2 Brooklyn James (6 page)

Detective Tony Gronkowski stands face to face with Gina…Vigilare. His heartbeat hastens, pummeling his blood through his veins. His breathing mirrors hers, fierce and consumptive. “Awe, hell. Not this again,” he mutters at his physiological reaction. Vigilare’s gaze commands his. He growls with the affliction, his eyes responding, discharging the same emerald green hue. Their prismatic glares zap and twist one against the other, replicating bolts of lightening. The enzymatic force causes every window in the room to pop, the glass crystallizing to its most basic form. On guard, their eyes dart simultaneously to the sound of the windows, bypassing a large mortar pillar in the center of the room. The concrete explodes, projecting outward before collapsing into splintered fragments on the floor. Detective Gronkowski lunges, swaddling himself around Vigilare, shielding her from the shrapnel.

Aubrey and Lancelot take in the sights from a safe distance, mouths gaping, still huddled on the floor. Vigilare attempts to combat Gronkowski’s hold on her, but her body has seemingly been rendered tame. Lancelot clamors to his feet, the interwoven metal links of his medieval costume causing a racket.

“No!” Aubrey shouts. Her instinct kicking in, she sweeps his leg just in time as the wall behind him shatters from the looks innocently directed upon it by Gronkowski and Vigilare. Lancelot falls to the floor, safe beside Aubrey as she readies herself, sitting up in front of him.

“Get down,” he whispers, tugging on her shoulders.

She bats him away, channeling her own inner Vigilare. “Here goes nothing,” she sighs. Prepped and ready, she calls to Detective Gronkowski and Vigilare, “Woo-hoo.” At first register of her voice, their eyes dart in her direction, casting a double-powered emerald glow.

“Ugh,” Aubrey groans, the strength of their projections meeting hers, so overwhelming it catapults her backwards into Lancelot. He braces against her, supporting in the only way he can, marveling at the entire scenario.
Come on, Gina,
Aubrey pleads with her mind, her eyes quickly fatiguing against their brilliance.

Lancelot watches, rooting for Aubrey as the rays of light shift back and forth, first in Aubrey’s favor, then to Gronkowski and Vigilare. The beams dance, animated with forceful snaps and pops. Aubrey lets loose a guttural wail with one more concentrated effort, her stare accumulating power until she pushes through Gronkowski and Vigilare’s gaze, zapping them out. She falls back against Lancelot, the glow annihilated. The release sends Gina and Tony to the floor, their hands camouflaging their eyes.

“What the hell was that?” Lancelot questions in disbelief, as he offers Aubrey his hand.

She swats him away, gathering her legs beneath her as she dusts herself off. “Imposter,” she challenges.

“So, I’m not a knight,” he admits. “I never said I was. It was a costume party.”

“I see you’ve lost your French accent, too,” she further scolds.

“Never said I was French, either.” He attempts to help her straighten her wig, the severe V of her bangs askew over her temple with the current events.

“You sure didn’t offer up that you were a cop. Are we good?” she diverts to the presentation of her wig. He shrugs his shoulders, nodding with one final touch. “Thank you,” she acknowledges, turning in Tony and Gina’s direction. “I have rules…standards. I don’t date cops.”

“Oh, and you think I want to date the Incredible Hulk? What was that? That eye thing?” his tone curious as he follows behind her. “And, what do you have against cops?”

“Now you’re reduced to insults,” Aubrey huffs. “Vigilare trumps Hulk any day of the week.” Approaching Gina and Tony, she adds remorsefully, “And, considering what you just saw…would you date a cop if you were me?”

Tony turns to Gina, his hands reaching for her shoulders. She deflects him, her breathing still labored, her eyes searching, coming to rest on his neck. He holds his hands up, a sign of retreat. She traces his neck with her fingers. “It’s gone.” She shakes her head, pressing her eyes together. “The man downstairs. Lon,” she gasps, her body shuddering. “The spider web tattoo. His eyes.” She opens hers further, wide and alarmed. “They were just like mine…only red. They burned…so hot.” She looks around the room at the wreckage. “What the hell is going on?” Her attention settles on her hand resting on Tony’s warm flesh. Her confusion turns to recognition, a slight smile forming on her lips. “Gronkowski?” she expels lunging forward, wrapping her arms around him, holding on for all she’s worth.

“I gotcha,” he says, snugly embracing her.

“I don’t know,” he repeats, frustrated.

A string of cop cars flood down the street toward the Wyndham hotel, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing. Tony picks up his pace.

“There goes the cavalry, Sarge,” Marks points out the obvious, his head craning, tracking the patrol vehicles. “You think they’re headed for the Wyndham?”

“That’s why I keep you around, Marks,” Tony jests. “The kid’s got impeccable insights,” he sputters sarcastically to Gina, grabbing her hand, leading her down an alleyway, a shortcut. Marks follows faithfully, maintaining Aubrey in his arms, the iron links in his costume clamoring.

Tony shakes his head at the ruckus. “What part of
inconspicuous wardrobe
did you not understand in the department memo about the masquerade ball?”

“Hey, at least I don’t look like a cop,” Marks notes Tony’s full detective dress.

“Probably wouldn’t do me any good to point out the fact that
I’m
not the one who signed up for an undercover assignment, would it?” Tony mumbles to Gina, who only hears half of what he’s saying, her mind still reeling.

“What are you even doing here, in New Orleans?” she questions.

“I could ask you the same,” he rebukes, nimbly leading her through a courtyard and into the foyer of his apartment complex.

“Detective,” the night guard addresses him awkwardly, taking in the flavor of his varied company—two lady vampires and a knight, who’s carrying one of the vampirettes.

Tony flips his hand in the air, an agitated wave, bowing his head as he walks past the guard, leading his carnival crew onto the elevator. “‘Elevator Capacity Two Tons,’” he reads from the sign above the floor buttons, grinning cantankerously. “Marks, you might wanna take the stairs.”

Marks files in, his iron links and metal chest plate continuing to clink and clank. His chest rising and falling with exaggerated momentum, a combination of carrying his armor, and Aubrey. “Just push the button,” he pants.

Tony rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes, mashing his finger against the number seven button, holding back a smirk as he eyes Marks, still holding Aubrey.
Don’t say it,
he coaches to himself, biting down on his lip.
No need to be an ass, Gronkowski. Ah, why the hell not?
he reasons as the words come rolling effortlessly off his tongue, “Think she’ll make it, Champ. My flat’s right off the elevator.”

“Oh,” Aubrey chirps with the realization there is no further need for her to rest so comfortably in Marks’ secure, brawny grip. She wriggles down from his arms, her feet settling once again into the stifling six-inch stilettos. “Thank you.” She exchanges an enamored glance with Marks before settling her eyes directly in front of her onto the shiny silver surface of the elevator door.

“Why do you always have to be an ass?” Marks whispers through clamped teeth to Tony.

“It comes so natural to him,” Gina chimes. “The same as you and I moving air, Marks.”

Marks grins, happy to have an ally. “It’s good to see you, DeLuca. Just like old times.”
Ding!
The elevator interrupts the moment.

Tony fumbles with his key as they file out of the big metal box. Opening the door to his apartment, he gets a whiff of an unfamiliar perfume occupying his space. “What the…” he begins, flipping on the light.

On his couch, sits Dr. Patricia Ryan and William Truly. In the recliner, smiles the round beaming face of Dr. Godfrey. And at the kitchen table, a disgruntled Emily Truly raps her fingers repetitively on the table, her militant boot-covered feet propped on its wood surface.

“You got the judge locked up in the closet, Sarge?” Marks inquires at Tony’s house guests, all familiar faces from the courtroom over a year ago.

“Oh, thank God!” Aubrey pushes past Tony and Marks, happy to see her surrogate family. She sits comfortably on the armrest of Dr. Godfrey’s recliner. He pats her arm affectionately.

Emily eyeballs Aubrey and Gina, a wry smirk forming as she shakes her head in full contempt of their hideous get-ups. Gina ignores her and her inquisitive counterparts, trekking down the hallway in search of a change of clothing.

“Who wants to start?” Tony seeks an explanation. He eyes Dr. Godfrey, the one individual in the room with whom he has the most experience.

“Thought it might make your job a little easier, Detective, seeing how you’ve been nosing around,” Dr. Ryan pokes, referring to his requested transfer to New Orleans to investigate her and everyone else in her association. “We’re all here in the same room. Fire away.”

Emily scans him suspiciously, something kindred about his aura.

“I take it you’re here for Gina,” Tony says, his detective persona in control. “Might explain why I waited at the state penitentiary outside Vanguard for a transport that never arrived. You intercepted her there, as well.” He makes his way to the kitchen, inspecting Emily’s boots thrust upon his table. He pours himself a stiff glass of whiskey. Preparing another, he extends an inviting nod to Marks who stands apprehensively at the door. “Take the edge off,” he says.

Marks obliges, reluctantly taking a seat next to Emily. She shoots him a dubious glance, causing him to shift his chair further from her. He grabs up the tumbler, shooting its contents with one gulp.

Tiring of Emily’s entitled attitude, Tony swipes her feet down from his table. “I wouldn’t come to your place and leave the seat up. Don’t come to mine slinging your boots where I eat.” He returns her glare until she retreats, her expression settling into a provocative grin.

With the sound of the shower coming from down the hall, he’s assured Gina has successfully found the bathroom. He props himself against the kitchen counter, returning his attention to Dr. Ryan. “Pretty impressive, really, the wreckage…at the bottom of the ravine. Checks out by all accounts. Randall Barnes breaks loose, the driver loses his concentration, the bus veers down over the side of the bank, the guards drown in the ravine, Randall Barnes and the driver shoot it out, both ending up dead. Gina DeLuca nowhere to be found. Disappeared off the face of the earth.” Tony grins, sipping his whiskey. “You forgot about the tire tracks at the top of the ravine, though. A black Sedan.” He taps his chin with his index finger. “I wonder who was driving that?” He takes another drink. “And, anybody who knew Randall Barnes can be confident in the fact that he had neither the testicular fortitude nor the wherewithal to break free of iron shackles.”

“You think you know it all, huh?” Emily chimes, her arms folded defiantly over her chest. “What if I told you I know something you don’t know, not even about yourself.”

“What’s done is done,” Dr. Ryan intercedes. “I thought you’d be happy, Detective. Gina is free. Does it really matter how she got there?”

“Free?” he quips. “Yeah, free to do exactly what you want her to do.”

Emily maintains her target on Tony purposely while channeling her own telekinesis. Wiggling her fingers, she eyes Tony’s mirroring hers about his glass. She breathes deeply, filling her lungs to capacity. Tony uncomfortably gasps as his lungs suddenly require more air, causing him to cough with the force. He loosens the button at his collar, beginning to feel claustrophobic. Dr. Godfrey watches from the recliner, his awareness growing with each subtle gesture Emily exhibits, to which Tony responds.

“Yes…Detective, there are many regulations in place regarding Gina. But I assure you, those are for her safety,” Dr. Ryan clarifies. “We are not the enemy.”

Emily continues, commanding her heartbeat to race. Tony clears his throat, grabbing his chest at the first thunderous
lub dub
that jolts his system.

“You alright, Sarge?” Marks questions.

Tony sucks in air, expelling it forcefully, his eyes wincing at the corners. “Must be that pizza I had for lunch. Giving me awful heartburn.”

“Maybe you’d like to accompany us to our compound,” William Truly offers. “See for yourself.”

“What?” Emily pounds her fist on the kitchen table, infuriated by such a notion.

Pop!
The whiskey glass in Tony’s hand shatters under its force, his body telekinetically continuing to model Emily’s. “Ouch!” he spews, pulling his hand back as the glass shards scatter about the floor.

“Shit. Sorry,” Emily confesses, jumping up from her chair in search of a dishtowel, well aware of what’s to follow gauging from the blood trickling down Tony’s hand onto his arm.

“Amazing,” Dr. Godfrey expels, a smile forming on his lips. He pushes up out of his chair, his stooped form shuffling to the kitchen.

“Uh-oh,” Aubrey whispers to herself at the sight of the red, viscous substance, having seen firsthand Tony’s clairvoyant abilities when in the company of Gina. She diverts her glance from William Truly and Dr. Ryan who beckon her explanation, looking to and from one another, completely puzzled.

Marks quickly tends to the broken glass at Tony’s feet, sweeping it with the bottom of his boot to a distant corner of the kitchen. He eyes Tony suspiciously, who stands momentarily debilitated, the outside ring of his iris beginning to glow emerald green. “Aw, no, Sarge,” Marks pleads. “Not this again.” He braces himself against the wall behind him.

Aubrey stands, preparing her defenses in case she needs to counter Tony’s evolution. Dr. Godfrey maintains a safe distance, his mouth agape, marveling at this new incarnation.