by C. C. Ekeke
“Kinda busy. But hit me,” the hacker said.
“In the next half hour,” Hugo announced, “hack into any personal computer belonging to Darren Proctor of Paso Robles High, then erase any mention of me.”
“On it,” Clint stated.
Hugo then called Simon back. “Hey! Mister Quiet’s lair had a jammer.”
The Korean boy’s relief was tangible. “What happened?”
“Everyone’s safe. Mister Quiet’s been stopped.” Hugo glanced around his vacant surroundings. The cars racing across the overpass rumbled through his bones. “It was Mr. Proctor.”
“WHOA! Where is he now?”
Hugo closed his eyes, beginning to regret his decision. “Which part?”
“Huh?” Simon sounded lost.
Guilt roiled in the pit of Hugo’s stomach. Mr. Proctor had been a husband, a father, a son. Paul Moreno had been someone’s son too. That squelched enough guilt. Would Simon look at him the same way after learning the truth? Hugo opened his eyes. “I’ll come over and explain. See ya soon.”
Hugo zoomed home in a whoosh, with ample guilt chasing at his heels.
Chapter 39
Quinn approached her search for Annie like a news story.
Following up on leads, aka Annie’s favorite hangouts.
Speaking with sources, aka mutual friends.
Quinn struck gold with Laura Porter, a mutual friend who worked at Annie’s PR agency.
“So glad you called,” Laura shouted over a loud crowd. “We’re at the Archipelago bar. And Annie’s in rough shape. She’s been crashing here the last two days while Johnny’s out of town.”
Quinn cringed at Annie’s lie but wouldn’t embarrass her friend further. “I’m coming. Just keep it a surprise.” She spoke the location into her car’s GPS.
In under fifteen minutes, Quinn reached the Archipelago and checked a new text.
HeroBoy: I stopped Mister Quiet! Thanks for your help, Q!
ME: Nice! I knew you could do it!
Hugo’s victory filled Quinn’s heart with much-needed joy. She’d talk to him tomorrow. Archipelago Hotel was a mix of five-star elegance and Central Coast rustic. Quinn spotted Laura across the bar in a corner booth. No sign of Annie, worryingly. The mahogany-skinned woman was slender with long braids, wearing an off-the-shoulder green minidress.
Laura waved her over with palpable relief. “Thank. God!” She gave Quinn a hug, then motioned worriedly into the booth.
Quinn’s heart stuttered in alarm. “How bad?”
“Bad.” Laura emphasized bluntly. “She was pounding back beers and talking crazy about never marrying and skipping town to become a travelling singer. It freaked me out.”
“You’re a good friend, Laura,” Quinn stated. She found Annie Machado lying curled up in the booth seats, hand covering her face, rip-roaring drunk. This sight left Quinn both thankful to see her friend and saddened by her condition. “Giaconda?” Quinn announced over the noise. “It’s Quinn.”
Annie stiffened, curling up more. “Mmmmgoway,” she slurred feebly. “Mmmmfine.”
Quinn had to smile. “I can see that, sweetie.”
“Mmmmmfuckoff,” Annie grumbled.
Quinn was debating with Laura how to get Annie up, glancing at the bar entrance. She stopped, looked again, and recoiled in surprise.
Therese Levesque stood at the entrance, seemingly out of nowhere. She watched Quinn like a lioness eyeing its prey, wearing tight grey jeans, a red V-neck, and a jean jacket. Her wavy brunette bob was tucked behind both ears.
Quinn swiftly contained any shock, while her stomach kept flip-flopping. She offered Laura a taut smile. “Gimme a minute?”
Quinn marched toward Therese, no longer smiling. “What are you doing here?” she demanded while passing the vigilante.
Therese pivoted smoothly and followed Quinn out of the bar. “We need to talk,” she answered with a subtle Quebecois accent. “About Missy Magnificent.”
Once in the hotel lobby, Quinn whirled in sudden irritation. “Here to scare me off another assignment?” she demanded, nose to nose with the vigilante. “Not happening.” The tension between them crackled and tightened, making her instinctively step back.
Therese cocked her head sideways in tempting fashion. “I have info from Clint and our police contacts.”
Quinn gulped. “You should've called,” she chided. And yet knowing that Therese had stalked her gave the reporter such an intoxicating high.
The vigilante glanced over her shoulder into the bar. “Given your errand, I figured speaking in person was more effective.”
Quinn followed her gaze and cringed.
Laura tried pulling Annie up to a seated posture and got aggressively shoved off. Annie slumped back onto her side.
Quinn looked back at Therese, an idea forming. “Help get Annie to my car first.”
She approached an exasperated Laura with Therese. “My pal Terry’s here to help. She’s real French,” Quinn mocked. “Not Canadian-French.”
Therese glared daggers at her before gracing Annie more positively. “Bonjour, Annie,” she greeted in a flawless French accent.
The three women sat Annie up. Quinn tried not to fret seeing her friend barely conscious, head lolling forward. Getting her out of the bar was Quinn’s next challenge. “We lift her on one, two, thre—”
Therese crouched, pulled Annie across her shoulders, and hoisted her up like a sack of laundry.
Quinn gaped in awe, especially since Annie was a big girl. Then again, someone in Therese’s profession had to be insanely fit.
Laura’s eyes went saucer-wide. “Wow.”
“Terry does CrossFit,” Quinn lied, flexing an arm, “and Pilates.”
Annie protested feebly atop Therese’s shoulders. The archer nodded at the exit. “Let's go!”
After thanking Laura, Quinn and Therese departed for the reporter’s car. The vigilante carried Annie on her shoulders all the way to the hotel parking lot, ignoring hotel patrons’ stares. Quinn couldn’t stop marveling at Therese’s strength in that lithe, trim frame.
Once she strapped Annie into the car, Therese hopped on her motorcycle parked nearby.
“I’ll take care of you, sweetie,” Quinn assured. Once Annie dried out, a heart-to-heart was long overdue. “We’re going to my place.”
Annie sagged in the front passenger seat, eyelids fluttering. “Mmmfuckoff.”
Once they reached Quinn’s condo, Therese carried Annie inside. She was slurring in incoherent Spanglish. After Quinn held Annie’s long hair while she threw up in the toilet, the reporter cleaned her friend up and tucked her into the guest bed.
Closing the guestroom, Quinn focused on Therese waiting in the living room. “Okay. Hit me.”
“Clint’s Ultimax search found countless shell companies,” Therese said. “And the name Zachary Teller.”
“Zachary Teller?” Quinn pressed harsher than intended. The long day had frayed her patience.
“Someone who doesn’t exist.” Therese’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Until someone visited the downtown San Miguel police station to bail out Nightfang.” The archer pulled out her cell, revealing grainy images of a brawny, hostile-looking Asian man in a sports coat. “Clint ran facial recognition to identify Ivan Oshiro.” Therese pursed her lips. “Employed by Zachary Teller’s shell company owning Super Solutions. Oshiro’s been bailing out Missy’s opponents within hours of their arrests.”
That grabbed Quinn’s attention. She plopped down in her lounge chair. “What about the actors?”
Therese remained standing. “All had their online footprints scrubbed from public record.”
More dead ends. “Fudge,” Quinn griped.
Therese waved off her discontentment. “Back to Oshiro. He also works for Laura Tarsitano, board member of a new firm called Solstice Equity. That funds the shell company behind Ultimax.”
Quinn massaged her brow. “Okay?” These shell companies within shell companies made her
brain hurt. Clearly, Missy and her husband were pawns in a larger game. “Why’s that bad?”
“Tarsitano works for Paxton-Brandt.”
“I’ve heard of Paxton-Brandt,” Quinn replied. Evil Incorporated, many joked. “Has fingers in lots of pies. Pharmaceuticals, genetics…” Her breath caught. “…and superhero disaster insurance.”
Therese nodded in satisfaction. “Paxton-Brandt has been quietly purchasing Junction properties last year through another shell company. Acme Properties. And with the low property values, no one cared.”
Quinn’s brain sagged from the growing complexity. “I’m guessing that included stores damaged during Missy Magnificent’s fake battles?”
“Bingo.” Therese sat down next to Quinn with catlike elegance. “Ultimax premiums skyrocketed to where business owners can’t afford them. Acme offers to buy their debt and damaged storefronts for dirt cheap.”
“What about the stores sponsoring Missy’s profile? Or why she’s being positioned as the Junction’s patron hero.” Quinn sucked on her teeth, annoyed at these lingering questions. Sometimes she wished these superhero profiles unfolded without incident. Then again, Quinn knew she wouldn’t be half as engaged.
Therese studied her thoughtfully. “Geist and I have cased the Junction on our patrols the last three nights,” she added. “Construction trucks were driving to and from buildings purchased by Acme well after midnight. We tried to get closer, but security was too thick, even for us.”
That surprised Quinn. Why all the secrety secrets for real estate redevelopment? “Isn’t Paxton-Brandt trying to rebuild the Junction?”
Under the lights of Quinn’s living room, Therese’s face darkened. “Or destroy.”
Quinn’s blood curdled. “But the residents haven’t moved out…No.” She refused to believe Paxton-Brandt was that evil.
Therese fiddled with her phone again. “Our thoughts initially, until we saw Tarsitano meeting someone near Paxton-Brandt’s Morro Bay offices.” She leaned forward, showing Quinn her cellphone.
The image revealed an older woman who had to be Laura Tarsitano. She spoke with a man of average height in an impeccable charcoal-grey suit. With short dark hair slicked back, he might have been handsome and debonair. Except his facial expression resembled a stone-cold killer’s. Quinn shivered and looked at Therese. “Nice suit. Who’s that?”
“Damián Hazard,” Therese said with an undercurrent of warning. “Superhuman and prominent figure in Central Coast's underworld. He’s clashed many times with Geist long before I joined his war on crime.”
Quinn’s skin prickled. She was sensing the severity of this growing conspiracy. “How worried are we about Hazard’s involvement?”
In the short time Quinn had known Therese, she’d never seen her appear afraid. Until tonight. “The Junction is about to become a bloodbath.”
Chapter 40
Sleep came in fitful spurts for Quinn after Therese left, having no connection to her night terrors. Those didn’t happen whenever a guest or warm body was staying over. Her mind was consumed with Damián Hazard’s scheme for the Junction and Missy’s role. Her heart ached over Annie, who was out cold in the guestroom. After waking up at four in the morning, Quinn gave up on sleep, took a long shower, and parked herself in front of her laptop.
From there, she organized sections for the Missy Magnificent expose and this Junction conspiracy.
She mulled over Therese’s words. Damián Hazard was bad news. Drug running, money laundering, extortion, smuggling, murder. He had all the criminal checkboxes marked. Why would Damián Hazard want to level the Junction? Unless he wanted to rebuild something better in its place? Which meant any redevelopment plans for the Junction would include his brand of villainy.
Paxton-Brandt’s role made sense: provide funding and legit sheen. But how did Montgomery Major figure into this?
Quinn eyed her laptop clock. Half past six in the morning.
“Wow.” She rubbed her eyes and noticed her grumbling stomach.
While Quinn was cooking scrambled eggs and sausages, the guestroom door creaked open. She stiffened. Annie shuffled into the kitchen, puffy-eyed and wild-haired, definitely hungover. The blue hoodie she wore had Syracuse University across the chest in orange letters, loose and oversized on her tall frame. The hoodie belonged to Colin, an awkward sight for Quinn.
She pushed down her anxieties and smiled. “Hi, sweetie. I made breakfast.”
Annie squinted at the bright kitchen lights and scratched the back of her head. “Water,” she grunted. Quinn grabbed a cup and filled it from her refrigerator’s filtered water. Annie downed the cup in greedy gulps. After that, the two friends sat in the living room eating in silence. Well, Quinn ate. Annie took half a dozen bites before pushing the food around her plate with her fork. The strain between them felt so thick with unresolved issues. Quinn hated it with every cell in her body.
“How’d I get here?” Annie spoke after some time, her voice low and hoarse.
“Laura told me where you were hiding,” Quinn explained, failing to keep the disappointment from her words. She stacked her utensils on her plate and reached for Annie’s.
Her friend waved away the offer. “How bad?” Her frown deepened.
Quinn cringed, recalling Annie’s reaction when her drinking had been critiqued. But after last night, there was no way to sugarcoat this problem. “We had to carry you out.”
Annie leaned forward, face covered in her hands. “God, I’m so embarrassed.” She let her hands drop, turning to Quinn with a brittle yet appreciative smile. “Thanks for finding me.”
Quinn didn’t smile back. “Johnny told me about the breakup.”
Annie narrowed her eyes warily. “You two are friends again?” she inquired rigidly.
“I guess,” Quinn replied, shrugging. “That’s not what's important right now.” Taking Annie’s hands in her own, Quinn met her gaze without flinching. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest as she spoke. “Giaconda, you have a problem. And it’s gotten out of control.”
Annie straightened, looking ready to shut Quinn out like at Mistura months ago. Then, her shoulders sagged. “I know,” Annie admitted, eyes glistening.
What followed was a long, frank dialogue about Annie’s burdens and issues, especially after Mistura. The best friends went deep, shedding tears, occasionally raising their voices. Quinn listened when Annie poured her heart out over work and family obligations or worries over Quinn's recklessness. Hence Annie's drinking to numb the stress. The latter revelation was a gut-punch to Quinn, who then detailed the worries that she and Johnny shared. Annie agreed most of the time, except about her moneygrubbing family.
“Paying your parents’ debt is one thing,” Quinn stated, giving her friend’s hand an extra squeeze. “But your siblings?” Her anger boiled at anyone taking advantage of Annie. “Time to cut them off. Sorry not sorry.”
Annie was conflicted, slumping onto the couch and running fingers through her messy locks. “They’re family.” Her rebuttal sounded wavering and weak. “I can’t just abandon them.”
Quinn shook her head at the miscommunication. “I’m not saying disown them. But they need to be adults and live within their means with their own money.” It was unfair that Annie doing well meant she had to shoulder her entire family’s financial weight. Quinn drummed her chin, thinking of a more diplomatic way for Annie to cut off these leeching relatives. “Your money shouldn’t be theirs just because you’re related.”
Understanding filled Annie’s lovely face. Her shoulders hunched a little less. “Johnny says that.”
“Johnny’s right,” Quinn threw back, arms spread.
“He’s been so patient,” Annie admitted, haunted and pale. “I didn’t want to break up. But life has been…suffocating.” She clutched her head as if to tear her hair out. “When he started lecturing me over the Irish coffee, I just snapped!”
“Everything’s a lot right now,” Quinn sighed, parroting Helena from l
ast night.
Fresh tears sparkling in Annie's eyes. “I’m so in love with him, Quinnie,” she confessed huskily. “How could he take me back after I was such an asshole?”
“What do you see when you look at him?” Quinn probed.
Annie wiped her tears and stared off at some horizon only she could glimpse. “A house filled with laughter. A shared passionate life. A family.” Annie smiled peacefully. “I see my forever.”
As Quinn suspected. She smacked Annie on the forehead, startling her. “Then swallow your pride and get your man, Giaconda!” Another important note bubbled up. “And please, please see someone about your drinking.”
Annie sniffled. “I will.” Her eyes widened in awareness. “I need to grab my shit from Archipelago and get to work.”
Quinn glanced at her watch. Ten minutes past seven. “Right!”
The two friends stood and embraced for several minutes. Delicious warmth seeped through Quinn’s skin.
“Thanks, Quinnie,” Annie murmured. “For being here.”
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” Quinn held Annie tighter. “Won’t happen again.”
A sharp knock jolted them apart. The pair eyed the door. “Early morning booty call?” Annie asked.
Quinn scowled at her. “Stay here.” She reached under her couch, producing a midnight-black shock baton. Housewarming gift from Geist.
Annie’s jaw dropped. “Is that a—?”
“Yes,” Quinn replied curtly and scurried to the door. “Who is it?”
“Bauer? It’s Kurt,” a military-like voice announced. “Kaylie’s Kurt.”
Quinn looked into the peephole for confirmation and staggered back several steps. “What the…”
Sentinel. At her apartment. After a long moment, Quinn realized the reason this legend was at her door. She tossed her shock baton to a confused Annie and mouthed who it was.
Annie turned bone-white. “I’m barely dressed!” she whisper-yelled.
“Whose fault is that?” Quinn hissed back, turning to the door. “Hold on!” After undoing three locks, she opened her door.
