Masked

by Lou Anders

  “Bite me,” said Barry as he walked away, still rubbing his chest.

  It was quiet at the DMZ that afternoon, except for Simon Wang’s high-pitched shouting, which was attracting the amused attention of the other patrons scattered throughout the pub. They nodded toward him and muttered, “There he goes again” and “Ignore him; he thrives on attention.” Simon didn’t hear any of it, and wouldn’t have cared if he had.

  Simon hated the fact that his voice tended to go into upper registers when he was upset. He fought it as best he could, but it wasn’t something over which he had a good deal of control. The stocky young Asian man was thudding the table repeatedly with his open hand, or paw as some would have called it because of its being covered with thick, dark bristling hair, as was much of the rest of his body. “You swore to me, Xander! You swore it was a sure thing! You told me it was a sure thing!”

  The object of his wrath, Xander Abono, looked up at him with bleary, red-rimmed eyes. His age was indeterminate; sometimes he seemed Simon’s age, sometimes younger, sometimes older. He was disheveled as always, wearing the only clothes he appeared to own: jeans, a dirty T-shirt with the Cleveland Cavaliers logo on it for reasons long forgotten if ever known, and a moth-eaten blue denim jacket. He took a slow drag on his bong, sighed contendedly, and then refocused on Hairbag. “I did?”

  “Yes! You sat right there! You sat right there and you told me that it was going to be the Astros in four!”

  “You mean in the World Series.”

  “Yes! I asked you for a World Series prediction, and you said, ‘The Astros in four!’”

  Xander squinted, looking inward rather than outward. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right. Okay.”

  “And I bet on that! I bet big!”

  “Okay.”

  “And they lost!”

  “Okay.”

  “No, man! Not okay! They were blown out! They lost in four straight!”

  “Yeah.”

  Simon gaped at him. “Wait. You’re saying that’s the prediction you saw coming? Not that they were going to win in four straight, but that they were going to lose in four straight?”

  “Looks like.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you say that?”

  “I just kinda think losing is more interesting than winning.”

  Simon moaned and sank down onto a chair.

  From behind the pub’s bar, the bartender called over in her amused lilt, “Why do ye do this to yuirself, Hairbag? Why do ye keep asking him for predictions or to read peoples’ minds for ye? Look at him, for the love of Christ!”

  “He’s the only seer I know, Selkie, and I don’t remember asking you, and by the way, I hate that name.”

  “Christ?”

  “ Hairbag! I hate it when you call me Hairbag!”

  “It’s yuir superhero name.”

  “My hero name,” he reminded her archly, “is Monkey King. Because I’m descended from the Monkey King. So if you’re going to call me by a hero name, then call me Monkey King.”

  “And what’ll ye do if I keep calling ye Hairbag? Throw poop at me?”

  “Yeah, that joke just never gets old,” he said sourly.

  Xander leaned forward and growled in his husky voice, “She’s got a little thing for you, y’know.”

  “Oh, like I’m supposed to rely on you now. Don’t ever tell me anything again.”

  Xander put up his hands defensively. “Just saying. You don’t have to be so cranky.”

  “I’m cranky because I lost two hundred bucks thanks to you.”

  “That and because you never get laid. Which brings me back to Selkie…”

  “Shut up.”

  “Just sayin’…”

  Xander shrugged and leaned back. He stroked the bong absently. “You’ll be in a better mood when Vikki gets here.”

  “Vikki’s not coming around today.”

  “Yeah, she is. First Ari’s going to come in and mention her except it won’t be by name, and then she’ll come in.”

  “She never comes around during the week. Only on weekends. During the week”—Simon’s hirsute face twisted in derision—“she’s too busy in her perfect little superhero wife world.”

  “Not so perfect.”

  Simon stared at him, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean? What do you know, Xander?”

  Xander shrugged. “I thought you didn’t want me to tell you anything again. Make up your mind.”

  “Right after you’re done telling me this thing, don’t tell me anything.”

  “Hey, guys.”

  Ari sauntered in. “What’s going on?”

  “Usual stuff,” said Simon guardedly.

  “Yeah? So basically you lost money because you misinterpreted something that Xander told you, and Xander’s busting your chops about Selkie, and we’re all snickering over the latest blog entry from Lonely Superwife.”

  “That’s how much you know, we were not—” Simon sat up, his eyes widening, a look of glee spreading across his face. “You’re going to mention her except not by name. Holy crap. Are you saying… ?”

  “Am I saying what?”

  “That Vikki is Lonely Superwife!”

  Ari’s face froze for a moment and then he forced a cool look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “She is! And you knew!” he said accusatorily.

  “Man, I have no idea…”

  “You knew! All this time, you—”

  With an angry whisper, Ari said, “Will you shut up?!” He yanked a chair over and sat so close to Simon that he was practically in his lap. “Look—”

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Ari fired a look at Xander. “You told him. You told him, didn’t you?”

  “Told him what?” said Xander, staring at him with glazed eyes.

  Simon was ignoring him, focused instead on Ari. “The greatest blog in the world. It’s the greatest blog in the world, and you know I love it, and you didn’t tell me—?”

  “Tell you what?”

  Vikki Quikk, diminutive and chipper, her long red hair hanging in her face as it typically did, was leaning in toward them. She had been wearing mirrored sunglasses, but she had pushed them up so that they sat perched atop her head. Xander didn’t even have to bother to say, “I told you so.” He simply gestured with a sort of “tah dah!” flourish as a magician would.

  “Hey, Vikki,” Ari said, trying to sound a note of warning in his voice. “This is unexpected!”

  “Eh.” She shrugged and dropped onto an empty chair. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and I figured, why not take a break from errands and swing by and say hi.”

  Keeping his voice down, Simon nevertheless looked as if he were ready to jump out of his chair with excitement. “ You’re Lonely Superwife?”

  Her usual expression of perkiness dissolved and she glared at Ari. He put up his hands defensively. “I didn’t tell him!”

  “How could you?”

  “I didn’t tell him!”

  “I swore you to secrecy!”

  He pointed at his own mouth. “Could you at least pretend that there are words coming out of here and maybe, y’know, listen?”

  As if he hadn’t spoken, Vikki turned to Simon. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “When would I have? He just told me.”

  “I didn’t tell you!”

  “You didn’t not tell me.”

  “That sentence doesn’t even make any sense, dude!”

  “Could we forget about who told who what”—Simon shifted his attention back to Vikki—“and get back to that you’re Lonely Sup—”

  “Shhhh! Will you pipe the hell down!?”

  “If I talk any lower,” he said, glancing around, “people are going to think we’re planning to kill somebody.”

  “They may not be far wrong,” she said pointedly.

  Ari could not recall the last time he’d seen Simon look so chipper. “So Nicky Quikk—Captain Quikk himself—is ‘Ma
jor Clueless.’ That is beautiful…”

  “It’s not beautiful!” Vikki moaned and put her face in her hands. “I am the worst wife in the world. I should never have… dammit!” She slapped her palm on the table. “I should have known this would happen. I should have known!”

  “You did know,” Simon said, trying to sound sympathetic and only partly succeeding. He put a paw atop her hand. “It was a cry for help.”

  “If you don’t let go of me, it won’t be the only cry for help around here.”

  Slowly he removed his paw from her hand. “Gotcha.”

  At that moment, an elegant, well-attired woman swept in through the door as if she were expecting a round of applause for her arrival. When she received no response at all, she shrugged and headed over to a corner table. She was wearing a huge, broad-brimmed hat that looked as if she’d mugged someone from the Easter Parade for it, and a pair of sunglasses that she did not remove even though it was much darker in the pub than it was outside. Ari looked closely and saw that, yes, the top of the bonnet was undulating slightly.

  Then something slapped him on the arm. It was Simon, pulling his attention back to Vikki. Vikki hadn’t noticed; she seemed to be looking more into herself than at any of them.

  “It was just…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It just… it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “All ideas seem good at the time,” said Xander. His head was propped up on his hand, his eyes half lidded.

  “You have to understand what it was like, being one of Nicky’s—”

  “Groupies?” said Simon.

  “We were not groupies!” Vikki said defensively. “We were his fan club!”

  “The Quikkies.”

  “I hate that name.”

  “And I hate your husband.”

  “Simon!”

  Simon didn’t back down. “There. I said it. Vikki, your husband’s a prick. Captain Prick. He was a prick back in high school when he walked around like he was Mister Wonderful.”

  “Simon—”

  “He was a prick when he enjoyed giving me crap about my fur, and he was a prick when he acted like just because he was the fastest thing on the football field, the world owed him a living.”

  “You don’t know him, Simon.”

  “If I didn’t know him from high school, Viks, I’d know him from what you’ve been writing about him.”

  “That’s not really him,” she said defensively and not at all convincingly. “It’s just… I get mad at him sometimes because…” She looked away. “I’m like a selfish doctor’s wife, y’know? He belongs to the world, and I know he loves me, but he has to be other places, and sometimes I get so lonely, and I say stuff I shouldn’t. But when I get in front of that keyboard… you know what it’s like? It’s like that old Disney cartoon with Goofy, who’s this normal guy until he gets into his car and then he goes nuts. That’s me. Goofy.”

  “You’re not selfish,” Simon assured her.

  “Yes, I am. I mean, you don’t know what it was like. Being the president of the Captain Quikk fan club, and when he set eyes on me at QuikkCon 1, it was just…” She sighed. “It was like lightning striking. Which, y’know, figures, I guess. And then a whirlwind courtship, which, y’know, also figures. He’s just a tough guy to resist.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that when he was repeatedly shoving my head in a toilet.”

  “Simon, it was high school!” She sighed. “You’ve got to let it go!”

  “It was last Saturday.”

  “Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well… that wasn’t right. It doesn’t sound like him. Did you say something to him?”

  “I complimented him on his hair.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Well… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You always know what to say on your blog.” Simon grinned lopsidedly and began to quote: “ ‘Major Clueless did his husbandly duty with his typical brisk, passionless efficiency. His mind is on anything but me. I’m starting to wish he was on anything but me.’”

  “Stop it!” She whapped him on the shoulder, her face flushing with embarrassment.

  Xander spoke up. “He’s the world’s fastest human, kid. What did you expect?”

  “Nothing. I don’t expect anything from anybody, okay? Look”—she rubbed the bridge of her nose—“you gotta promise me you won’t tell. Anybody. Not anybody, Simon, I mean it.”

  “On my ancestors, I swear,” he said solemnly.

  “Thanks. And look… I feel bad about the whole toilet thing. How about I get you a refill.” She nodded toward his nearly empty mug of beer.

  “That’d be great, thanks.”

  She smiled wanly and headed over to the bar. The moment she did, Ari leaned in toward Simon and said sarcastically, “You complimented him on his hair?”

  “Well—”

  “Dude! You told him Vikki was a good beard! ”

  “Technically…”

  “That’s not technically! That’s word for word!”

  “All right, that’s word for word.” Even though Vikki could not hear them, he still lowered his voice and said, “How could she not know?”

  “First of all, you don’t know for sure that he’s in the closet. Second, it’s not your business if he is. And third, who cares if he is in this day and age?”

  “ He cares! He cares and he’s using Vikki to cover it because he can’t deal with the idea ’cause it doesn’t fit in with this whole macho image he’s built up for himself, and since I care about Vikki, that makes it my business. And oh, by the way, you care about her, too. ”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” said Ari softly.

  “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Do?”

  “Yes. Do.” Without thinking about it, Simon was picking fleas out of his hair. “We have to do something about it.”

  “You could try throwing crap at him.”

  “Yeah, that joke just never gets old. That’s only the fourth time I’ve heard it today; twice in the last hour.”

  Xander chuckled. “It always makes me laugh.” Simon growled low and bared his teeth.

  “Sometimes we don’t do anything about stuff, Simon,” Ari said. “In fact, most of the time, we don’t.”

  “Then what’s the point, man? What’s the point in having powers? What’s the point in being us if we can’t solve problems?”

  “Because it’s not our problem, man. It’s Vikki’s. And if she decides to do something about it, then she does something about it, and we’re there for her to pick up the pieces, and it’s all good. And if she decides she just wants to, y’know, be what she is, then that’s all good, too. Besides,”—he continued over the protests Simon was clearly about to make—“she’s got the blog going. She’s pushing the whole situation. You know that sooner or later her husband’s going to figure it out. Captain Quikk may be slow, but he’s not that slow. She’s keeping that blog to build up her own nerve to confront him, and she’s gotta do that on her own schedule. If we come sweeping in, then it’s like we’re saying she can’t handle it. It’s insulting. Just because you want to help someone, it don’t mean they need it or would welcome it.”

  “So are you saying,” demanded Simon, “that we shouldn’t ever mix in?”

  “Yes! Well… no. I… yeah, there are times to mix in. Times to get involved.”

  “And how do we know?”

  “Because we just do! We know when we should get involved!”

  And Xander said in that slow, ponderous way he sometimes had, “Do we?”

  “Yeah! We do!”

  “Do we?” he said again, and this time his gaze shifted toward the woman with the sunglasses. The waitress had just brought her a glass containing a clear liquid that she was now sipping and savoring.

  Ari let out a low sigh and said, “Yeah. Yeah, we do. Gimme a minute.” He got up, picked up the sunglasses that Vikki had left on the table,
and put them on as he walked over to the woman.

  He stood in front of her. She knew perfectly well he was standing there but made no effort to acknowledge him. With a grunt of annoyance, Ari said, “Hey, Zola.”

  Zola affected the air of someone who had been thoroughly startled. Her hand fluttered to her throat. “Ari! Darling! How lovely to see you again!”

  “Yeah. Lovely.”

  “Sit, sit, darling.” With her toe, she pushed the chair out across from her. He stared at it for a moment as if he expected the chair to pop out spikes that would gut him like a trout. Then, slowly, he sat.

  “I was just thinking about you, darling.” She spoke with that soft Greek accent that she always seemed to amp up whenever Ari was there. She held up the glass. “Would you like a sip of my ouzo?”

  “You realize you’re the only person they stock that stuff for, right?”

  “How could I not be flattered that they would make all that effort for me?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” He rapped on the table, a nervous habit of his when he knew something should be said but was reluctant to say it.

  Zola reached over and placed her hand atop his. It caused his heart to skip a beat. “Your hand’s ice cold,” he said.

  “Yes, I know,” she said playfully. “All of me is. That’s what you always loved about our time together, wasn’t it? Warming me up?”

  “Yeah.” He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

  She propped her chin on her hand and said lazily, “Remind me why we gave all that up?”

  “Because there’s only so much danger I want to have in a relationship. I only want the normal amount. The yelling, the screaming, the threats, the tears…”

  “The make-up sex?”

  “Make-up sex that doesn’t have the potential for killing me, yeah.”

  “Oh, you.” She gestured dismissively. “You worry too much.”

  “I worry just enough. Zola, you have to give it back.”

  “Give what back, darling?”

  “The money.”

  The edges of her mouth curled ever so slightly. “What money?”

  “The bank robbery today. I know it was you.”

  “Me?” She gasped. “I’m amazed you would think that. I hear it was someone who could become invisible.”

  “There’s no such thing as someone who can turn invisible,” he said dismissively. “If there was, they wouldn’t be able to see because if they could bend light around themselves, then it wouldn’t get to their eyes. It’d be like wearing a blindfold.”