Giving Him Hell_A Saturn's Daughter Novel Page 17

  “I’ll see that you’re all hired by the clinic,” he said helpfully. “Perhaps we can arrange for apartment houses to be built up the road so you can still have a neighborhood.”

  “Boy, you really drank the Kool-Aid, didn’t you?” Disappointed, I prepared to leave. “I guess it doesn’t matter to you that the chemicals probably turned your mother and son into demons, and now they’re probably working on you?”

  He looked up, and I studied him carefully. I hoped the glitter in his eyes was the overheads. I’d always liked Paddy. Now, I had to be wary.

  “Demons exist only in your head, Tina,” he said sympathetically. “That’s where Gloria’s demons were. And Dane is turning out much better than I’d hoped. I don’t agree with all his policies, but he’s a fine senator.”

  That’s because I’d sent the demon to hell, and Max inhabited Dane’s body now. But no way was I explaining that to Dane’s father.

  “I’ll cross you off my ally list then, Mr. Vanderventer. Thank you for seeing me.” Putting on my lawyer face, I walked away.

  Disappointed that I had no one on the inside to help my case, I hurried out. My memories of Acme’s interiors were not pleasant, and wouldn’t get better if they were sitting on a portal to hell.

  Cursing, I checked my watch. I wanted to give Lance plenty of time to remove Kaminski. Since he hadn’t called, I didn’t go any farther into town than the security of Bill’s Biker Bar, just a block down the road from the plant. I was feeling like a law-abiding citizen by not taking a tire iron to Kaminski’s skull as I’d once done to a rapist.

  Of course, the fact that I hadn’t been able to turn him into a gnome kind of skewed my self-confidence.

  Bill’s was still warm and packed. He must have got his generator back. Realizing I hadn’t had lunch, I ordered a fish fry—think crab cake without the crab—with my beer, and studied the crowd.

  It was Monday and Acme was still operational. The usual lunchtime crew was here—workers from all the industrial plants up the road. Some of the D-Gers had set up shop in a corner and were enthusiastically discussing world peace or whatever turned them on. The half of the Zonies who weren’t parked in my office were down here trying to get warm and fed. And even a few utility workers hung out.

  I still didn’t understand why utility workers would be down here if our utilities were shut off. Wasn’t the point of shutting them off the safety of workers?

  They looked at me. I looked at them. And a creepy sensation crawled down my spine.

  When Bill delivered my plate, I waved him down to my level. “I sense hostility at nine o’clock.”

  He glanced down the bar and nodded. “They used to work security for Acme. They recognize you without fondness.”

  “More frogs,” I said with a groan. “Next time, I’ll send them to Antarctica.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Bill returned to polishing his glassware.

  Other than transforming into a gentle giant and losing his need to break other people’s bones, Bill didn’t seem to have attracted any of the more notorious Zone disabilities. He respected our individual weirdnesses and had our backs when we needed him. I wouldn’t disturb him more than necessary.

  Besides, my latest theory was that once I’d visualized a thug into an alternate life form, I couldn’t transform them a second time. If I couldn’t turn frogs into gnomes, could I transport them to another country? I still didn’t have a Saturnian rule book.

  My phone rang and I glanced at the ID. It just said Terminator. Either Schwarzenegger or my guy Lance. What were the odds?

  “Find Kawinski?” I asked as I tuned in.

  “Yeah, I think I persuaded him that you’re a little angel, and he should leave you alone,” Lance growled. “Real punk, that one.”

  “How many broken bones?”

  “Just a kneecap. His skull is too hard. You owe me a beer.”

  “I owe you a case. I’m down at Bill’s. You want it all at once or shall I set up a tab?”

  “Sweet. I’ll be right down.” He whistled off.

  I lifted a beer to my non-existent daddy. Sometimes, it didn’t take superpowers to get the job done.

  Lance was six-feet, two hundred pounds of heavy muscle, beer gut, leather and graying hair. People stared when he sauntered in. He didn’t bother noticing. He made a beeline back to me and caught me up in a bear hug. “Babe! How do ye do?”

  I pounded him on the back. “I do fine, lug. Put me down, and I’ll do better.” Especially since the utility thugs would soon realize I’d sent Lance after their buddy. Oh well. I liked Lance’s simple, direct honesty.

  I signaled Bill. “A case of beer for my friend here, anyway he wants it.”

  Lance and Bill exchanged male gestures and a foamy mug appeared on the bar in front of him.

  An ambulance siren wailed on the street outside. One of the hardhats checked his phone. An instant later, they all lumbered out. Probably not a good sign for me. Lesson learned, Tina, if you can’t do it yourself, find someone a little more subtle than Lance.

  “You got any more jobs I can take care of for you, babe?” Lance asked through his foam mustache, not acknowledging the reason for the siren. “Me and the guys are running a little short since Max left.”

  The guys were the usual suspects—dopers, vets, slackers, and the chronically unemployed who had a hang-out biker club in the country. It would be fun to turn them loose on Acme, but not healthy for either side.

  “No money here, either,” I told him regretfully. “Looks like we may have to shut down.”

  Lance’s gang had been Max’s friends. They’d relied on his leadership a lot more than anyone let on. His loss had devastated them.

  And then I had an evil thought. I held up my finger to indicate silence, pulled out my phone, and dialed Max/Dane.

  After the fourth try, I got voice mail, of course. “I’ve got Lance down here. He and the boys are running a little short. Could you use a security detail?”

  Lance snorted into his beer as I hung up. “Who’s gonna hire us for security?”

  “Senator Vanderventer,” I said smugly. “He sent the Do-Gooders down here to improve the Zone. It’s only fair we do something nice for him in return.”

  Lance thought my reply was pretty funny. I left him laughing and ordering a second beer. My job here was done.

  As I sauntered back to my bike, I got cocky. Walking over a glowing manhole cover, I decided to study the situation. I took off a glove, wet my finger, and tapped it against the metal. When it didn’t steam, I put my glove back on and tried to lift the thing, just to see what I could see. I couldn’t even rattle the damned lid. Add one more bit of knowledge to my useless encyclopedia.

  I kept a wary eye out for hard hats as I aimed for my bike, but they must have accompanied their pal to the hospital. Kaminski had carved his initials into the bike’s leather seat before Lance popped his kneecaps. Rat bastard. I wouldn’t have a single whole piece of leather left at this rate.

  The wonky traffic lights were back on, I noticed as I cruised past Chesty’s. They were actually a normal red and green, in honor of Christmas, I supposed. Except both stop and go lights were on at once.

  Since there was no traffic, I didn’t worry about mixed signals. I saw cars in Chesty’s lot, so I swung in, hoping that meant Frank had worked his magic and we had what passes for electricity again.

  Canned music was playing as I entered. Chesty’s was never bright even when lights were working, so the dimness was no surprise. I saw only a few customers at the tables. The naked murals were standing around, smoking, not bothering to writhe for an empty house.

  On stage, Sarah was practicing a pole dance routine. Her stubby legs would never rival Ginger Rogers, but her newly-glorious hair hid a lot of flaws. Her stiff, cone-shaped boobs poked out from the Lady Godiva tresses. She was wearing pasties.

  I considered turning around and walking out, but she spotted me. Pulling on a long t-shirt, she clumpe
d down the stairs in her awkward heels. “Tina! Ernesto said he’d try me on the stage. Isn’t that cool?”

  What was cool was that six months ago, she’d been an abused wife who had jumped at shadows, and now she had the nerve to stand in a spotlight. That’s what the Zone did. And why I couldn’t condemn it as Paddy wanted to do.

  “If that’s what you want,” I said guardedly. “We’ve got lights back?” It still felt chilly in this barn of a room, but it would take time to heat.

  “Frank’s got people working on it. Your office is pretty crowded still. Ernesto said I could sleep in a storage room here, if I wanted. You don’t mind?”

  After she’d painted half my second floor Pepto-Bismol pink? I shrugged. “Do what’s best for you but don’t trust Ernesto.”

  She giggled. “He wanted to charge me rent and to dance, too. I told him it was a trade. He’s sorta cute, isn’t he?”

  I used to work for him. No way in ten million years was dumpy, greasy, penny-pinching Ernesto anything but a douche bag. But I smiled optimistically. “He grows on you, I guess. Glad it’s working out. I’d better get back to the office if everyone is still there.”

  I checked out the bar’s arrow-slit of a window to be certain my bike wasn’t surrounded by thugs. Reassured the coast was clear, I drove back to my office, where chaos reigned supreme.

  My lopsided, fragrant Christmas tree sparkled with lights, and apparently tinfoil decorations, courtesy of Jane’s kid and maybe Ned, who was currently helping a pink-coated Tim carry a palm tree out to an already over-full truck.

  “Hey, Tina, can we set the rest of these palms in the window of your apartment until we know for sure the heat’s staying on?” Tim called as he propped the door open with his heel.

  I glanced up at my barren bay window across the street. “Milo won’t eat them?”

  “Won’t hurt him if he does. Give me your keys.” He held out his hand, and I flung the apartment keys at him.

  I admired the twinkling lights lending cheer to my front office and let my chilled body regain some warmth while listening to signs of life all over my once-empty building. I wasn’t a loner by any means. I loved the buzz of a hive.

  Mostly, I was scared someone would take it all away from me. Again.

  Even as I acknowledged that fear, a boom shook the office, and the Christmas tree swayed.

  Twenty-two

  The porch of my boarding house across the street exploded. Leaping back from my office door, taking Ned back with me, I added my screams to his. Smoke and flame billowed from the Victorian’s porch. Boards, bricks, and shattered flower pots incinerated into raining shrapnel. In the eruption of dust, I couldn’t see Tim—not exactly unusual.

  Recovering from the first shock, I ran out, sending frantic prayers to unseen entities for Tim’s and Mrs. Bodine’s safety.

  The palm tree Tim had been carrying was reduced to ash and charred soil in the middle of the street. I frantically visualized dousing the fiery porch, but Saturn only produced justice, not general wishes.

  “Damn you, Saturn, make them be alive,” I muttered, sobbing and patting the street around the palm tree remains in search of Tim.

  If Saturn damned himself, I couldn’t tell.

  Andre and Leo ran out of various buildings with fire extinguishers and hoses—far more practical than cursing planets.

  I didn’t find Tim until Cora ran into the street and tripped over him. She dropped to her knees, and I crawled carefully in her direction. Unlike Cora, I tended to blink out—go invisible—when I touched Tim, so I didn’t really dare test him for a pulse.

  “Tim? Blink on for me, please?” I pleaded.

  Beneath the screams and sirens and crackling flames I thought I heard a moan. Cora started patting the ground, presumably in pursuit of his wrist. I thought I saw a flicker of pink.

  “Tim, please, focus. We have to see you to help.” I was choking on sobs. Tim was just an innocent kid. He’d had a hard enough life.

  The keys I’d given him dropped to the ground. That couldn’t be a good sign. A second later, a melted pink down jacket gradually materialized. Swallowing my cries, I poked around for the zipper, but it had melted, too.

  Cora produced a knife and ripped the jacket open. The rest of Tim returned. Unconscious, he lay sprawled in the street on his back. We could see the outline of palm leaves etched in the soot and burns on his face. His untidy crop of brown hair was scorched. But it appeared the hated jacket was impervious to flame and had taken the brunt of the blast.

  “Tim, can you hear me? I’ll buy you more jackets in pink and purple if you’ll just wake up,” I pleaded.

  Cora cut off the jacket sleeves. His clothing underneath seemed untouched. Knowing Tim, he’d just passed out in terror.

  Across the street, the flames were almost out. The front porch was nothing more than charred posts and dripping shingles. One of the DGs, or maybe the interns from next door, helped Mrs. Bodine totter down the narrow alley between houses. Her wrinkled face crumpled in tears at sight of her porch.

  And I was pretty damned certain it was all my fault.

  Tim moaned and his seared eyelashes blinked. Once I knew he was alive, I went through the motions of reassuring him and myself, but my mind traveled on to criminal warfare. I was bringing down one demented frog. Or maybe a pack of them.

  “If you were really fair, you’d let me wish them dead,” I told Saturn. He didn’t have to answer back. I already knew I couldn’t do it. Saturn might not need evidence, but I did before I could damn anyone. Fact-finding mission coming up.

  Andre was caught up in dealing with disaster or he might have recognized my rage. As it was, he merely glanced our way, ascertained that we had Tim in hand, and went back to shouting orders.

  Fire engines arrived. Mrs. Bodine was led over to the house next door that our interns occupied when they weren’t sleeping in hospital hallways. D-Gers arrived in groups carrying building materials and tarps and I’m not sure what all.

  I should have been reassured. I wasn’t. I needed heads to roll.

  I hoped Dane’s trust fund was paying for the materials because Acme was as much to blame for this warfare as I was. The frog-men had obviously been polluted by the green violence element—except Ned, who liked pink and scarfed up the good element.

  I let Cora take Tim over to be examined by the baby docs. Milo had joined the crowd in the street. Bless my kitty! He always appeared when I needed him, if he could. I needed to know he was safe. I hugged him and whispered sweet words in his ear. He did not respond but studied the chaos around us as if I were merely his throne.

  “You don’t think you’re needed to deal with terrorists?” I asked my cat.

  Milo sniffed in disdain.

  “Fine then, off you go.” Reassured, I handed him back to Ned.

  I’d once turned Ned into a frog, and he’d come out a better man.

  If Kawinski was any example, his fellow frogs had chosen evil, while Ned had chosen good. Just watching Mrs. Bodine weep and Tim shiver built my case against vengeful frogs.

  First, I had to verify that the explosion wasn’t accidental. I was pretty damned certain it wasn’t, but I had to be fair. This was not a situation that required immediate action. I had time to weigh the evidence for a change—not that Saturn seemed to require it but my overdeveloped conscience did.

  I located one of the firemen rolling up his hose. I was still wearing black leather, so I couldn’t precisely mimic Average Citizen, but I tried not to look too crazy as I approached.

  “I’ve called the gas company,” I said innocently. “Is there any danger of more leaks?”

  “That was no gas leak,” he said angrily. “That was some stupid bum planting a pipe bomb on an old lady’s porch. We’ve called the cops.”

  I refrained from snorting. Despite their promises, the cops had been conspicuously absent lately. Acme must have sent them on paid holiday.

  “I’ll let the gas company know, thank you,” I said
politely. “And a cop lives there, so I assume that’s who the prankster was after. They’ll get him. Thank you for coming out so quickly.”

  Information for information was fair trade, even if I was half lying. The fireman nodded approval, I thanked him again, and using the fire engine to hide my actions from Andre, I slipped down the street.

  I had utterly no idea how I’d figure out which of the utility workers were Kaminski’s pals. Like Frank said, they all looked alike.

  But the evil minions I’d turned into frogs had all been over six feet and well-muscled. I’d start there. Their time out as frogs apparently hadn’t harmed them physically. Morally, they’d all been questionable at the time I’d zapped them. I could have killed them. Maybe I should have. But Ned had turned out okay. One in five ain’t bad.

  Unfortunately, that apparently left four willing to kill me. And who didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

  For the security of Tim and Mrs. Bodine and other innocents, I had to stop vengeful cretins. Lance obviously wasn’t the answer if my enemies meant to up the ante every time I tried to teach them a lesson. Hardhats had access to detonators and explosives that I didn’t. Like any war, escalating skirmishes didn’t resolve the problem.

  Maybe I should offer a peace pipe, but they’d tried to kill me twice now, and that wasn’t counting the pre-frog attempts.

  I took the back alleys where I could hide in shadow. The day was gray and getting darker, so I blended nicely, just as I used to do. Although these days, the Dumpsters tended to shift out of my way instead of blocking me. I hoped that was a sign of approval from the Zone.

  I was starting to think of the Zone as a sentient beast with its own opinions.

  The bulldozers were still running inside the chain link along the harbor, so it wasn’t quitting time yet. Not that the utility guys I was after seemed to be working—they seemed to spend a lot of time in bars and beating up unsuspecting motorcycles. Of course, they could be part of the spa crews drilling holes in our parking lots.

  Standing beside an abandoned gas station, I gazed down the long harbor alley. The chain link had been disintegrating for years, but it looked as if it had been deliberately removed to allow better access to the spas that dared to crop up closer to the water.