by LE Barbant
Chem’s mouth watered.
The blowup that he and Elijah had was on his mind, and he wondered if their time would be as awkward as expected.
“Hey,” Elijah said, setting his IPA on the recycled pallet table.
“Hey.” Chem tried on a smile. It didn’t quite fit.
“Listen,” Elijah said. “I was pretty freaked out by what happened to Tim. I just don’t want anybody to get hurt. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, man. I know. It’s cool. But pain is a new line on our job descriptions, and it’s going to happen—again and again.”
Elijah rubbed his chest. Chem was still supplying Elijah with the ointment he had worked up in the old lab, and he knew that the historian would wear the marks of his transformation for the rest of his life. Scarring had already covered Elijah’s arms and part of his neck. The cream minimized the side effects, but couldn’t do away with them all together.
“I went out to Springdale, where Vinton was killed, tonight.”
“Oh, yeah,” Elijah said. “Anything?”
“Nothing that we didn’t know already. Whatever that thing is, it’s not you.”
“I told you that.”
“No, I don’t mean specifically you. I mean your kind. Everything has pointed to the fact that we have another molten man on our hands. But it can’t be, at least not like you. When you change, there’s evidence: burn marks, steel residue. This is something different.”
“Or somethings.”
“Huh?”
Elijah shifted from one foot to the other. “I spent the day canvassing neighborhoods that you identified from the police scanner. People are seeing monsters all over the place. I knocked on doors at four different sites; people love talking to a ‘reporter.’” Elijah grinned. “But you know what’s strange? In each place the reports were radically different. Some saw what I can only gather was the monster that looked like me. They said it was huge, metallic, and slow-moving. The thing had a red glow and lumbered through the streets, knocking over whatever shit got in its way. Sounded like it wanted to be seen. But the next group described it differently, almost opposite. One woman said she saw it clear as day, said it was human-sized and fast-moving. Almost as if she was describing Rita. But she’s way too careful to be seen.”
“Hmmm. And?”
“Apparently it flies.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I was surprised too. In Garfield, I talked with a bunch of folks who swore they saw a giant flying creature. It glowed, swooped around at their heads.”
“Shit. What are we dealing with here?”
“I have no idea.” Elijah spoke slowly, as though deep in thought. “It could be some sort of mass paranoia. Like the Salem witch trials or all those reports about cult activity in the 90s. You know, something weird happens. People get worked up into a frenzy, and then the next thing you know people are ‘seeing’ the same stuff all over the place, and blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”
“Yeah, except for in our case,” Chem said, “the Loch Ness monster is sitting across the table from me drinking a beer. I’m all for The Crucible thesis but something killed Robert Vinton and took out Tim Ford, and that thing is one hell of a dangerous ghost story.”
Chem sipped his beer, then stood up from the table.
“Alright. Take a break and flirt with your bar honey over there.” Chem nodded to the counter. The girl from their first night in town sat in the same place and occasionally glanced over her shoulder at them. “I gotta piss.”
Elijah laughed. “I don’t think I have time for any ‘honeys’ right now.”
Voodoo was filling up. Locals on one end of the bar, college kids escaping Oakland on the other. Chem gave the girls a wink and a smile as he ambled back to the men’s room. He glanced under the stall and saw what looked like gator-skin boots.
Odd choice…
The door swung open. Rita stood in its opening.
“Shit,” Chem said.
“Cover the door. I can’t be seen here.”
“I know, right. A lady in the men’s room. How the hell did you get in here?”
Rita motioned to a window over the stall. It was hardly large enough for a toddler to fit through. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m blessed with a large bladder, among other things.”
“I found something you guys have to see. Meet me in your basement in ten.”
The woman turned, stepped up on the edge of the toilet seat, and wiggled her way through the window.
Well, dayum.
****
Chem, Elijah, and Rita stood shoulder to shoulder around the lab table that was still marked with Tim Ford’s blood. Chem breathed through his mouth, trying to avoid the smell of day-old fish that emanated from Rita’s scaly body. Spending time with her was like hanging out next to the dumpster of a Long John Silver’s on a hot summer’s day.
On the workspace lay a metal object. It looked like a basketball with fins. Elijah turned it over and inspected the underside. The smooth surface glimmered even in the dim lighting of the basement lab. He traced his finger over seams in the metal.
“I came across it on the North Side last night.”
The North Side was on the other side of the city. Chem looked at Rita. Her eyes were hidden under the hood of her bright yellow coat. “What were you doing way out there?”
She ignored his question and moved back to stand in the corner.
“But, what is it?” Elijah asked, looking at Chem.
The chemist directed his attention at the device sitting in their basement. “How the hell should I know?”
“You’re the scientist.”
“Dammit, Elijah, I’m a chemist. We’re specialists. It’s like me asking you the sociological dimensions of Guam after World War II or some shit. I’m not Tony Stark.”
“It’s a military drone.”
Chem and Elijah jumped at the sound. A shirtless Tim Ford stood behind them. Bruises covered his body, several lacerations still leaking blood. The man gripped his side and leaned against the wall, allowing the structure to keep him vertical.
“Blackbow,” he pointed to the tattoo on his shoulder, “the paramilitary op I worked for, used them all the time.”
Elijah’s jaw dropped at the sight of the man standing. “You OK?”
“I’ve been worse.”
“Really?”
Tim grinned. “No, not really. This is the most shit I’ve ever had kicked out of me. Didn’t stand a chance against that thing. It ground me up and left me for dead. If it wasn’t for Nemo here,” he said, glancing at Rita, “yinz guys would be pouring cans of IC Light over my casket.”
She nodded, apparently unaffected by his quip.
“Blackbow used them primarily for reconnaissance, but by the end of my time with them, they were working on weaponizing.”
“What’s their range?”
“Hell if I know. The army’s got ones that are replacing fighter jets. But the drones we used for tight, urban recon had much less of an effective perimeter. And we never operated those far from control. I had a buddy who was a pilot, you know, glorified gamer. He controlled the thing from HQ with a joystick. But Blackbow was pretty serious about us not chatting like a sewing circle about our jobs. They were paying all of us enough to keep our mouths shut.” Tim pulled a stool up to the table, wincing as the legs squeaked across the floor. “This one is different. More advanced. Looks pretty impressive. You try opening it up yet?”
It took nearly an hour for the academics and ex-soldier to get the machine open. Rita sat quietly off in her corner. Inside was a complex system of wires and mechanics that could have played center stage in a robot movie. They were able to identify a tiny camera and hard drive nestled in between the radio and what Tim guessed was the propulsion mechanism.
Chem turned the back plate over in his hands. Scratched into the plate were numbers: 32608.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Elijah snatched the plate. “Can’t be official serial numbers. They wouldn’t build something as sophisticated as this and then carve its identification with a screwdriver.”
“Could be a code,” Rita said.
Tim rubbed his hand along the side of his face. “Do you think someone is trying to tell us something?”
“I’m certainly not Tony Stark either, but I’ve got some skills. I’ll head over to Hillman and see what I can dig up,” Elijah said, turning for the steps. “I want to know what the hell this thing is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The downtown district of Pittsburgh was like so many other medium-sized cities: bustling during the days and dormant at night. Either setting gave Willa the cover she needed.
She turned right on Forbes Avenue just like she had every morning for the past four days. Dobbs was a creature of habit, which made him easy to follow, and he tended not to care about hiding his public persona. He wanted to be seen; he reveled in it. Handshaking all the way back to his office, the man looked mayoral—maybe even presidential. The only time she had seen him exhibit any caution was during a visit to a secluded warehouse just outside of the city.
Willa climbed the steps toward the arched entryway into City Hall. Everyone in the complex was too concerned with their own situations to take in the magician’s presence. She followed him to the bank of elevators, standing back twenty feet, to allow distance. The doors slid open, and Dobbs entered the metal box.
She stepped in behind him.
Though Willa had followed him for nearly a week, this was the closest she had ever come to him. Overpriced aftershave filled the small space. Men who seemed out of place in their suits—Pittsburgh’s version of the Secret Service—tailed his every move, preventing Willa from getting close. But they remained outside when he entered the city building. Dobbs was arrogant and assumed that no one would threaten him on his home turf—inside City Hall.
As they stood alone, Willa considered doing the deed there. She had failed to destroy Rizzo because she wanted to talk it through, to let him understand her game. But before she fled, Rizzo had given her vengeance a new name. And now her mark stood shoulder to shoulder with her in the elevator.
The man responsible for her mother’s death looked up from his cellphone and smiled, ignorant of her intentions. “Nice day out there.”
Rage filled her. She squeezed her fist and curled her toes trying to maintain calm. Before she ended him, she had to ask why, and that took time. Patience hadn’t always been the professor’s strong suit.
The doors slid open, and he stepped out. Willa followed, then hesitated in the foyer. She pulled out her phone and swiped the screen, more as a smokescreen than with any interest in what might lie within. Glancing up, she saw Dobbs give his low-level staffers and interns a thumbs up and a wave as he headed back to his office. His air of confidence was bolstered by a recent upswing in the polls.
Or maybe politicians always acted that confidently.
Willa traced his steps, walking back toward his office.
“May I help you?” a receptionist said, interrupting her line.
“Oh, no, I’m good. I just have a meeting with…”
The secretary was already checking her books. Half a week of casing Dobbs’ movements and she hadn’t considered what to do once inside. She wasn’t prepared, but she couldn’t back out now. The news of the assault on her family clouded her judgment. Her grandfather, not to mention her friends Elijah and Chem, would find her strategy—or lack thereof—laughable.
“With whom?” the secretary asked, staring across the divide.
“With John,” Willa said. She imagined there had to be a John working in the office.
“John who?” the secretary said.
Willa cursed herself for not coming up with a better plan. She closed her eyes and considered which poem would get her past the front desk without hurting the administrative assistant too much.
“I’ve got this, Kate.” A man in an expensive suit stepped up to the desk. He placed his hand lightly on the small of her back and ushered her toward an office. “Come with me. Ms.…”
In her panic, Willa latched onto the first name she could think of.“Branton.”Willa turned and followed the suit back through a maze of cubicles. The room was filled with hungry support raisers hunting for the dollars that might save the Mayor’s race. As she wove through the office, she sized up her rescuer. He had movie star hair and walked as if he owned the place. She didn’t know who he was or where he was leading her, but she decided to roll with it. A spell played on the tip of her tongue in case she needed to make a speedy exit.
The man crossed the threshold of a glass office wall, indicating that he was a person of some importance. He closed the door behind them. “Have a seat, Ms. Branton.”
Willa sat, taking in her surroundings. The man’s office was rather spartan. No pictures of family, no inspirational cat posters, and no clutter anywhere.
“So what can I help you with?” he asked
The man leaned back in his chair and extended his legs onto the pristine desk. His overpriced shoes stacked at the ankles.
“I’m a…writer.” Willa hoped a half-truth would be more believable. “I was hoping to get an interview with the Mayor about the race. I didn’t have an appointment, but you know.” She smiled, and drew her finger down her cheek and across her neck, and pulled on her shirt. Willa had never used her femininity for any sort of advantage, and she felt awkward in the attempt—like a fifteen-year-old trying to buy her first pack of cigarettes.
“Well, after last night’s gala our man is the talk of the town.” He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. Putting both elbows on the desk, he interlaced his fingers. “But now tell me why you’re really here.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come now. You can trust me.”
At first Willa tried to configure another lie, but her brain seemed out of control. Her anxiety shifted and she felt tremendous peace in his presence, like he was her best friend. She knew she could tell him anything. Her mouth started to move. “I found out some things this week about your boss. Well, actually, it’s about my family and your boss.” The words flowed freely, each syllable more honest than the next.
The man nodded. “Okay, now we are getting someplace. Now who are you really?”
Willa rubbed her neck. As she spoke, tension that had lived in her shoulders for what seemed like a lifetime dissolved. “I’m Willa Weil. Dr. Willa Weil. I teach, or I used to teach literature at the University. I’m just trying to find out more about my family and what they had to do with the Mayor.”
“Nice to meet you, Willa. But how did you expect to get anything out of Dobbs? Surely you weren’t going to try and seduce him?”
Willa laughed. Her move a minute earlier was clumsy, and embarrassment spread pink across her face. The man in front of her was so charming. “I guess seduction isn’t really in my wheelhouse. But I have other skills…” She smiled like a drunk at her new friend.
“Skills? That sounds intriguing. Why don’t you tell me about them?”
“I’m not like most people you know,” Willa said. “I have abilities, and I come from a long line of people with abilities. I can do magic.”
Willa’s wizardry was her most guarded secret. She had rarely shared it with anyone, and those few times that she had were dire situations.
What harm could come from telling him?
The man picked up a pen and started making notes on a yellow pad. “Magic? Like Harry Potter? Please, keep going. I can see you want to tell me.”
And she did. She wanted to share everything.
Willa walked him through her life. She talked about Edwin, the PPG Tower, her magic, and even Elijah. The man was unfazed by her report, which might have been the most surprising thing about the whole interaction. He sat composed, calm as a summer’s morning. Finally, she told him about her visit to Rizzo’s mansion on the North Side.
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br /> He nodded, then looked up from his notes. “Is that it?” he asked, as if taking notes at a PTA meeting.
Willa felt like she was swimming in a warm bath. Everything faded. “No. It’s not all,” she heard herself say. “The Mayor orchestrated my mother’s murder. And I’ve come to kill him. I meant to do it here. Today. But I took pause in the elevator because I knew I couldn’t get away with it. Maybe with some time—with more planning—I could do it and no one would know.”
The two sat in silence, staring across the desk at one another. Tension came over her, but she couldn’t name it.
Finally the man spoke. “Thank you for your candor, Willa. But truthfully, I knew you were coming. In fact, my brother and I have been waiting for you.”
Willa bit the inside of her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She smiled. “You’ve been waiting for me? But why?”
He rose and stood directly in front of her. Leaning in close, he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Because you’re going to tell me exactly how I can find your friends.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Traffic through the Squirrel Hill tunnels was uncharacteristically light for the time of day. People going into the city for the evening often jammed up the passageway through the ridgeline. Elijah smiled, remembering Boston, where the tunnels offered an opportunity to speed up—knowing that the staties wouldn’t be there to pull you over. But in Pittsburgh, for some reason, people went inordinately slow through the tunnels, backing up traffic sometimes for an hour. The Squirrel Hill tunnels were the one thing he hated about living in Homestead. So goes the difference between the Northeast and the near-Midwest.
Cruising down 376 toward Oakland, his thoughts wandered back to the past week’s events. Something ominous was brewing in Pittsburgh, but he couldn’t understand it. And ignorance was a weakness—one that he sought to overcome at the Hillman Library.
