Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (10 page)

Harlan showed off the gyroscope that kept it balanced even at a standstill, and the electric generator and motor. It even had a headlight he’d salvaged from a Volkswagen Bug.

“You don’t ride it at night, do you? Don’t you have to stay home and do homework or chores or spend time with your family?”

Harlan shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Well, it’s a very lovely bicycle,” said Gretchen. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

Harlan felt his ears burn. She was talking to him like he was a little kid, not a scientific genius! He’d show her something she couldn’t ignore. “Here, look at this.” He pushed the box into her hands.

“What is it?” Marginal interest flared in her face as she looked at the tin box.

“It’s a surprise.” Harlan gave her a shy smile. “Turn the crank.”

Gretchen shrugged and began to turn it. A cheerful little tune emerged from the box. She jumped when it split open and the carousel unfolded. “Oh!”

“Keep turning it,” urged Harlan. “There’s more.”

Her bemusement turned to joy. The device clacked and whirred as hinges opened and rods moved into place. The tune changed once the carousel had completed unfolding. Gretchen’s eyes shone and she laughed as the carousel rotated with its tiny horses going up and down. The tune finished and the box folded itself back up once more. “You made this?” She sounded incredulous. “It’s wonderful!”

Harlan felt like his heart might explode. He knew, deep down, Gretchen would fall in love with him and they’d get married and live together forever. “You can have it if you want.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t. This is something really special.”

“No, I want you to have it. I can always build another one. A better one, with motors and batteries.” Harlan already had a design in his tireless mind.

Scattered applause sounded on the street as the power came back on. Harlan turned to see the Con Ed man walking back toward the truck and stripping off his gloves, a big grin plastered across his face. Harlan realized Gretchen was about to be taken away from him. He thought hard, desperate for something that he could say to keep her there with him.

Then he had an idea.

#

“Tell you what,” said Tommy to Miranda. “Are you feeling a little like lunch? My treat.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” she protested. “I’ve wasted so much of your time already.”

“You haven’t wasted any of my time,” said Tommy. “Besides, I get to take a lunch break. I’d love if you joined me.”

“Well…” Miranda wavered.

“I know a lovely little cafe in the Village. Outstanding sandwiches and fresh coffee.”

Her last shreds of resistance blew away like so many scraps of paper in one of Tommy’s gales. “All right, I guess that’s okay.”

Tommy flew her back to his neighborhood and landed on the roof of his building. “I’m just going to change. I hate eating in my costume.”

“What, right here?” Miranda blushed.

“No, I live downstairs.”

Her jaw dropped open. “You live here? But you just told me that! You don’t even know me. What if I was a criminal or something?”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t have anything to hide. I don’t wear a mask. My identity is public record. Anyone who wants to can find me. I want to be an accessible hero.”

“I thought you were supposed to worry about protecting your loved ones.”

“Not an issue for me.” Tommy smiled. “I’ll just change. Be right back.”

He scampered down the fire escape and into his apartment, where he replaced his blue and white costume with a gray Mets t-shirt, khaki shorts, and tennis shoes without socks. He called Bobby to say he was dealing with the potential suicide and would be off the air for a little while. Then he pulled his flowing locks back with a rubber band and returned to the roof.

Miranda did a double-take when she saw him. “Oh my God, you look so different without your costume! You look so ordinary.”

“That’s what I’m shooting for,” he said. He led Miranda to the rooftop access to the main stairwell and down to the street below.

Geno’s was only a block away. Tommy frequented the place both for lunch and in the evenings, when it turned from a bohemian-style cafe into a full-blown meat market. Geno, a butch Italian with a chest full of hair and an ass like two hams side by side, waved at Tommy and bade him sit anywhere. Miranda deferred to him to order, so Tommy requested two Monte Cristos and cappuccinos, which Geno produced with a flourish.

“So…” Tommy blew on the steaming coffee. “Who’s this man who drove you to jump off a bridge?”

Miranda looked scandalized for a moment, until she realized that was exactly what had happened, and she folded in on herself, looking glum.

“I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.” He reached out and touched Miranda’s hand on the tabletop. “I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re doing fine. It’s just me being stupid. He’s my boss. I’m his secretary. It’s a really small brokerage. Just the two of us, really, except for an occasional temp. I’ve been there for two years.”

“And somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him?”

“Yes.” She sniffled and stared down at her sandwich. “But we can’t ever be together.”

“Is he married?”

Miranda raised her eyes up to meet Tommy’s. “No. He’s gay. Tommy, I fell in love with a gay man and didn’t know it.”

Tommy didn’t mean to laugh; it just slipped out between bites of his sandwich. It started in his belly like an explosion of fireflies and built into a burst of guffaws that made Miranda’s cheeks turn bright red. Geno came over to see if he was all right but all Tommy could do was wave him away. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasped to Miranda. “Honey, you and I are more alike than you know. You’re in love with a gay man, and I’m in love with a straight man. There, I said it.” Tommy’s laughter abated as quickly as it had begun. “I’ve been lying to myself for so long, it feels good to stop.”

Realization washed over Miranda’s face. “Wait, you’re gay too?”

That set Tommy off in another gale of laughter. “Oh my,” was all he could manage for a couple of minutes.

“I mean, after that feature in Life magazine, I thought you and Sundancer were an item.” Miranda looked like she was ready to sink right into the floor.

“Sundancer is a dear friend of mine,” said Tommy. “But she doesn’t do a thing for me, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet. Or you were abused as a child. Or whatever makes you gay.”

Tommy smiled. “Nothing makes me gay. I just am, like you’re not. I had a wonderful childhood and was very close to my parents before they died. Car crash. I was nineteen and had just joined Just Cause. They were so proud.” He finished his cappuccino and signaled Geno for another. “They didn’t really get that I was gay, but other than that we got on famously.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I still miss them. But here I took you to lunch to talk with you about your problems and I’m talking about mine.”

“No, please do,” said Miranda. “It helps to know I’m not the only one stuck like this. Is it someone on the team? I bet it’s Lionheart.” She sighed. “With all those muscles and that mane. He’s so fab.”

Tommy shook his head. “It’s John Stone.”

Miranda crinkled up her face. “John Stone? But he looks so lumpy. Like a statue or something.”

“Love looks deeper than skin,” said Geno. Tommy hadn’t realized the man was standing behind him. He looked up and Geno smiled at him from behind his stubbly jaw. “Even if that skin is made of stone. I’m so happy for you, Tommy. You’ve been miserable for so long. It warms my heart to see you really smile. Lunch is on me.”

“Wisdom from behind the counter, Geno?”

The hefty Italian man winked at him. “All we restaurateurs are wise beyond our years, Tommy. It’s why I make such good sandwiches.” He shot a pointed glare at Tommy’s untouched plate. “You really ought to eat that before it gets cold. Free or not, I hate to see it go to waste.”

Tommy picked up the Monte Cristo and took a gargantuan bite. Cranberry sauce ran down his chin. Miranda giggled.

“That’s more like it.” Geno danced off toward the counter to a beat only he could hear.

#

“My sister’s in Just Cause,” said Harlan in a voice tinged with desperation.

Gretchen’s mild pleasure at the boy’s crush had lasted several minutes, but it became apparent that he wasn’t going to leave her alone. Everything he did and said seemed intended to entice her further, and it had grown tiresome. His statement about Just Cause brought her attention back upon him in full. “Really?” She searched for any trace of dishonesty or guile in his face.

“Yes,” he said. “Her name is Imp. She can shrink herself and other things.”

“I never heard of Imp,” said Gretchen.

“She just started today,” said Harlan. “Honest!”

“Just Cause is the reason I came to New York,” murmured Gretchen.

“I bet I can get you in to meet them!”

“Meet who?” Shane wiped sweat from his face with a dirty bandana.

“Just Cause,” Gretchen said.

“Well, it’s Wednesday, so they should all be at their headquarters tonight.”

“Why? What happens on Wednesdays?”

“Wednesday Night Poker,” said Shane. “At least, they used to play poker. Now they mostly just have big parties. Crime rates dropped on Wednesdays because they got mad about their games being interrupted.”

“So they’ll all be there tonight?”

“Most likely.”

“How do I get in to see them?”

Shane scratched his jaw. “It’s a pretty exclusive scene from what I hear. Like getting in to Studio 54.”

“I don’t know what that is,” said Gretchen.

“I can get you in,” said Harlan. “I’m sure of it. I just have to call my sister.”

“You’re sure?” Gretchen clasped her hand around his shoulder.

“Yes, definitely.”

“Can we meet you back here after lunch?” Gretchen turned to Shane. “Can we come back here?”

“I guess so. Unless I get a service call,” he said.

“I’ll go call her now!” Harlan leaped onto his bike and sped away, presumably in search of a pay phone.

“That kid has a crush on you,” said Shane.

“I think it’s kind of sweet.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Although he smells.”

Shane laughed and lit a cigarette. “So, you hungry?”

“Starving!” Gretchen’s excitement waned quickly as the reality of her situation set in. “But I’m kind of on a budget since I don’t have work yet.”

“You’re in Harlem. Best soul food in the world right here. Lunch is on me. You’re nice company. That’s worth a plate of chicken and waffles.” He started the truck and pulled it back out onto the street.

“Chicken and waffles?”

“You’ll love it. Trust me.”

Shane drove to what Gretchen thought looked like a seedy part of town and parked the truck outside a small restaurant. The smells emanating from the greasy wooden building made Gretchen’s stomach tie itself in knots. Shane led her inside. She noticed they were the only two white people in the joint, but the hefty woman behind the counter called out, “Hi, Shane, who’s the pretty girl?”

“Myrna, this is my cousin’s friend. She’s visiting the Big Apple and I wanted to be sure she got the best food in town.”

“Why’d you bring her here then?” cracked the short order cook.

“Willy, I ought to take a spoon to your knuckles,” called Myrna. She turned to Gretchen and smiled. “I’m Myrna, honey. The jerk in the back is my husband, Willy. Any friend of Shane’s is a friend of ours. Welcome!”

“I’m Gretchen, and thank you.” She looked around the small restaurant, packed with people. It felt homey, like somewhere in a small town. “It smells wonderful.”

“Two specials, please, Myrna.” Shane found a small, empty table and motioned for Gretchen to join him. The smell of rich, flavorful food had Gretchen’s head spinning in olfactory delirium. She’d never heard of eating waffles and fried chicken together, but she was too famished to give it much thought.

A few minutes later, Myrna set in front of her a plate stacked with three thick waffles loaded with butter and syrup, and two pieces of fried chicken stacked artfully on top. “You want a Coke or root beer, hon?”

“Root beer, please.” Gretchen could barely speak around all the saliva in her mouth.

“Don’t be bashful,” said Shane. “Dig in.”

Gretchen tried to be prim and proper but she was so hungry that she was soon shoveling creamy waffles and crispy chicken in as fast as she could and not choke.

Shane ate at a much slower pace and was only half done by the time Gretchen was sopping up the last of her syrup. “So, you’re looking for Just Cause. Why is that?”

Gretchen wiped her fingers and lips with a paper napkin before answering. “It’s complicated.”

“Are you a parahuman or something?”

Hot blood rushed into Gretchen’s cheeks. The power longed to lunge out and protect her from a perceived threat, but she forced it back into submission again. She bent her head forward to hide her face with her hair, but it was too late.