Project Northwoods (14 page)

“A rough patch? An eight year long rough patch?” There was a pause, and it stretched much longer than the other ones did. “Why do you still defend him?” The sound of her voice, anger mixed with pleading, unsettled Arthur more than the words she said.

Tim’s voice wobbled a bit. “He’s my best friend… it’s not that…”

“He got me fired,” she said pointedly. “He got me fired, and you defend him. Nice.”

Arthur wasn’t expecting the door to open, but, sure enough, Ariana was out in the living room a moment latter. He listened to her heavy footfalls as she stomped to the coatrack and gathered her jacket. “Where are you going?” he asked.

He heard hinges squeak. “Out,” came the quiet-yet-angry response. A moment later, the door slammed shut, and the quiet that spread afterwards seemed positively roaring.

“You think she’s mad?” Tim asked. He leaned against the wall, staring at the door. At some point in the argument, he must have found a way out of his work clothes and into something significantly more comfortable than the orange robe required by his Mob. He was expressionless, which honestly could have meant anything at all.

Arthur sat up on the couch, facing the television. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say.

Tim walked to the couch, still looking at the door. “Gotta take the bad with the good, am I right?”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur repeated, as though Tim merely hadn’t heard him the first time.

Timothy shook his head. “Look, it sucks. But if I’ve learned anything, it takes two to tango. It’s never just one person’s fault.”

Arthur nodded solemnly, then offered, “I’m sorry.”

“Say that again, and I will smash your face in.” Tim leapt over the couch and landed next to Arthur. “Needless apologies are a huge turnoff for women.”

Comfortable with the shift in topic, Arthur smiled wearily. “I know. I read that issue of
Cosmo-Villain
.”

“Special double issue, April to May,” Tim envisioned the cover with the aid of his hands.

“Featuring newest villain fashions by Gaga,” Arthur announced like a sportscaster.

“The naughty lipstick shade to wear when kicking ass.”

“One hundred and thirty ways to spice up your love life.”

“Each identical to last month’s one hundred and thirty.”

“Interview with a sexy, smart, and, most importantly, single super villainess.”

“Followed by a lengthy article about how worthless you are without a man.”

“Ten costume no-no’s.”

“Our readers tell their nastiest secrets.”

“Or maybe that was the January issue…” Arthur pondered aloud.

Silence hung in the air. “Ariana’s going to be pissed for a while. I wouldn’t worry about it. Just lay low and everything will be fine.” Tim hefted himself off the couch and turned on the television.

Arthur repressed an urge to scoff. “Easy for you to say. I live here, remember?”

“Yeah, but you sleep in forever. It won’t be hard.” He turned to Arthur. “Video game or TV?” Arthur waved him away. “Video game it is,” Tim muttered to himself as he flipped through the few cartridges he had in the living room.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Arthur asked after a moment.

“Part of the deal,” Tim said casually. He selected a game, popped it in the console, and flicked it on. “When she’s this upset, she does what she needs to do as long as she comes back at the end of the night.”

“So, she just…”

Tim made a whistling sound and waved his hand. “Into the night.” He stepped back to the couch, controller in hand, and sat down. “It works for us. We’re in a good place now.” Whipping to his side suddenly, he gently whacked Arthur on his shoulder. “Which reminds me, if anyone asks, I’m the one who’s mad at you, alright?”

Arthur looked at him. “No one’s gonna ask.”

“I know. But Ariana’s… sensitive… when it comes to her freak outs.” There really was no delicate way to put it. “They embarrass her.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve been trying to take credit for any outbursts that don’t involve coffee.” The music from the game came on, loud enough to offer a disjointed, Caribbean theme to the conversation.

“And is this a part of your deal?” Arthur asked with raised eyebrows.

Tim shook his head. “Nah. She doesn’t even know about it.” He winked at Arthur. “Just a courtesy with the added bonus of making me look like I’m just waiting to explode.” Turning his attention toward the television, Tim bobbed along with the music. “It’ll be good to be known as that guy who will pummel you before your first handshake.”

“I guess.” Arthur shook his head. “You are so whipped.”

Tim took his gaze off the game and looked at Arthur. For the first time in a long time, Arthur saw anger flash in his friend’s eyes. “No. It’s just what you do when you love someone.”

Arthur immediately felt guilty. He didn’t really understand Tim and Ari’s relationship, and normally he was just fine with that fact. But something now made him feel envious that Ariana would have someone so dedicated to her, willing to embrace her anger and her joy so completely. Years ago, a fight triggered the arrival of the aptly named Apocalypse Month. The weeks long break-up fight threatened to erupt anywhere Tim and Ari saw each other. And even if Arthur would have bet everything on their dissolution or mutual destruction, the two came out of it seemingly stronger than before. It was the opposite of Arthur’s interactions, and for the first time in the entire time he had known the two of them, he was jealous.

Of course, he couldn’t say that. All he saw was the fierce protection in Tim’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he offered. In an instant, frivolity over took ferocity and Tim smiled widely before punching him, preposterously hard, in the shoulder. Arthur instinctively grabbed his arm. “Ow!”

Tim, by this time, had returned to his game. “I warned you.”

Arthur stood up and walked around the couch, down the hall, and into his room. He flicked the light switch on and was immediately accosted by a chorus of an electronically reproduced
For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow
. The computer screen was flashing with fireworks, the sight of which was infinitely more depressing than Arthur thought possible.

“Mollie…” he tried to interrupt, but the music continued. “Mollie!” his voice rose as he crossed to the bed and threw himself down on it. Immediately the music stopped.

“You do not like it?” her voice cooed, sounding like a hurt child. Arthur knew better than to apply human emotion to her, but he couldn’t help but feel bad.

“No, it was very thoughtful.” He sat up, looking at the blue eye. “But it’s a bit… inappropriate at the moment.”

It took a second for what he said to register. Mollie’s iris shrank. “This is a reversal of expectations, but I fail to see the joke.” He shook his head. “If you are not joking, then this is an injustice. You must file an appeal.”

Arthur shook his head again as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. “And be denied again for the same project? No. Not likely.” He threw it onto a pillow in impotent frustration. “Did you like your book?” He pushed himself off the bed and picked up the closed text.

“Yes. It was very interesting. What is next?”

Arthur looked at the assorted volumes he had bought for her. He grabbed a red one off the shelf. “Wanna try some literature?” The iris whirled in place and dimmed. Arthur slid it back into place. “Didn’t think so.” He flicked his eyes across a coffee-table art book. “How about…” He trailed off.

“Arthur? Are you alright?” Mollie asked.

A smile crossed his face. “Hey, Tim!”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still have that spray paint?”

“In the closet.” Arthur walked out of his room and into the hall. He opened the closet and grabbed the bag lying on the floor. When he turned around, Tim was standing and looking at him from the living room. “Wait. Why?”

“Just curious.” Arthur strode back into his room. Tim followed enough to stand in his doorway.

“Huh, really?”

“Arthur, what is going on?” asked Mollie.

“We’re going on a little walk,” Arthur offered. He grabbed the Home Drive and placed it in the computer.

“You’re going on a walk with cans of spray paint?” Tim asked.

Arthur rattled the bag, “I’m just going to have a little fun. The elections are coming up…”

“No,” came the forceful reply.

“I cannot condone this action, Arthur,” Mollie chimed.

“C’mon, just like the old days.” Arthur was goading Tim on, surprisingly tactlessly. Despite that, it was successful at riling his friend up.

“No. What you’re suggesting is dangerous and stupid.” The shorter man shook his head and turned back to the living room.

“I was at the Super Heroes’ Guild today and I couldn’t help but think that it needed a new color scheme.” The effect was immediate and visceral. The blue iris on the screen whirred and shrank while Tim almost ran back to his original position.

“I can’t help but think you need a lobotomy!” Tim shouted.

“The Heroes’ Guild?” squeaked Mollie.

“You can add ‘suicidal’ to ‘stupid’ and ‘dangerous’.” Tim was angry, but there was something else there, too. Something Arthur hadn’t seen since that horrible month so long ago.

Fear.

Nonetheless, Arthur laughed at his concern. “Why?”

“Might I remind you that you are an unregistered villain, Arthur?” Mollie said meekly.

“Listen to your damn computer, Art. Not only are you suggesting we go on an unapproved voyage to justice land, but your aim is to violate their epicenter!” Tim wasn’t shouting, but he was speaking with a modulated tone that clearly got his feelings across in case the words weren’t enough.

“I still don’t…” Arthur began.

“If I get caught and
not
killed, I will be sent to jail.”

Arthur did not appear fazed by this information. “So?”

“We are not talking about Super Villain Jail, where life is sweet and you can stroll out the understaffed escape route when you’re bored. We’re talking real jail, the kind where you’re someone’s sex-hole or you’re dead,” Tim tried vainly to explain. Although the likelihood of violence against him was low, supermax prisons were not places anyone, Bestowed or not, wanted to be. “And you, you damn idiot, you’ll be declared rogue and shot on sight.”

Mollie continued the thought, “There is no bargaining your way out of that, Arthur. Also… once they realize what I am, I would be destroyed immediately.” Timothy pointed at the computer and nodded. “I do not wish to die.”

“C’mon, you two. You sound…”

“Sane?” Tim and Mollie offered at once.

Tim shook his head. “I know we’ve done crazy things in the past, but we can’t afford to get caught. Not anymore.”

Arthur was still riding high on his idea. As such, he was impervious to their petty logic. “When was the last time the Mob let you do anything fun?”

“I will be the first to admit that what I do is stupid,” Tim said with a shake of his head. “Stealing yaks from the zoo in order to make shirts out of the hair before returning them is outrageously pathetic.” He took a step toward Arthur, pleading. “But it’s my job. I’m making my way up, and this… this could ruin everything.”

With a laugh, Arthur looked from Tim to Mollie. “You’re both acting like no one has ever done this kind of thing. Look at the 8
th
Street Bros. They do stunts like this all the time!”

“The 8
th
Street Bros are, for better or worse, licensed villains.” Mollie clearly wasn’t interested in playing along. “Their ‘Statement of Villainy’ grants them access to certain portions of heroic territory to tag.”

“Yeah, and only after they fill out all the proper forms.” Tim grabbed Arthur by the shoulders. “Art, don’t do this. Please.”

Arthur looked down, overplaying his dejection. “Well, if you two aren’t game…” he trailed off as he walked by Tim, who turned to watch him head to the front door. “… Guess I’ll go it alone…” He grabbed his coat and opened the door. “Without any help at all.” He politely closed the door behind him.

Tim scoffed, annoyed. He looked at Mollie, who merely blinked. Nodding to no one, Timothy walked to the couch and hopped over it again. He picked up the controller, unpaused his game, and tried to play. A few, gut-searing seconds passed. He looked at the door. His eyes flitted back to the television.

“Damnation!” Tim threw the controller down on the couch as he stood before going into Arthur’s bedroom. The second he entered the doorway, Mollie’s iris disappeared from the screen, meaning she moved herself to the Home Drive. He took the device and beelined for the apartment exit. Resting his hand on the doorknob, he was only moderately surprised at the ease of which it gave way. Arthur had his hand on the other side, and was leaning across the door as it swung open. “Knew it,” he said smugly.

“Shut up,” was Tim’s only response.

DOMINO

NIGHT SEEMED TO ENCROACH MUCH FASTER
than normal thanks, in no small degree, to the heavy cloud cover disgorging itself over the city. Lamp posts glittered above the streets, illuminating the way for the huddled couples and thrumming cars. Even with the darkening skies, the tall buildings, and the looming alleys, there was no safer place to be in New York City than the side of town the heroes called home. It was probably the only place in the metropolitan area where, if one wished, one could walk down the street carrying all their valuables with them with no fear of mugging. The hero-to-neutral ratio was at its greatest here, and the neutrals who did happen to call it home knew its clear advantage.