs and jumpsuits off later.”
“Hold on,” shouted the woman with a mane. “Who the hell are you?”
Portia unzipped her orange jumpsuit and lowered it to her waist, revealing a huge tattoo of a stylized spider that covered her back.
“Yo,” said the dreadlocked woman. “That’s Portia. She’s a freakin’ mastermind.”
“I know who she is,” said the horned woman. “My sister disappeared doing a job for her last month.”
Portia zipped up her jumpsuit. “You must be Brahma Mama.”
“Damn right I am. Where’s my sister?”
“I paid All-Beef Patty and said goodbye. I can’t be held accountable for anything else.”
“I know bullshit. That’s bullshit.”
“We’ll talk later.”
“No, we won’t.”
Candilyn stepped in front of Portia. “Not now, big cow. Portia arranged this escape, we listen to her.”
Brahma Mama bellowed and charged.
Candilyn heard Alex’s voice in her head: “Even big guys have knees.” She side-stepped, dropped, and kicked the side of Brahma Mama’s knees. The horned woman fell on her side but rolled back up.
“I’ll break you, beanpole.” Brahma Mama put her cuffed hands together and swung back.
Alex’s words came to her mind: “Combat is all expansion and contraction. Expand when they contract.” When Brahma Mama twisted to swing, Candilyn jump-kicked her in the stomach. Brahma Mama doubled over and Candilyn kneed her face and brought down both cuffed hands in a powerful punch. She kicked Brahma Mama several times before she hit the ground.
“Candilyn, that’s enough.” Portia pointed to a biker. “Take Brahma Mama. Everyone else, mount up.”
The other women grabbed the bags with their personal effects. Candilyn grabbed her bag by the bottom. Her suit, the white bands, the goggles, her case of makeup, and her jester’s stick rolled all over the road.
As she recollected her possessions, the other prisoners each got on the back of a motorcycle and rode off.
“Shit.” She watched the taillights go further away. “Last picked again.”
Portia tapped her shoulder. “You’re with me.”
Candilyn followed Portia to a burly man who looked like a modern-day barbarian in his furry vest and metal bracers. “He’s the leader of the Vandals.” Portia got on behind him. “Hold on tight.”
The Vandals’ leader quickly rode to the head of the gang and directed them through the dark night. After a few miles of twists and turns they went off the road, over a bumpy bridge, and down narrow forested trails. Candilyn held Portia tightly as the motorcycle bumped and tree branches smacked the top of her head.
The bikers stopped in front of a cabin. One lit a fire, which quickly turned into a bonfire, while another others dropped off his passengers and went back down the trail, and the rest went inside.
Portia stood in front of the fire. “We need to lay low and stay together tonight. We’re miles from the van and the Vandals will hide our tracks, but we can’t wander very far.”
“Yo,” the dreadlocked woman said. “What’s the plan?”
“There’s a big war coming. Hundreds like us want revenge on the conformists who sent you to jail. You will be the backbone in a battalion of bitches.”
The women cheered.
“And for your enlistment bonus,” Portia pointed to the cabin as the bikers came out carrying a keg, bottles of liquor, cartons of cigarettes, a bag of marijuana, and hamburgers. “Eat, drink, and if you need a man the Vandals are willing to please.”
Hours later, Candilyn wore her purple bodysuit, white bands, legwarmers, and goggles of her Zany costume. She sat alone on a log, staring into the fire, sipping Sprite. All around her the supervillainesses in their costumes drank, danced, talk, sang, and clung to the bikers.
The girl with a mane, her orange prison suit replaced by mismatched jungle cat patterns over ripped black tights, drunkenly swaggered over to her. “You think you’re tough, huh?”
Candilyn grinned. “I could kick your ass twice in a New York minute.”
“You don’t know me.” Curled chitin claws popped out from her fingertips. “I’m Junkyard Kat. I almost killed Gecko Guy.”
“Okay,” said Candilyn. “I still don’t know you.”
Portia, her orange jumpsuit replaced by a gray tailored pantsuit that made her look like a CEO, tapped Junkyard Kat’s shoulder. “Go get something to drink. This one is mine.”
“You think you can tell me what to do?” said Junkyard Kat.
Portia stood with quiet confidence and with no concern that Junkyard Kat was almost a full head taller. “Yes.”
“Whatever.” Junkyard Kat stumbled away.
“I could’ve taken her,” said Candilyn.
“I’m sure. Where did you learn to fight?”
“From a guy trained by Sergeant Hammer. And Sergeant Hammer too. And Lady Amazing.”
“Superheroes? How did that happen?”
“I joined a crappy team for losers. It turned out to be one more place I didn’t belong.”
“It’s their loss. We have beer, w
ine, and liquor, and you’re drinking Sprite?”
“I don’t touch drugs.”
“Neither do I.” Portia raised her bottle of Fiji Water. “I can’t stand losing even a little bit of self-control. What’s your reason?”
“I saw too many people hurt by addiction. My real dad spent our rent money on benders and beat up mom when she complained. My step-brother was terrific until his loser buddies got him hooked on meth. You ever see what that does to someone?”
“I have.”
“Before joining that stupid loser superhero team, I told his dealer I’d break his goddamn head open if he sold to my step-brother again. I kept my promise.”
“I told you, say you’re innocent.”
“You also said I’m stupid. Stupid is as I does.”
Portia brushed a strand of hair out of Candilyn’s face and pushed her goggles to her forehead. “What did you mean when you said the superhero team was one more place you didn’t fit in?”
“I almost died for them, and they still didn’t like me.”
“I understand. I’ve dealt with superheroes long enough to know that they only exist in their own minds. Their masks keep them from seeing how far below their own standards they are.”
Candilyn tapped her Sprite against Portia’s water bottle. “I’ll drink to that. I mean, I said Sergeant Hammer was a nasty pervert and no one listened to me. They were like, ‘Oh, he’s old-fashioned.’ ‘He does it to guys too, so it’s okay.’ By the time I got out of the hospital, about a hundred villainesses he raped came forward. And I’m the stupid one?”
“It’s harder to tell good from evil than most people realize.”
“At least these villainesses are honest about who they are.”
“No they aren’t. They’ll say they only rob the rich or have a cause or don’t know any better because they come from broken homes, but look at them. All they want is to fight, screw, and get wasted more than the laws allow. The villainy is merely an excuse, a narrative they construct to make their chaotic lives coherent. You’re clearly not one of them. What are you, exactly?”
“My whole life I’ve been a new fish. I go from one place I don’t belong to another to another. There’s nowhere I fit in, and when things go right for me I find a way to screw it up. If there’s a way to screw up jail life, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t wallow in self-pity, darling. It’s not attractive.”
“What about you? Aren’t you a villainess?”
Portia inspected her nails. “I’m something beyond that. There’s not a word for what I am yet. You see, the world is changing. Soon there will be no more heroes and villains.”
“What do you mean?”
The woman with a bone-spike mohawk rolled against their log with her arms wrapped around a biker.
Portia and Candilyn slid down the log. On the other end, the turtle-shelled woman lit a thick blunt in the fire and puffed furiously.
Portia looked away in disgust. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
Portia lit her flashlight and led Candilyn into the woods. On the way they passed the leader of the Vandals, who stood perfectly sober with a Taser his hand. She took Candilyn’s hand and said, “Not this one.”
The two women walked through the woods. “Where are we going?” asked Candilyn.
“Somewhere more serene.”
“It’s got to be better than where we were. Those girls suck. And those biker-guys have beards are older than me. But I don’t want to get lost in the woods.”
In the faint moonlight Candilyn saw a small tent at the edge of a meadow. Portia shone her flashlight inside. “Here is where I’m spending the night.”
“Neat,” said Candilyn.
“Take it in. Crickets, clean air, clear skies, stars above, soft grass below. It’s easy to forget we live in a world with places like this.”
“Yeah, my family tried camping, but we got kicked out of the state park. Turns out, other campers don’t know what ‘sharing’ means.”
“Well, you can share my tent.”
“Cool, but there’s only one sleeping bag in there.”
“I know.” Portia put her hands on Candilyn’s hips.
“Hey, stop.” Candilyn stepped back. “Thanks for everything, but I’m not into girls.”
“I guess I misunderstood.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that there is something about you I find extremely attractive.”
“Really?”
“Maybe it’s your wit, or your innocence, or the nobility you showed sacrificing yourself for your family, or something so unique it defies description.”
Candilyn shifted her feet. “Well …”
Portia caressed Candilyn’s arm. “Or, maybe, because like me, you always feel this universe wasn’t made with you in mind. That you spend years dreaming of a moment of solace, of peace, of feeling like someone somewhere wants nothing more than you, a kindred spirit to hold close to her heart so for once you want to be no one but who you are and nowhere but that moment.”
Candlyn quivered. “Uh, actually …”
Portia withdrew her hand. “But, no, that can’t be it. A woman like you must have many lovers.”
“You’d think that, but ...”
“I’ve been rejected before. I’ll survive. I always do.”
“Hey, you’re cute and everything …”
“It’s sad that it ends like this. We could’ve made each other happy.”
“Wait a minute, I didn’t mean …”
“Go play with the drunk girls and bikers. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“It’s … this feels weird but I don’t want to go back there … I don’t know what to do.”
Portia looked up to her. Her delicate face glowed in the pale moonlight. Her breath made small clouds in the crisp air. “Do what feels right. You owe yourself nothing less.”
Candilyn stroked Portia’s hair.
Portia responded with an open-mouthed kiss.
As the sun rose, Candilyn traced the outline of Portia’s tattoo with her fingertips. “What kind of spider is this?”
“It’s a portia fimbriata.”
“What’s that?”
“A spider that preys on other spiders.”
“How? Does it make bigger webs?”
“It uses deception, disguises, and elaborate traps to get what it wants.”
“That is so cool.” Candilyn rubbed Portia’s sacral dimples. “Can we do it again?”
“Aren’t you the insatiable one?”
“I don’t know what means, but can we?”
Portia’s smartphone played Chopin’s Polonaise. She grabbed it and pressed the button. “Everything went smoothly.”
Candilyn rolled to the other side of the tent. “Stupid phones.”
Portia said into the phone, “We have five ready for pickup. I’m keeping one, the one from Poughkeepsie … I have my reasons. What other jobs do you have? … A hacker within twelve hours? It’s a tight deadline … I didn’t say no, but … that much? You must be desperate, Handler … excuse me, The Handler … I don’t know what you have in mind, but as long as you pay I’ll do what you want.” She hung up.
“What was that about?” asked Candilyn.
Portia checked her text messages. “Nothing you would understand. Now, my insatiable one, let’s …”
A deep voice echoed through the meadow. “Is this a bad time?”
Portia slid out from under Candilyn and grabbed her shirt. “Not at all. I’ll be right out.”
Candilyn asked, “Who’s that?”
“The leader of the Vandals. We have business to discuss.” Portia slipped into her slacks and climbed out of the tent barefoot.
Candilyn watched Portia walk up to the burly biker.
“The truck is coming up the logging road on the other side of the mountain,” said the Vandal’s leader. “It’ll be here real soon.”
“How are the girls?”
“Passed ou
t and wiped out. They won’t be any trouble”
“And Brahma Mama?”
“The police found her corpse five miles in the opposite direction from the van and are searching around there.”
“I didn’t plan on using her, but we needed a red herring and she practically volunteered.”
“So, about our agreed-to payment?”
“I’ll transfer the money to your account before noon, plus another five thousand for your efficiency. Your men can help themselves to anything leftover from the party.”
“Appreciate it. We’ll load the girls into the truck.” The Vandal’s leader extended his hand.
Portia shook it. “It’s great working with professionals. Is my car in the agreed-to location?”
“Right at the GPS coordinates you gave us. Gotta say, it felt weird covering a Porsche with a tarp and branches.”
“As long as it starts, I’ll be happy.”
The Vandal’s leader went back into the woods as Portia returned to the tent.
“What was that about?” asked Candilyn.
“Your lips are for kissing, not asking questions. Get dressed, we have to leave.”
“What’s happening to the other girls?”
“You heard me say they’ll be a part of an upcoming war, right?”
“Aren’t you leading them?”
“I’m a recruiter, not a general. The Handler will pay a million for them, and if I can get a superhacker I’ll get two million more.”
“I know a superhacker, but he’s a real dick.”
“Who?”
“His name is Vijay, or Asura.”
Portia checked her text message. “That’s one of the names the Handler is paying an extra million for. Where is he?”
“Last I heard, he was in North Brother Island. You know, the jail for supervillains.”
“If we get him, we’ll have enough money to spend the rest of our lives living like queens in Fiji. Just you, me, white beaches, ocean sunsets, and fresh mango juice.”
“We?”
“If you’d rather stay here, I’ll send you a postcard.”
“Hell, I always wanted to go to Japan. I mean, I know we just met, but if you’re inviting I’m coming.” Candilyn grabbed her purple bodysuit and white bands.
“Your costume doesn’t work,” said Portia. “The crazy clown thing is passé. Do you have any other clothes?”
The Prospects (Book 2): Nothing Poorer Than Gods Page 9
