Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (22 page)

He overheard another sound of flesh on flesh outside the door, but instead of the noises of lovemaking, this was the timbre of fists beating in anger. He was tempted to stay hidden in the bathroom, but Tommy couldn’t help but remember his tirade from earlier in the day.

“You’re a goddamn superhero,” he said aloud to his reflection in the spotty mirror. “It’s about fucking time you acted like one.” He straightened up, took a deep breath, and kicked open the bathroom door.

Four burly men stinking of beer had the curly-haired boy up against the wall. Two held him while a third, wearing a
Skoal
t-shirt, pounded him in the gut. The fourth exhorted them on from under a trucker hat, shouting words like
homo
and
faggot
. A few onlookers stood nearby watching, but like those who’d observed the murder of Kitty Genovese, weren’t willing to get involved.

Tommy’s ire rose with the speed of a tornado. Blasts of wind down the corridor sent dust and trash whirling. “What is this?” he growled, breezes spiraling around him like flowing armor.

The bullies let go of the boy, who sank to the floor blubbering and bleeding from a broken nose. Trucker Hat, the one with the big mouth, wasn’t fazed at all.

“What’re you, the faggot’s boyfriend?” Trucker Hat challenged. “You fuckin’ homos come in here like you own the place, pullin’ each others’ dicks in the restroom, while decent folks are just here to watch the game.”

“Then go watch the game,” said Tommy.

“You fuckin’ sissy boy,” yelled Trucker Hat. “You and your boyfriend oughtta be locked up! It ain’t right what you’re doin’. It’s against Jesus.”

“I’m sure he’d approve of you four bull dykes ganging up on one helpless boy,” said Tommy, loud enough to be heard above the crowd noise. “Maybe later you can have a nice circle jerk to celebrate.”

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it, homo,” Trucker Hat said. “Come on, guys.” He took a deep breath as if in preparation to exhort them to do their worst, but no words issued forth. A look of confusion crossed his face, which melded into one of terror. The man clawed at his throat and his face, making only the slightest gasping noise.

The man’s companions gaped at him in surprise. “Joey?” asked one who was missing a front tooth. “You okay?”

Tommy concentrated, using his power to keep the air in Trucker Hat’s lungs despite the man’s repeated attempts to exhale. He wasn’t going to kill him, but he was going to teach the loudmouthed bigot a lesson.

A hard blow crashed into the side of Tommy’s head. He lost his grip on the air in Trucker Hat and the man collapsed, gasping for breath. Stars danced before Tommy’s eyes and he staggered. “Take that, you faggot!”

“Hit him again, Rick!” cried Skoal T-Shirt.

“Gonna fuck you up,” said the man with the huge beer gut, and prepared to punch Tommy again.

Tommy had been training with the best in the world for years. These amateur thugs had nothing to bring against him. He shook off the effects of the blow and offered a specialty blow of his own.

A concentrated blast of air struck Beer Gut in his prominent belly, lifting the man up and away to skid down the concourse, shedding bits of clothing and skin. Tommy whirled and hit Skoal T-Shirt the same way, flinging him into a cement pillar. The man groaned and sank into a pile.

“That’s him, that’s Tornado!” called one of the onlookers. “Get them, Tornado!” Several of the others started to cheer.

Gap Tooth took a hesitant step toward Tommy. Tommy called up winds to swirl around the man, buffeting him this way and that, spinning him around until his eyes crossed and he fell. Vomit leaked from the corner of his mouth.

Tommy gestured at Trucker Hat, the loudmouth of the bunch, with a distinct come-hither motion. The man’s nerve failed and he fled. “You better run,” Tommy called after him. “Because this faggot is about to beat your ass some more.”

The onlookers applauded and hooted their approval, but then the stands exploded in cheers when somebody hit a deep ball and most of the people milling around hurried back out to see what was going on.

Satisfied he wouldn’t have any more trouble from the men, Tommy turned his attention to the injured boy. “You’re him,” mumbled the boy through swollen lips. “Tornado. I didn’t recognize you before.”

“Hush,” said Tommy.

“I’d have done you for free,” said the boy. “If you want your fifty back, you can have it.”

“None of that nonsense, now.” Tommy helped the boy to his feet. “Look at you. Those assholes really did a number on you. A real crime for a face like yours.”

“I’m not anything special. Just another whore.”

Tommy put a finger to the boy’s lips. “Tonight you were mine, and that made you special to me. Are you going to be okay?”

The boy nodded. “I been beat up before by professionals. Those guys were amateurs.”

Tommy laughed. “That they were. What’s your name?”

“Moondoggie.”

“What?”

“Marvin.” The boy blushed. “But everyone calls me Moondoggie.”

Tommy squeezed his hand. “Look me up sometime.” He walked away from beautiful Moondoggie and returned to his seat. He found it much easier to face John and Gloria after the skirmish in the concourse below.

“Where’ve you been?” asked John.

“Jesus, what happened to your face?” added Sundancer. She reached out to touch Tommy’s cheekbone, which felt bruised and swollen.

“Bathroom,” said Tommy. “Some guy opened the door into my face. Accidents happen.”

John shrugged. “You look awfully happy considering that.”

Tommy smiled. “I’m having a good evening.”

#

Gretchen couldn’t believe how tall the World Trade Center towers were. To her small-town eyes, even a ten-story building stretched to unimaginable heights. “I bet there isn’t even enough air to breathe that high up,” she said.

Shane let out a laugh. “It’s not even half a mile.”

“It looks like it goes on forever,” said Gretchen, craning her head back to look at the skyscraper in the waning sunlight. The top floors gleamed orange while the lower floors were gray and shadowed. They could have taken a subway beneath the monstrous towers, but Gretchen wanted to see them from the outside, so they’d gotten off one stop early and walked, hand-in-hand, toward the building that housed Just Cause headquarters.

The proprietor of the Greek caf
é
where they’d dined had fawned over her like she was a movie star. Shane had whispered that the heavyset woman had been trying to set him up with all her daughters and nieces forever, less to bring him into the huge family than to see him happy and married. The food had been wonderful. Gretchen had liked the spanakopita and baklava, which were almost as much fun to say as to eat.

And now, with a full belly and Shane’s callused fingers wrapped around her own, Gretchen stared up at the towering building. Somewhere up there, she hoped she would find answers to what her powers meant.

“Ready?” asked Shane.

Gretchen squeezed his hand. “Yeah, I think so.”

They walked across the plaza toward the tower that housed Just Cause. Other partygoers were drifting in from various directions to coagulate around the tower’s main entrance. A couple of large bouncers waited at the door, checking people as they reached the head of the line. More often than not, they told would-be attendees to take a hike. Every once in awhile, they’d allow someone they deemed hip enough past the doors where another bouncer would escort the guest to the elevators and presumably up to the team’s headquarters.

“Wow, they’re really tight on security,” muttered Shane. “And we’re really under-dressed. They might not let us in even with your passes.”

They watched as the doorman gave a man in a glistening white disco suit the heave-ho, while admitting a young woman in full Indian garb complete with beaded headdress and moccasins.

“Maybe we should go back and change,” said Shane. He looked at his plain white t-shirt and jeans in dismay. Gretchen wasn’t dressed any fancier, wearing cutoff jean shorts and a tank top.

The bouncers seemed to be admitting more people who were dressed in provocative or bizarre fashions than those who dressed for dancing or partying. It gave Gretchen an idea. “Do you have a pocketknife or something?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Take your shirt off.” Gretchen dug in her pocket for her lipstick.

Shane shrugged and pulled the shirt over his head. Gretchen took the lipstick and drew a heart over one of his nipples. Then she loaded up her lips with the color, pursed them together, and pressed a well-defined kiss mark on his taut belly, just over his belt line. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “That ought to get you in, pass or not.”

Shane snickered. “I look like a male hooker.”

“You look delicious,” said Gretchen.

“What about you?”

Gretchen took Shane’s pocketknife and carefully cut around her cutoffs until they more resembled a denim bikini than shorts. She handed Shane the passes and cut out the pockets. She cut her underwear up each side and pulled it out of her cutoffs. With a sigh, she balled it up and tossed it away. She slit down the front of her tank top and retied the loose halves in a few strategic locations. Then she cut her bra straps and pulled it free, tossing it after her cut-up panties. She cut a strip from Shane’s t-shirt, put eye-holes in it, and tied it around her head like a mask. “There, how’s that?”

Shane was speechless as he looked her up and down like a child with a new toy.

Gretchen laughed and blushed. “I can’t believe I just did this, but it ought to get us in the door, passes or not.”

“You look astonishing,” said Shane as if his tongue had swelled. “What should I do with this?” He held up the remains of his t-shirt.

Gretchen shrugged, and then laughed as Shane balled it up and tossed it after her discarded clothing. “Let’s go get in line.”

She felt a lot less self-conscious once they were among the crowd. Several women wore far less; indeed, one seemed to be wearing only string bikini briefs, pasties, and a large snake that coiled around her torso.

They reached the front of the line and the bouncers looked them over. “We have passes,” said Gretchen. Shane dug them out of his pocket and showed them off.

The larger bouncer took them and examined them in detail, looking for anything out of place. His eyes went from passes to Gretchen and Shane, who put on their best smiles. The bouncer handed their passes back and yelled over his shoulder, “Gordie! VIPs.”

The smaller guy with the mustache rushed up to the doors from inside the Trade Center. “Right this way, sir and ma’am.”

The bouncer unclipped the velvet rope. As she passed through the doors, Gretchen imagined a giant was swallowing her up.

She just hoped she wouldn’t be chewed up and spit out in pieces.

Chapter Thirteen

July 13, 1977, 9:00 PM

The Trammps pounded on the expensive speakers set up by the disc jockey. Each thump of the bass drum added to Faith’s throbbing headache. The aspirin she’d taken had done very little to alleviate the pain. In spite of her general dislike of the party scene, she was nursing a tumbler of rum and Coke—heavy on the Coke. The sides of the glass sweated in the hot, humid air of the dance party in the Just Cause offices and dampened her glove. Maybe as many as two hundred people were crammed into the conference room, lobby, and side offices. Furniture had been stacked out in the hall to make room for dancers. At some point, the disc jockey and his crew had arrived, wiring speakers into the rooms and setting up multicolored flashing lights for atmosphere. A bartender had set up shop in a corner and mixed drinks for cash. The music played, people danced, drank, or made out with each other in the darker corners of the room. Being among the celebrities of Just Cause was a great aphrodisiac to many, and Faith had walked in on couples—or threesomes or even once an orgy—making love in the back offices or bathrooms.

She hated Wednesday nights.

Back when it was just the heroes getting together and playing poker, she enjoyed the camaraderie. It was fun. It was quiet. It didn’t smell like sweating bodies, spilled alcohol, cigarettes, and pot.

She wondered where Bobby was. He might be lurking two floors up in the administrative offices—close enough to be able to say he was there but far enough away that the blasts of noise from the sound system wouldn’t drive his ultrasensitive hearing crazy. She thought maybe she ought to seek him out, but then she caught Lionheart’s eye. He smiled at her in a way that made her shiver. He raised the hand that wasn’t wrapped around a large stein of the thick German beer he preferred and motioned for her to come closer. She approached him.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her voice quiet enough so only he could hear it.

He bent down and whispered in her ear, hot breath tickling her neck. She almost hoped he was going to proposition her, because she felt ready to accept it, but instead he said, “Irlene looks like she’s about to get into trouble. You take her, I’ll take Javier.”

Faith turned to look and saw that Irlene was engaged in close conversation with Javier. She swayed on her feet and had to keep drifting up into the air a few inches to keep from falling, which Javier found quite amusing. His gaze kept dropping to Irlene’s tight body underneath her form-fitting raspberry-and-cream costume. There was no mistaking his intentions. “Jesus Christ, doesn’t he ever quit?”