by R. Lee Walsh
“Robbie?”
“That surprises you?”
“Yeah, I guess it does. He doesn't seem the type.”
“And what type is that?”
The gang type that nearly runs me over and is hiding something. “Forget it. I'm not hungry.”
Shaking his head, Raul takes the food back as a bowl of pretzels flies over the bar. Peach turns just in time to see Shane get punched in the mouth.
“Stupid son of a bitch!” his red face assailant shouts. “That's my daughter you're talking about.”
A pretty young brunette sits at a table behind them, her doe eyes wide in shock. Three men sitting at the table next to her slowly rise from their seats, glaring at Shane also. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time he's pissed off customers.
In the blink of an eye Peach vaults over the bar, landing between Shane and his opponents. Spewing colorful threats while cowering next to his barstool, his amused expression isn't helping things.
“Alright guys, that's enough,” Peach says, her voice low but commanding. “Shane here was just leaving. Weren't you Shane?”
“Why should I?” he spits, blood running down his chin. “I was here first. Besides, this guy hit me.”
“He called my daughter a prostitute!”
“Can you blame me?” Shane chuckles, wiping his chin. “Hell, look at those--”
The punch to his nose effectively stops his verbal death wish. Even though she could've easily prevented it, Peach's tired of his masochistic behavior. “Idiot,” she mutters, yanking him to a standing position.
Keeping herself between him and the irate patrons, she pushes him toward the front door. She sees Raul come up to guard her back, directing the customers to let them through. “If I see your face in here for at least six months,” she hisses in Shane's ear, “I'll personally remove your tongue with pliers.”
She shoves him through the front door and waves toward a cab parked down the street, still holding Shane up by his collar. The cab pulls up next to the curb and Raul rushes out the door behind them, helping her deposit a now whimpering Shane in the backseat.
“I meant what I said,” she says. “Gimme your wallet.”
Crying openly now, he pulls it from his pocket, handing it to her. She opens it to his driver's license, telling the cabbie where to drop him before handing it back. “Put some ice on that and get some help, Shane. Next time I won't be there to save your sorry ass.”
When the cab pulls away she dusts off her hands, taking a calming breath.
Raul nudges her lightly with his elbow, a bemused expression on his face. “Take a break, boss. I'll go clean up the pretzels.”
“Thanks, Raul,” she nods. “Tell Fee I'll be there in a minute.”
“Take your time.” He wipes his hands on his apron then turns and reenters the building.
Staring down the street, Peach wonders where Riley could be. It's not like him to stay mad this long. She turns around and looks through the window of the T-Bird, watching Fiona work her charms on the now laughing customers while Raul smiles and helps restore order.
Soon, this place will be another memory. Just once, it would be nice to leave her mark somewhere permanently, but as with all Irin, no one will remember her after she's gone. A strange sense of melancholy makes her stomach ache. Never before has she cared about being forgotten. The desire to be remembered is uniquely human. Her hands tingle and she frowns, thinking of the artistic display she left in her apartment. Something in her is changing-or maybe responding to the conclusion of this age. For the first time in her existence she feels vulnerable, like an unstoppable force is heading right for her. If only Riley were here so she could talk to him about it or at least compare notes. A burst of laughter inside the bar, jolts her from her reverie.
Stretching, she takes one last look around, then reenters the T-Bird.
Fiona's serving a giant tray of nachos to the customers who have resumed their evening's festivities. The three men have now moved to share a table with the father and his admittedly buxom daughter. Enjoying the attention, she blushes slightly, her face glowing. Peach smiles at Raul as she ducks back behind the bar.
The order bell dings and she turns to see the reheated plate of street tacos. Raising an eyebrow, she glances at Raul.
“Where's the tortilla soup?”
Grinning, he quickly puts the steaming bowl in the window.
Grabbing a hot pad, she places them on the bar. Wiping her hands on a towel, she first makes the drink orders still waiting, then comes around to seat herself on a barstool.
Halfway through her meal, Mannuel appears in the kitchen doorway. His face is pale and he signals to her with a brief nod toward the back.
“What now?” she mutters under breath, wiping her mouth. The food's actually delicious and she's been kicking herself for not trying it sooner.
She finds Mannuel waiting in Toby's office, his normally jovial expression fearful. He has an LA Dodgers cap in his weathered hands, worrying the edges.
“What's up?” she asks, motioning for him to sit down.
Shaking his head, he shifts his feet, then speaks. “I can't work tonight,” he says. “There's been some trouble at home.”
Frowning, Peach watches his hands tremble as he fiddles with the hat. “What kind of trouble?”
“It's… well… have you seen the news?”
Peach shakes her head. “Been too busy. I'm managing the place while Toby and Elsa are gone.”
“Toby told me. That was real good of you.” His blinks hard, his dark eyes glassy with unshed tears. Peach reaches over to place her hand on his arm.
“What is it, Manny? You can tell me.”
Raul appears in the office doorway, his expression serious. A look of compassion passes between the two men, then Raul motions toward the bar. “Might want to come look at this, boss.”
Following Raul back through the kitchen, Mannuel trails behind them. The customers in the bar are unusually quiet, staring at the television.
“Fernando Cabrera, the elusive leader of Eastside Anaheim, one of L.A.'s most notorious gangs, turned himself into the authorities just minutes ago, after what authorizes are describing as a puzzling series of events. Accompanied by several key members of the EA, all of whom have long been on the LA police department's most wanted list, Cabrera, known as Padrone to his associates, insisted he be allowed to issue a public statement in exchange for agreeing to plead guilty to all known charges. Officers responding to a frantic 911 emergency call early this afternoon at the Cabrera residence, discovered two deceased males, as yet unidentified, on the property. Yolanda Cabrera and her granddaughter Camille Sanchez were inside the residence with three small children while witnesses describe a sudden electrical storm appears to have formed over the area. Local weather authorities have confirmed reports of an unidentified weather disturbance that involved multiple lightning strikes.”
As the reporter continues, Peach turns to Mannuel, who stands next to the kitchen doorway, his face scarlet.
Mannuel Cabrera. His wife's name is Yolanda. They're talking about his family.
“Go,” she mouths, nodding toward the exit. He immediately disappears through the door to the kitchen. Peach takes out her phone and dials a number. She waits through the computerized voice then leaves a terse message for Riley.
“We need to talk,” she hisses, then hangs up. Lightning is Riley's favorite weapon. Obviously, she's not the only one whose powers are changing. She pulls a couple dollars from her tip jar and hands them to Fiona, directing her to put some music on the jukebox. The remaining customers quietly discuss outlandish theories about what happened, while Peach listens with one ear and tries to remain calm.
Fiona and Raul stay to help with the nightly closing routine, which is more subdued than usual. What little they speak is in support of poor Manny, wondering how he's handling all this.
“I had no idea who his grandson was, did you?” Fiona asks. “I thought he was just a nice o
ld guy.”
“He is,” Raul says, shaking his head. “Just because his grandson's an asshole, doesn't mean he is.”
“Yeah, but what about the other one? Robbie?”
“What about him?” Raul snaps.
“Come on. It's obvious he's also EA.”
“Hey,” Peach interjects. “Let's not jump to conclusions, okay? We don't know anything about their lives outside here. And frankly, it's none of our business.”
Raul and Fiona exchange an annoyed glance, then go back to what they were doing, all of them anxious to be done for the day. A half hour later they disperse to their vehicles and Peach locks the back door, noting Manny's empty chair.
Fortunately there are no leftover motorbikes tonight, so she won't need to stay and babysit. Anxious to get home, nevertheless she sets her backpack on Manny's perch, taking out the onyx pencil. With a wary look around to make sure no one's watching, she makes an elaborate mark on the wall next to the blue metal door. Smiling to herself she replaces the pencil, then unlocks her bicycle. Anyone who touches this building before she returns is going to wish they hadn't.
The streets seem quieter than usual as she pedals toward home, a warm California breeze caressing her face. She picked L.A because it was the last place Riley'd look for her. He's avoided this area for eons, but it was once his territory. His behavior's always been unpredictable, but this latest stunt with the EA is alarming. The Irin are forbidden to reveal themselves or alter the natural order. Perhaps it's just her imagination, but the whole city feels different and she's certain he has everything to do with it.
Hyper-alert, she decides to take an alternate route home, which brings her to the back instead of front of her building. Locking her bike next to a lamppost by the maintenance office, she silently ascends the metal staircase. Pausing at the top, she listens with supernatural hearing, scanning the parking lot below. Not even a cricket peeps, which tells her something's out there. For a full minute she listens, searching the shadows till an apartment door opens and one of her neighbors comes out, the jangle of his keys breaking the unnatural silence. Letting go of the breath she was holding, she continues toward her apartment. The neighbor, a sandy haired guitarist for a local heavy metal band passes her on the walkway, his long, curly hair damp with perspiration. He carries his soft guitar case slung over his shoulder, moving aside to let her pass.
“Hey,” he nods. “Thought you moved out.”
“Why would--?” she responds continuing toward her apartment, then pauses. He must've seen her stuff being taken out and remembered it--remembered her. Something's definitely changing. “Nope. Just redecorating.”
“Huh,” he says. “Well, have a good one.”
She hears his footsteps retreating behind her, as she continues to her own door. Taking out her keys, she listens for anything unusual, but the night seems to have gone back to it's normal rhythm. Shrugging, she slowly turns the handle on the door.
“Redecorating, huh?”
Wincing, Peach slowly turns around. Leaning against the concrete wall behind her with his tree trunk arms folded across his chest, Yuri stares at her with one eyebrow raised in question.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her eyes going straight to his hair. “Ah. Never mind.”
Giving her a dirty look, he shakes his head. “You know we're supposed to be in Portland.”
“I thought we went over this. I said I'd be there as soon as I can.”
“No, you said we'd be there. But from what I hear, you haven't even seen Riley. What's going on?”
“You tell me.” Opening her door, she motions for him to follow her, flipping on the light.
Wide eyed, he straightens from the wall, stepping into the apartment. She closes the door behind him then waits while he absorbs the entirety of it.
“Where did you get--?”
“Riley,” she interrupts. “He left this for me after he took all my stuff.” She unzips her backpack to retrieve the artist case, handing it to him. Frowning, he stares at the box then looks around the room.
“So you don't have any idea where he is?” he asks finally. “Are you sure he's the one who gave you this?”
Blowing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, she puts her hands on her hips. “I'm sure. And that's not all. Have you seen the news?”
“News?”
“It seems a local gang lord turned himself in today after a mysterious lightning storm struck his house. Two people died.”
They stare at each other for a long moment, then Yuri hands the box back, running his hands over his face. “We don't have time for this. What can he possibly be thinking?”
Peach walks over to place the box on the kitchen counter. “My guess is that he's tying up loose ends. And I have to tell you, things are different this time. Not only this,” she motions to the walls, “but something internal. In me, and I'm betting in Riley. Our powers seem to be expanding-we're becoming more visible. I think it has to do with the end of the age.”
Narrowing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, pulling her into a one armed hug. “I know. I feel it too.” He kisses the top of her head. “That's why I came.”
Chapter Seven
“Hold still!” Peach hisses, pushing the silver stud through Yuri's nose while he sits on her empty bathroom floor. For the last four hours she's been repairing the damage to his hair and they've now moved on to his piercings.
“That hurts,” he mumbles, through clenched teeth. “Are you sure you're doing it right?”
Chuckling, Peach smacks his cheek lightly, while using her other hand to hold the stud in place. “Wimp.”
Irin cannot be harmed by humans, which means only another Irin can perform tattoos or piercings. Yuri is a Scepter, a singular form of Irin which is similar in nature, but far more dangerous. Unequaled in power, he's the leader of the Irin. However, for the last eighteen years his focus has been on protecting The Last Descendant, the young girl they're expecting soon in Portland. He's been experimenting with different looks in order to appear more human.
“There. It's done,” she says, motioning for him to get up. Eyeing her handiwork, she gives his blue streaked hair one last tweak. The color was a last minute decision, but with the semi-punk look he's going for, it works.
Studying his reflection in the mirror, he winces at the piercings in his eyebrow and nose. “Better.” When she raises an eyebrow but doesn't respond, he smiles. “Thanks. Really. You're a miracle worker.”
“So you admit it.”
Returning to the living room, she notes the sun has risen and she runs her hands over her latest entry on the walls. They've both left messages for Riley in the last few hours but he's not returning their calls.
“I gotta go to work in a couple hours,” she says glancing at her phone for the hundredth time. Elsa called an hour ago to say they'd arrived in Okinawa. Not wanting to upset them about Mannuel, Peach assured them everything was fine.
“Wanna go get something to eat after I take a shower?” she asks Yuri, staring out the window.
“Steak and eggs?” he replies, fingering the stud in his nose.
“Yeah, whatever. And stop picking. Just give me a half hour.”
A brilliant sunny day greets them as they leave her apartment, the kind of day Californian's take for granted. Donning sunglasses they both make their way downstairs to where a beautifully restored Black '67 Dodge Charger sit gleaming next to her bike.
“That's new,” she comments, smirking at Yuri. “Thought we were supposed to be incognito.”
“Hey, Riley has his hogs and besides, if we get word Hope is close to Portland, we'll need to get there ahead of her. Obviously, we can't count on Riley for a ride.”
“So you're saying this hot rod is a necessity.”
Grinning, he unlocks the passenger door. “Exactly.”
Sliding into candy red leather seats, Peach watches him walk around the car, her brow furrowed in concentration. Something has definitely changed. She's ne
ver known Yuri to risk being noticed so casually.
When he slides behind the wheel, starting the car, the rumble of so much horsepower makes her think of Riley. “Hey, let's go to the T-Bird and I'll cook you breakfast myself. I want to catch the news this morning.”
He pauses to turn on the radio, looking for a news station. “Good idea.”
Ten minutes later they pull into the T-Bird lot, parking by the back door. Robbie sits on the barstool in Manny's usual spot, squinting as he tries to make out who's in the car. Opening the passenger door, Peach gets out, nodding to Robbie. “You're early.”
He glances at Yuri, then back at her. “Been here since five. Told Abuelo I'd take his shift.”
Peach glances over at the door, noting her mark, wondering how he managed to be here for five hours without touching the building. “You hungry?” she asks.
He shrugs. “You want me to make you something?”
Yuri comes around to stand next to her. Robbie sees a tall, but average looking guy with dyed blue hair, a pierced nose and eyebrow. As a Scepter, his true nature is hidden to all but the Irin. To reveal his enormous size and otherworldly appearance would jeopardize the purpose of his mission, not to mention terrify humans.
Robbie notes the tattoos wrapped around Yuri's arms. He glances briefly at the similar mark by the door.
“Nah, I'll cook,” Peach says. “Just don't tell Raul I was messing with his kitchen.”
“Deal,” Robbie says, still eying her friend.
“Sorry. Robbie, this is Yuri, an old friend of mine. He's just passing through.”
Yuri steps forward, offering his hand.
Robbie pauses before taking it. “Gitano, eh?”
Yuri smiles, wondering why this boy looks familiar. “Yeah, I guess you could say I'm a bit of a gypsy.”
Peach says nothing, but looks at Yuri with a raised eyebrow as she unlocks the back door. Waiting until the others enter, she rubs her hand over the mark she made on the building until all that remains is a faint smudge.
After stowing her backpack in Toby's office, she follows the pair into the kitchen. Yuri sits on a stool by the counter watching as she does a quick walk through of the bar. Turning on the television, she stops to put the coffee pot on, then pours them all a glass of orange juice. Taking a sip, she listens to the weather report and stares out the front window. A newscaster interrupts with a breaking story. The chief of police has announced that Fernando Cabrera will make his public statement at noon today. The camera cuts to a live feed of hundreds of reporters milling around in front of Anaheim Regional Medical Center.
