A spacious flat with a sewage stench and rot on the window frames. When I commented on the smell, the leasing agent said it was like the “historic neighborhoods of European cities.”
A duplex with walls covered in dusty fake fur. It would be like living inside of Sasquatch, except that Sas keeps his soft fur impeccably clean and shiny.
A reasonably priced, cozy, immaculate, updated two-bedroom with a rainwater shower, views from every window, and even an office space. However, every entrance and exit from the building is too public for Shulky.
The leasing agents all say (nicely, ugh!), “You’ll have to make some compromises,” which I already knew. Needing to talk to someone who I knew wouldn’t be spookily nice, I called my cousin.
ME: Hey, Bruce, I thought of you when I went to the shooting range. Used my old Smith & Wesson, but it’s not the same as being in a wide open field with the whole day free.
B: You were the one who liked to shoot. I was more interested in the velocity and trajectory of the bullets.
ME: And in your homemade rockets. You were always burning off your eyebrows. In all our family photos, you look very surprised.
B: You’re welcome to Photoshop eyebrows in for me. How’s everything?
ME: On the job front, excellent. QUIRC is way less stressful than working for Holden. I’ve even been able to go out occasionally and have a social life.
B: I’ve always thought having a social life was overrated.
ME: I know you have, but I’m not as solitary as you. I was balancing my work and social life wonderfully, until Holden told me that I have to leave the GLKH loft soon. Finding a place that fits my needs is impossible.
B: Did I just hear Jennifer Susan Walters say that something was impossible? That loud thud you hear is me falling to the floor in shock.
ME: Very funny, Bruce. I’m not giving up, by any means. Also, I think I may have a boyfriend. I’m not officially dating him yet because he’s a client. Have you heard of Dr. Sven Morigi?
B: Do you mean that slick pretty boy who was on Good Morning America? Didn’t seem like your type.
ME: What do you mean?
B: He looked like he wears an ascot and has a love child with his teenage housekeeper. Douchebag alert, Will Robinson, douchebag alert!
ME: You’re so off-base. Sven’s a brilliant scientist and we have a lot in common.
B: Like what?
ME: Um, like an interest in astronomy, international cuisine, and we both like opera and the arts.
B: [laughing until he coughed]
ME: I live in one of the most cosmopolitan cities of the world, and I don’t know why you think it’s so hilarious that I’ve developed more sophisticated tastes.
B: [trying not to cough] Because you’ve always preferred a bar band to an Italian tenor, because the only show you’ve ever liked onstage is Wicked—which you’ve seen how many times now?—and because your favorite international cuisines are French fries and nachos.
ME: That was the way I used to be before I set important self-improvement goals, one of which is to find a serious relationship with a worthwhile man, and Dr. Sven Morigi is very interested in me. I think he could be an ideal boyfriend.
B: Yeah, that’s why you sound so excited about him.
ME: Bruce, I’ve had my hopes crushed before, so I’m trying to be more practical this time. I’m glad I’ve met someone with no observable major issues.
B: Little cousin, he’s hired a powerful and expensive law firm to sue his former boss over defective organs that are killing kids. I’d call that a marker for a major issue. However, if you need to make changes in your life to be happy, I understand that. How’s Shulky doing?
ME: She’ll never admit it, but I think she’s really bummed that she’s gone from saving the world to handling local crime. She has run into a few new superhumans, though.
B: Yes, I read that in the Avengers Advocate. Have either of you heard anything about Doom lately?
ME: Nope, zip, nothing, nada. It’s as weird as polite cabbies.
B: I might not have a Spidey-sense, but I am getting a feeling that something’s not right.
ME: I get that ookiness, too, that something’s off-balance. You know, nature seeks balance in all things.
B: Did your Krav Maga coach tell you that?
ME: No, Azzan tells me to duck into tighter rolls to protect my torso from knife attacks. A scientist told me that.
B: I think you should listen to Azzan. I hope you’re not being influenced to become nicer.
ME: I’ve been keeping a journal of my behavior. I haven’t noticed any disturbing increase in niceness.
B: That’s good. You’re already too nice. You’ve let the supers roll all over you.
ME: Easy for you to say—they accept you in that boy’s club, but I had to completely agree to their terms if I wanted to preserve any of Shulky’s Mansion privileges.
B: And by “completely agree,” you mean that you managed to amend them in your favor. Speaking of Shulky, if she’s patient—and I know that’s not one of her strong points—I think the other Avengers will reevaluate teaming with her again.
ME: And we can go back to living at the Mansion? Because it would be great to have immediate access to the cars and all my weapons!
B: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
APRIL 16
Yesterday’s deadline for answering Fritz passed without comment. He knows I’m consumed by this case. I really really wish that we didn’t have to depose Ellis, but my responsibility to my client supersedes my personal reluctance.
Amber Hammerhead smeered when I told her that I didn’t think it was appropriate that I question him. “Although Sven signed with QUIRC knowing the personal complications, I’m very uncomfortable bringing Ellis in.”
“The EBT for Ellis is restricted to the ethics guidelines he drew up for ReplaceMax, which are public information,” she said coldly. “Even if he had remembered your name, it doesn’t make any difference to him who questions him. If you think it makes a difference to our client, you should call Sven and explain why.”
“That’s unnecessary, because as first chair I’ve made the decision to ask Genoa to conduct the examination.”
“Fine, whatever.”
Shulky woke inside me, like a grizzly who’d been hibernating in a cave, annoyed at being disturbed. I snapped, “Fine, whatever,” back at Amber and ended the conversation before my jade girlfriend decided it was time to come out and play tetherball with Amber’s noggin.
I was anxious about seeing Ellis in this context, and it didn’t help that he and I arrived at the QUIRC conference room doorway at the same time.
He gave me a stony look and said, “So you’re going through with this?”
“Of course, QUIRC is going through with this. Was there ever any question?”
“I thought there might be.”
“Not for me.” Glancing into the conference room, I saw the General and Amber already seated. “Where’s your attorney?”
“I told him not to bother coming.”
“You’re the son of a lawyer and engaged to a lawyer, and you didn’t bring any representation?” I heard my voice rising. “What is wrong with you, Ellis? Never mind. I don’t care.”
“Are you sure you don’t [meaningful pause], Jen?”
The others were watching us, so I went into the room and took the chair farthest from Ellis. A moment later, I’d regained my composure and sat impassive as the General smoothly ran through our series of questions. Ellis told us what we already knew: he and Max were friends and colleagues, and he believed that Max would never knowingly sell defective products. I knew Genoa liked Ellis, and I could tell that he respected her by his calm, complete answers. He never treated me that way.
Ellis explained each ethical principle, and I found myself admiring his sound reasoning. I struggled to maintain my astute professional observation instead of gazing dreamily at him. Occasionally, I looked at Amber to see if she
had additional questions. She took notes, now and then lifting her eyes to Ellis. I couldn’t read her expression for the life of me.
The examination ended, and Genoa excused herself, but Ellis stayed behind and came to me. “You’re making a mistake and destroying a good man.”
“The facts are irrefutable. ReplaceMax organs failed. People died and are dying.”
He gave me a hard stare before he left.
Amber came over and said, “Don’t mind Ellis. He thinks that no one is as principled as he is.”
I could have been wrong, but I thought I heard bitterness under the dulcet tones of her voice.
ALTERNATIVE DISPUTE RESOLUTION
APRIL 17
My level of stress at work has ratcheted up since Ellis’s EBT. I changed into running shoes and took a circuitous route home, walking briskly enough to burn off my tension. On Franklin Street, I recognized an annoying hipster who always dropped candy wrappers and flicked cigarette butts on the sidewalk. Then I saw him move toward a trash bin and toss a Joocey Jooce cup inside.
I tapped his shoulder and said, “Excuse me.”
“Yes?” He smiled at me.
“Would you please tell me why you threw that cup in the trash?”
“That’s where it belongs, right?” His expression was pleasant but puzzled.
“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood, and you always littered before. Why are you throwing garbage away now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I want to be nicer, I think. If you don’t mind, I don’t want to be late. I’m meeting a friend. Have a good evening!”
“You, too,” I said. “Thank you for cleaning up.”
It was all very perplexing, and I walked to Dahlia’s salon. She was showing the last client out, and she let me in and locked the door after me.
I clicked off the main salon lights for her and said, “This case is making me so tense my skin is crawling. I need a drink, and don’t suggest Joocey Jooce!”
“You need to change out of your work clothes and change out of your work brain. Let’s have a bite and beer. I’m in the mood for a grilled cheese with bacon and jalapeños, which I believe covers all the major groups on the new food pyramid.”
“Is that a new food truck special?”
“No, it’s my own special. Take Rodney for a walk while I finish closing up, and we can go to my place.”
I glared at Rodney, and he made a hideous snorting sound. He didn’t like me walking him and kept dropping his butt to the ground, making me pick him up and carry him most of the way. When a woman looked at us and said, “Cute dog!” I knew that niceness had gotten completely out of control.
However, the food and the beer helped, and Dahlia let me rant on about Ellis’s hostility, Amber’s bitchiness, how I would never find an apartment and was now stagnating on my Valentine’s Day goals.
Dahlia ranted about problematic clients, a stylist diva, and her lack of a sexual partner who didn’t interfere with her job. “I hate it when they fall in love with me.”
“You’re infuriatingly lovable,” I said. “However, I fail to comprehend why you don’t fall in love back.”
“Because they are not worth taking time from Arrested Youth, which, as you know, is my life’s dream.”
“When I met you, your life’s dream was anthropology. You wanted to go to Egypt.”
“Ancient Egypt had revolutionary hairstyles, and if you ever time-travel back to the land of Pharaohs, I expect you to take me. As I was saying, I’d like to find someone who is both worthy of my time and yet doesn’t intrude.”
“I want a real boyfriend and an intellectually collaborative relationship. I think Sven and I could have a wonderful life together.”
“You haven’t even had sex with him.”
“Plenty of people don’t have sex before they get married.”
“Oh, please, poodle, be serious. You wouldn’t buy a car without test-driving it.”
“Are you implying that I’m a car or a driver?”
“Both. What you need is a She-Hulk adventure, and I will accompany you.”
“I don’t want to go dancing tonight. I’m too arghed and ooked out!”
“Are you arghed enough to turn into She-Hulk?” Dahlia asked excitedly.
“No, but if you want to come on one of my adventures, you can. I’d like to visit the ‘heck of a nice guy’ who rents from Claude, the doorman.”
“Claude, the former potential future love of your life?”
“Yes. I don’t know if his ‘heck of a nice guy’ tenant will be in. Claude doesn’t have his phone number.”
“You said the welding shop was in Jamaica Heights. I’m not taking public transportation all the way out there. You should have a car. It’s weird that you don’t since you’ve always been such a car fanatic.”
“I am not a fanatic. I have a sensible appreciation for well-made machines,” I said, which set off a round of crazy eye-rolling.
It didn’t take long for me to borrow a ride from the Mansion’s fleet and return to pick up Dahlia. She wasn’t impressed when I pulled up in the beat-up Buick LeSabre, but her expression changed when she got in the car and saw the glowing lights and gauges on the dashboard.
“OMG, Jen, this looks like the control panel for a spaceship! What does this do?” she said, reaching for a switch.
I batted her hand away. “Rocket launcher. Do not touch anything, because I always get blamed anytime something gets wrecked, even when it’s totally not my fault, or incidental to hero stuff.”
“I thought you’d be more fun as a superhero, and don’t tell me that you’re not a superhero.”
“Okay, here’s something fun for you. Hang on tight!” I flipped on the stealth glide and said, “Now they see us, and now they don’t!” and the car shuddered as it became invisible.
In a matter of seconds, I shifted to PeakSpeed, and we were swiftly weaving in and out of the stream of heavy traffic.
“We’re going too fast!” D said, and grabbed the dashboard as we sharply swung between a big rig and a careening van.
Suddenly the car veered into the next lane and the tight space between two speeding cars, and D said, “Holy shit!”
The car ahead slammed on its brakes, and we swerved into the narrow space between the lanes, with less than an inch of clearance on either side.
Dahlia screamed and stared from side to side in horror, saying, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“It’s all automatic.” I lifted my hands from the steering wheel, but D was jamming down on an imaginary brake and frequently shrieked during the ride.
She was pale and shaky when we approached our destination. I switched off the PeakSpeed, and when we were clear of traffic, I flipped off the stealth glide and took control of the steering again.
When Dahlia pried her fingers off the dashboard, I said, “You told me you wanted an adventure.”
“But I didn’t want to be terrified!”
“If you’re not scared, it’s not a real adventure.” I parked by the old welding shop and said, “Come on,” as we got out.
She turned her attention to a new worry. “There’s no one around, but I feel like we’re being watched.”
“Probably. You can either come with me or stand here by yourself.”
She hurried to my side. We neared the fenced yard, and the dogs bounded out, snarling and snapping. Dahlia skipped back and said, “Yikes!” and then I heard a yip yip noise and her tote bag bulged on one side.
“D, did you bring that horrible rat-thing with you!”
“Don’t be churlish and sulky. I didn’t know how long we’d be gone.”
“Great. Now they’ll try to tear him to shreds. I’ll do my best to keep them back.” I put my palm flat on the fence, and the big Rottie sniffed it and began waggling his rear. “Hey, bowser, how’s it going?” The other dogs quit barking and came to the fence to say hello. They sniffed toward Dahlia’s tote, but they didn’t growl.
Light edged o
ut from behind the blinds on a second-floor window, and I said, “I think Heck-of-a-nice-guy may be in there.” I buzzed the bell at the gate.
We waited, and after a minute, the blinds on the upstairs window moved. Then the buzzer at the gate sounded. I pushed at it and said to Dahlia, “Follow right behind me. If anything happens, take cover and let me handle it.”
As we entered the lot, the dogs circled us, sniffing and wagging. A few nudged at D’s bag, and she twisted away from them as a growl came from within.
“Don’t hold me responsible if this pack eats that horrible hairball,” I said.
“Rodney can defend himself.”
“You’re delusional.” We walked to the door marked ADMINISTRATION, and the security camera swiveled toward us. I looked into the camera and tried to keep my expression neutral to defuse any suspicion.
After a moment, the door opened. A man in a hoodie stood there, his face angled into shadow.
“Hello,” I said, holding out my hand, “I’m Jennifer Walters, your landlord Claude’s attorney.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to pay rent in money not coupons,” he said in a gentle, deliberate voice. “I apologize for that confusion. I’m Adam.”
He took my hand tentatively and shook it, keeping his face ducked down.
“This is my friend Dahlia. May we come in and talk?”
He nodded, his hood throwing his face into more darkness. We went into the room, which only had one low-wattage desk light on.
“Do you mind turning on a light? It’s very dark.”
He hesitated and then said, “I have a facial disfigurement. I didn’t want to frighten you.”
I couldn’t help but think of Victor von Doom and the scary mask that he wore to cover his scarred face. “Thank you for telling us, but there was no need to worry.”
Then Adam switched on the overhead and I saw what he’d been hiding. The top left of his face was a mass of new scar tissue, still viciously red and rough.
“You’re horrified,” he said.
The She-Hulk Diaries Page 24
