“So, what now? Do we just start telling people we’re the Hero Squad?” Missy says.
Matt looks to Meg. “Any advice?”
“There’s no need to advertise it,” she says, “but if it comes up? Don’t make a big deal of it one way or the other. Acknowledge it and move on. And I’d strongly recommend calling Edison about this sooner rather than later.”
I’m about to volunteer to make that call when the Lumleys return home with their plus-one. “Hey, full house,” Gordon remarks as he sets down two large suitcases. Someone brought enough clothing for an extended stay.
That someone is Stuart’s grandmother, Sophia Lumley. She’s a tall African-American woman who holds herself with a natural, easy confidence I truly envy and admire. She’s in her sixties but doesn’t look it or act it. I want to age as gracefully as this woman, who enters the house and hits Stuart with a broad, brilliant smile as warm as the summer sun.
“There’s my favorite grandson,” she says, crossing the room to give Stuart a hug.
“Ahem,” Gordon says. “Standing right here, Grandma.”
“My other favorite grandson,” Sophia corrects. She slips Stuart a wink then steps back to take him in. “My goodness. Every time I see you, you’ve gotten bigger.”
“Good eating and clean living,” Stuart says.
Sophia goes to each of us in turn with a hug then notices the unfamiliar face in the room. “This is my girlfriend, Meg,” I say.
“Hello, Mrs. Lumley,” Meg says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you, dear,” Sophia says, shaking Meg’s hand. “Your hair is absolutely stunning.”
“Mom,” Mr. Lumley says, “you can socialize later. We have some important things to discuss with Stuart.”
Sophia sighs and rolls her eyes. “Foster, I spent six hours on an airplane to get here. I think I’m entitled to relax a little while before I start berating the boy on your behalf.”
“I have to go soon anyway,” Stuart says, “My shift starts at two.”
“Your shift?” Mrs. Lumley says.
“With the police? I told you about it.”
“What’s this about?” Sophia asks.
“The team’s helping out the Kingsport PD while they’re short-staffed,” Matt explains. “We’re taking turns riding along with one of the officers in case something comes up and they need a hand.”
“I see.”
“Tell her why the police are short-staffed,” Mrs. Lumley says.
“I guess we’re doing this now,” Sophia says.
“Tell your grandmother exactly why the police are short-staffed, Stuart. Tell her the police are short-staffed because half of them are dead. Tell her they’re dead because they were fighting alien invaders. Tell her how it easily could have been you lying in the morgue along with them!”
Stuart shrugs. “What she said.”
“You see that? He doesn’t even take it seriously!” Mr. Lumley says.
“I do take it seriously, Dad. The problem is you don’t take me seriously.”
Sophia holds up her hands. That’s all it takes for everyone to shut up and calm down. She turns to face Stuart and crosses her arms.
“Why are you doing this, Stuart?” she asks with sincere curiosity. She’s not setting him up for a lecture; she genuinely wants to know.
“Because no one stepped in to help Jeffrey and I don’t want to be the guy who doesn’t step in to help someone who needs it.”
“Even though it puts you in danger?”
“Yeah. Even though.”
She nods. “When do you have to report in? Two, you said?”
“Yeah...”
Sophia glances at her watch. “That gives us an hour to sit and chat. Be a dear and put the kettle on for tea.”
“You cannot be serious,” Mr. Lumley says. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Foster, you asked me to come here and talk to the boy,” Sophia says, her voice hardening. “That’s what I plan to do, but I’m going to do it on my terms and on my schedule. If you try to rush me again, I swear I’ll have Gordon throw my bags back in the car and drive me back to Logan. Understood?”
Mr. Lumley shrinks. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.
She nods, smiles, and says to us, “Who wants to join me for some afternoon tea?”
I love this woman so much.
***
Sophia was a pure delight, as always. We didn’t come close to discussing our Hero Squad activities, but that suited us just fine. We were all perfectly happy to enjoy each other’s company for a while — especially Stuart, who missed his grandmother like crazy. He cried like a baby the day she moved to Florida. Heck, we all did.
She also didn’t make any effort to stop Stuart from his appointment with the police, much to the Lumleys’ dismay. Sophia gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, told him to be careful, and said they’d talk more tomorrow.
After dropping Stuart off at the station, the rest of us drive to Protectorate HQ so I can file my report. By happy coincidence Edison and Bart are there, hunkered down in the conference room, desperately attempting to catch up on a mountain of paperwork from the Nightwind landing.
“Who would have guessed the federal government already had forms to fill out in the event of a close encounter?” Edison says, waving at me a sheaf of paper as thick as a magazine.
“Makes you wonder about Area 51,” Bart says. They push their paperwork away and settle back in their seats. “How are you doing?”
“I hurt,” I say. “I’m asleep on my feet. I’m worried about my secret identity not being a secret anymore.”
“Uh, yeah, on that note? It looks like none of us have secret identities anymore,” Matt says before filling Edison and Bart in on recent developments.
Edison sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry things played out like that.”
“I told them it’s not that bad,” Meg says.
“Guess we’ll find out,” I say. “But like you say, Bart: one problem at a time, and I think we have a bigger immediate problem.”
“Dare I ask?” Edison says.
“The men who hit the bank yesterday.”
Edison snorts. “Had me scared for a minute there. They’re the same idiots the Squad took down earlier this year. Damage something?”
“Damage Inc., and yeah, they’re the same guys, but they’ve seriously upped their game since last time.” We take our seats. “Their weapons didn’t look like something they cobbled together in their garage. These things were slick. Even their outfits looked professional.”
“Interesting, but I don’t see how that’s cause for concern. All that means is they put a little more money and effort into their ridiculous gimmick.”
“They were able to block my telepathy,” I say, and that gets Edison’s attention but good. “I couldn’t so much as sense them. Tell me they can figure out how to do that with a little more money and effort.”
“It’s possible, but that’s not simple tech,” Bart says. “You need to generate a high-density localized electromagnetic field to block a direct telepathic intrusion —”
“Yeah, yeah, science, I get it. My point is, I’ve only encountered two people who’ve been able to block my telepathy. One of them was the King of Pain. The other was the Foreman.”
“Son of a...” Edison growls. “Two connections to the Foreman in the space of a few weeks? That can’t be coincidence.”
“Tentative connections,” Bart says. “Raiding an alien spacecraft for its weaponry at least makes some kind of sense, but equipping third-rate criminals with high-end tech doesn’t. Why would the Foreman do that?”
He’s right; it doesn’t make sense, but Edison isn’t ready to write off the possibility quite yet.
“We need to know for sure,” he says, “and I have an idea who might be able to give us some answers.”
SEVENTEEN
Edison and Bart head off to the Plymouth County Correctional Facility to follow up on Ed
ison’s hunch. Everyone else accompanies me to the Captain’s Quarters Hotel — my new home for the foreseeable future.
They hang back while I check in. The desk clerk doesn’t so much as blink when I ask for a room; my age should be setting off a million alarms. She doesn’t catch on until I present the only picture identification I have on me, my student ID. She squints at me suspiciously, but before she can say anything, I swallow my revulsion and give her a tiny telepathic nudge. She blinks hard and scowls for a moment, like she’s trying to remember something important, then proceeds to check me in. From there the gang follows me up to the second floor, to room —
“Room two thirty-seven?” Matt says, reading the number on the door. “Watch out for the dead woman in the bathtub.”
“The what?”
“See, Natalie would love that reference.”
“Then tell Natalie.”
Matt pulls out his phone to text Natalie. Eyeroll.
The room is small, therefore cheap, but it looks clean and well kept. It has a bed, a TV sitting atop a dresser, a mini fridge, a microwave, and a tiny two-cup coffee maker.
Missy isn’t as enamored with it as I am. “You’re going to live here?” she says. “This is sad in every possible way something can be sad.”
“I’m with Missy,” Meg says. “Edison said you could stay at his place. Go crash with him.”
“Or Bart,” Missy says. “Or Astrid. Or anyone not living in a hotel.”
“I don’t want to impose on anyone,” I say.
“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Meg says. “You have friends. Let them help you.”
“They are helping. You are helping, but what I really need right now is some alone time. I need some peace and quiet so I can think and regroup and figure out what to do next.”
“If you say so,” Matt says, unconvinced. His phone emits a synthesized explosion noise. He glances at it. “Natalie says, ‘Watch out for the dead woman in the bathtub.’”
Glad they get the joke. I sure don’t.
His phone explodes again. “She also wants to know why you’re staying in a hotel.”
Because I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t have a game plan; I’m making this up as I go and praying it turns out all right.
I bet this never happened to Carrie.
***
Concorde circles the waiting room, slowly — the pace of a man deep in thought, of a man weighing his options with the utmost care.
“This is a long shot,” Mindforce says, loath to interrupt his friend’s thought process.
“I know, but I’m trying to stay optimistic,” Concorde says. “Don’t harsh on my mellow.”
Mindforce laughs. “Don’t harsh on your mellow?”
Concorde grunts. “I’ve been spending too much time around the kids. I admit it’s a reach but there’s no harm in playing this angle out. Worst case scenario? The guy knows jack squat and we’re no better or worse off than before. In a best-case scenario, he knows something that’ll lead us to the Foreman and we can avoid talking to Archimedes entirely.”
“Let’s say he doesn’t know anything. We haven’t puzzled out any other options...”
“I know. I’d hoped the brain trust would come up with something viable but nothing panned out.”
“That leaves Archimedes as our only potential source.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
Mindforce spreads his arms. “Well? Would we go talk to him?” Concorde turns away and resumes pacing. “Concorde. Every day we sit on our hands is another day the Foreman, or whoever, gets to play with that alien tech.”
“I am aware of that,” Concorde says. “I also know Archimedes isn’t going to give up that kind of information without an immunity deal. The minute we hit him up for intel on the Foreman, he’ll realize he’s sitting on a Get Out of Jail Free card and he won’t hesitate to use it.”
“I agree, and cutting him loose is a huge risk, but like I said, we don’t have any other options.”
“...We have one.”
“Great. Let’s hear it.”
“You could go into his head.”
“The judge already turned down our request for a search warrant.”
“I didn’t say we’d get a search warrant first.”
Mindforce bristles. “Excuse me?”
“We set up a meeting, you go in, see what he knows, get out. Archimedes would never even —”
“You know how I feel about that.”
“I think we’ve established how strapped for options we are. Yes, we’d be skirting proper process —”
“Skirting proper process? Is that what you call conducting an illegal telepathic deep reading? My God. You were wrong; you haven’t spent enough time around the Squad.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means those kids look up to us. They take their cues on how to conduct themselves from us, and so far we’ve done a good job of leading by example. If we do what you’re suggesting, what sort of message are we sending to them? The ends justify the means? When the rules get in the way, throw out the rulebook?”
“We’re sending the message that sometimes we have to get a little dirty to keep people safe. Whoever has that alien tech, it’s a safe bet they’ve got some nasty plans for it. We need to find them before they become a serious threat, and if bending the rules accomplishes that —”
“Don’t you dare candy-coat it,” Mindforce says, jabbing a finger at his teammate. “Call it what it is. We’re not skirting proper procedure, we’re not bending the rules, we’re breaking the law.”
“Fine. We’re breaking the law. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Concorde draws close and lowers his voice. “And if you’re so worried about sending a bad message to the Squad, then we don’t tell them. It’s that easy.”
“If you honestly think it’s that easy, then we have a much bigger problem than Archimedes.”
A hefty man in a slightly ill-fitting suit enters the foyer. He takes a moment to examine his unusual guests then says, “Gentlemen. I’m Assistant Superintendent Drummond.”
“Mr. Drummond, I’m Concorde, this is my associate, Mindforce.”
“Uh-huh. If you’ll follow me?” Drummond leads them to a small conference room reserved for inmates to meet with their attorneys. “You mind telling me what two big-deal super-guys want with some rinky-dink loser like Van Zandt?”
“He might have some information that could prove useful to an investigation,” Concorde says.
Drummond waits for more. He doesn’t get it. “I’ll have him brought in,” he says.
Van enters several minutes later, a burly corrections officer at his side. The officer deposits Van in his chair and fixes him with a look, a silent warning to behave, then steps outside.
“Johnstone Van Zandt, alias the Riveter,” Mindforce says. “Do you prefer Johnstone, or John, or —?”
“Van’s fine,” Van says.
“All right, Van. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“I already told the cops everything I plan to tell anyone,” Van says, crossing his arms. “I’m not ratting on my friends.”
“That’s very admirable, refusing to sell out the men who left you behind,” Concorde says, “but we’re not interested in them.”
“No?”
“No. We’re interested in your equipment. Care to tell us where you got it?”
“Made it.”
“No you didn’t. You see, I remember your idiotic gang from your first badly botched bank job. I remember you because the Hero Squad, a group of kids, knocked all four of you flat in less than a minute.”
“It took longer than that,” Van protests.
“I also remember you because I got to check out your gear. The Kingsport PD asked me to look it over to ensure there were no radioactive power sources. Your weapons — your old weapons were definitely homemade. They were crude, amateurish, and cheap.” Concorde looms over Van. “Your snazzy new helmet, however? The
one with the heads-up display, communications suite, and the highly specialized insulation to block out telepaths? That’s expensive tech. You sure as hell didn’t make that on your kitchen table.”
“You don’t know that. I got skills.”
“From what we read in your file, your skills are limited to committing crimes poorly, getting caught quickly, and getting bailed out by your wealthy mother,” Mindforce says.
“Except that isn’t going to happen this time, is it?” Concorde says. “You’re facing your second charge of armed assault on a police officer — a crime you committed with an unregistered firearm while out on high bail for your previous charge.”
“In short, you’re stuck here until your trial,” Mindforce says. “After that, you’ll get to go to a nice state prison for two or three decades. Minimum.”
Van’s lips curl into a smirk. “Let’s say for sake of argument — you know, speaking hypothermically...”
“Hypothetically,” Concorde corrects.
“Hypothetically, let’s say I did know something. Not saying I do, but if I did, I’ll share it with you if you get all the charges against me dropped. Gone. Bye-bye.”
“You’re a funny guy, Van. What makes you think you have anything worth that much to us?”
“Because I doubt a super-famous super-hero like you would waste his time with a guy like me unless I had something you wanted in a real bad way.”
“If you provide us with information that proves useful, we’ll let the district attorney know you cooperated with our investigation,” Mindforce says. “I’m sure he’ll ease up on you.”
“Not good enough. I want every charge against me dropped. Otherwise? I’ll go enjoy my three hots and a cot on the taxpayers’ dime.” Van leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “What’s it going to be?”
He isn’t as dumb as he looks, Mindforce thinks to Concorde. He clearly has information but he’s withheld enough detail to raise doubt in any judge we approach for a search warrant.
I’m not ready to mark this guy down as a genius quite yet, Concorde replies. “I know a con job when I hear one,” he says to Van. “You don’t know a bloody thing. You’re just hoping to weasel a deal out of us — or you’re stringing us along for laughs. Either way, we’re not biting unless you give us something to prove you’re not playing us.”
Action Figures - Issue Six: Power Play Page 14
