“Whoops,” I manage, pivoting to avoid dropping my messenger bag and sketches. Ryan does a nifty sidestep and actually uses her elbows to execute a do-si-do. It obviously delights her, and she tosses her dark curls back, hoping to catch Ryan’s eye. He’s so spry, I’m jealous. Maybe I should pick up CrossFit classes.
“Sorry about that,” he says. Without another glance at her, Ryan wades through the crowd. I alone see her look of confusion—she’s gorgeous; I highly doubt she’s often ignored like that. I follow Ryan, studying his bearing from behind. There was many a year I knew him where Ryan would have either stammered and turned red under the gaze of a pretty girl or, in our later life together, attempted to flirt back. Ryan has never had game, and he’s never really handled female attention well. It’s one of the things I’ve found quirky, authentic, and charming about him. But now . . . this cool, assured Ryan is someone almost foreign to me. I suspect a lot of it is Lelani’s presence in his life. It’s almost impossible for her confidence not to spill over onto other people, and maybe this version of Ryan has been waiting to get out. Sometimes I’m not kind about their relationship in my head, but for a moment I can appreciate the metamorphosis that Ryan has gone through in the last year.
I hasten to catch up with him as he disappears down the walk in front of the building, heading for the employee parking. As we shortcut through the landscaping, Ryan’s phone dings. And then dings again.
“Man, you’re popular today.”
Ryan stops and checks his phone. “Just the usual. Hey, do you mind if I return this call real quick?”
“No pr—”
But he’s already walking away.
I make a game out of attempting to shuffle pebbles into a soft strip of asphalt paving, and it lasts me for about thirty seconds. I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but Ryan’s conversation is heated. He sounds upset? Angry? No, maybe not angry, but definitely urgent. I think I hear something about a test . . . a test run? A sample of a game? I’m guessing this has to do with his meeting. I know he had the last test of his video game before market this week. Maybe the video game still has problems.
“MG.” It’s Ryan, and I turn to see him shoving his phone back in his pocket, a frown creasing his brow. “I’ve got to change my plans. Right now. I’m sorry. Can you find another ride home?”
“I—uh—sure?” I stammer, but he’s already pulled out his phone again and returned to texting. I’ve been dismissed.
My first inclination is to call Lawrence, but that doesn’t seem like it would be a fruitful avenue, so I tap my Uber app instead. I groan inwardly, thinking about how long it might take to get a car at this time of day, then hesitate. If I throw over the plan of changing clothes, there’s one person I know who might be okay giving me a ride last minute.
I feel like a bum, I type. But my car didn’t start. Is there any chance you’re near the Genius building and you could take me to the meeting? If not, no problem, I’ll just order a car.
Almost immediately, a reply pops into the window.
Actually, just wrapped up a meeting here, headed out to the parking lot.
I throw Ryan a thumbs-up, even though I’m feeling awful about having to ask people to cart me around. He only halfheartedly returns it; he’s now leaning against the wall by the employee entrance, looking ready to run the second I let him. I can only imagine this is some sort of video game emergency I’m witnessing, he looks so agitated.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him.
“Hmm? Yes. Yes. Work stuff.”
He turns back to his phone, so I turn back to mine. I’m not sure if he’s going to text me again, or . . . Daniel appears at the threshold of the door behind Ryan, and I wave at him. He catches sight of Ryan to his left and reaches out to clap his shoulder in a “Hey, Bro” kind of move when Ryan startles. He must not recognize him, because the second Daniel reaches for him, Ryan steps back and pivots like someone’s trying to jump him in an alley.
In an equally knee-jerk reaction, Daniel jumps back, coming to rest in a position I recognize as a “waiting/defense” position from martial arts. On the balls of his feet, hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he’s saying.
“What the . . . .” It’s like a movie. Both of them.
Ryan’s face becomes red, and he rolls his shoulders twice before sticking out his hand to Daniel. “Um, sorry, dude. I was really focused on this email, and I thought you were going to take my phone.”
Given the fact that his face is just now healed, it’s understandable. Not to mention we’re all extra jumpy right now with Lawrence being MIA.
“Yeah, uh, no problem?” Daniel returns, running his hands through his hair. He and Ryan face off for a moment like rival tigers, and I don’t really understand the tension. Ryan’s gaze is flitting from Daniel to me, and something like comprehension dawns across his face.
My cheeks heat. I’m fairly certain that Ryan thinks there’s something going on between Daniel and me at this point. His look of “ah-ha” unsettles me. There’s nothing to “figure out” here. Ryan asked me to find another ride; Daniel was the natural choice, seeing as he’s going to the same meeting.
I’m about to reiterate something along those lines when Ryan just sort of waves and peaces out, already dialing a number on his phone, leaving Daniel standing alone in the doorway. He’s staring after Ryan with a puzzled expression on his face . . . Ryan’s weirdness wasn’t lost on him either. This encounter doesn’t lend itself to my theory that they’re working together. There wasn’t any familiarity in their interaction, unless they’re really good actors.
“So how is life, other than your poor car?” Daniel asks as he holds the passenger door open.
“Oh, the usual. Drowning in work. You?”
“I’ve got some projects that are picking up too. I hear you,” he agrees. He shuts my door and comes around the front of the car before picking up our conversation again. “The movie stuff isn’t stressing you out, is it?”
“Not too much,” I say. “I really enjoy it, and I’m excited to see the sketches of the costumes today.”
“How’s the case coming along?”
The fact that he even asks raises my suspicions again. Is it coincidence that he asks right after the weekend debacle?
My phone dings in my bag, and I search through the pockets, looking for it. It’s probably Ryan, apologizing for his ridiculous behavior. “Slow,” I hedge. “We’re still exploring several leads.” There, that could mean anything.
“Pretty crazy about that reward. I’ve seen the flyer everywhere and keep meaning to ask you if you knew about it.”
I slant a look at him just as I locate my phone. I pull it out triumphantly. “Oh, I definitely know about the reward.” Is this him admitting interest in the reward to me? I make a mental note to renew this line of suspicion with Matteo. I assume he’d have told me if his investigation revealed anything about Daniel, but I should check in about it. He’d just literally done a ninja move in front of me.
Daniel pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “It’s all over the media that some people got to meet the real Golden Arrow at a party the other night.”
“Yeah, uh, I heard that too,” I fudge, clicking my home button to bring up the alerts for my text messages. Matteo. And it’s not a friendly hello, how ya doin’.
“Hey, Daniel, do you mind swinging by the shop? I think I’m going to try to borrow Lawrence’s car. It sounds like I’m going to need to go somewhere after the meeting.”
Daniel glances from me to my phone. “Yeah, sure. Everything okay?” He switches lanes and immediately puts on his turn signal to do a U-turn at the next light.
“Yep. Work stuff. Drowning, remember?” I’m not lying, but I’m not being entirely honest either. I read the text one more time before clicking my phone back off. Looks like I’m not going to have to wait long for the conversation about Daniel.
Need you at the station ASAP. GA.
Driving Lawrence’s car is like
sipping straight out of a bottle of tequila—all at once a rush and the sensation that this could get you in a lot of trouble. I feel like the heroine in the bad-assest of comics as I speed along the side streets. The engine of the Charger purrs, the steering wheel vibrating slightly under my hand. I can imagine myself as the Golden Arrow, prowling the streets for drug dealers this way. I’d have my cape and mask on the side seat, ready to throw on in a flash, the second my Spidey-sense notices something amiss. Holy hell, why doesn’t Lawrence drive everywhere with this thing? I’ve already taken two detours on my way to the meeting just to keep driving. My own vehicle inspires none of these feelings, and I’m loath to ever drive it again—like what Riker would feel if he ever captained a lesser ship after so many years aboard the Enterprise.
Daniel was kind enough to drop me off at the shop, and I just happened to know where L kept his spare key set in the back office. Which I used my only-to-be-used-in-emergencies key to the salon to get to. I sent a text saying I hoped it was okay, I was borrowing the car—still no concrete word on where L actually is at the moment. The shop held an air of neglect. For now, I have too many other things to deal with before trying again to get L to tell me. First, I have this meeting about costumes for the movie, and then I need to throw on my Sherlock cap and head to the station. A comic book expert’s day is far from dull.
Dark clouds start to roll in off the coast, and I’m doubly glad I’m not on my bike as I pull into a parking spot outside the studio office. If it’s going to rain, I’m going to leave most of my stuff inside the car—I need very little for this meeting other than my brain and my sketchbook. I make a move to clear L’s gym bag and shoes off the passenger seat to make a space to open my messenger bag when something catches my attention.
Maybe it’s that picturing my own cape and mask in the side seat put me in mind of the case, but something about his gym gear strikes a chord in my head. There, set neatly atop the black bag that I know L takes with him to the gym are what I would consider boring gym shoes. Black, silver and red stitching, but yawn otherwise. Except . . . the insignia on the bottom is a name I’ve heard before. New Balance. On a hunch I check the shoe’s tongue. 2040.
Now. It could be coincidence. It could totally be coincidence. You know that thing where when you hear a word for the first time, take note, and then hear it a million times the next day? Maybe I’m experiencing that with men’s athletic shoes. But . . .
Lawrence couldn’t be the Golden Arrow. It’s Daniel Kim. Or Daniel Kim’s brother.
Right?
We’ve already gone over this . . . he testified in court. His alibi is solid. He and Ryan both cleared questioning—I’ve been around this mulberry bush before. But. That was the first case, earlier this summer. Nothing saying it’s the same Golden Arrow, or that Lawrence hasn’t picked up a gig fighting crime on the side, inspired by the GA.
My mind spins out, quick as a wink. L had helped me catch Agent Sosa. He has inside knowledge of the journals and access to the investigation. He’s an excellent actor, and certainly fit enough for the description we’d heard from the drug dealers. Hadn’t he just told Matteo that he was going off to investigate the case on his own? Could it really be that simple, that the Golden Arrow has been right under my nose the entire time?
Casting a quick eye outside the car to make sure no one was watching or waiting for me, I slip the shoes to the side of the bag and grasp the zipper. I don’t know if I hope I’ll find a cape and a mask, or if I hope I won’t. My heart hammers inside my chest like I’d just run down my thirteenth ubervamp on the Buffy series finale.
On the internal count of three, I open the bag and peer in. Black gym shorts and two tees sit on top of a small stack of items in the bag. I really don’t want to invade my friend’s privacy, so I hesitate at digging any further. From this vantage point, it looks like your average gym bag and shoes. I note the bottle of hair glitter rolling around on one of the sides and smile despite the crucial moment. Only L would think hair glitter a necessary item to take to the gym, and it certainly doesn’t scream Golden Arrow to me. I let out a small sigh of relief and zip the bag back up, then carefully replace the shoes on top. I’m not fully convinced L isn’t the Golden Arrow—the idea has taken root in my mind and merits personal investigation—but for the moment I feel okay to sit on the discovery of the shoes. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to call Matteo in on the simple fact that my best friend happens to own a pair of shoes that maybe sorta kinda fit the description given by a teenage drug dealer. One who probably didn’t even know for certain that the brand of shoes he’d given was accurate. It would be a big pile of trouble for L, and all for nothing, unless . . .
Unless.
I needed to think about that unless. But I note to myself as my phone dings an alarm for the meeting, that “unless” would have to wait until after this meeting, and after I heard what Matteo had for me.
CHAPTER 19
The moment the art meeting starts, I know that I’ve found “my place.” It’s an odd feeling. I’m sitting here, in a room full of people similar to the writing meeting. The same style table, the same group of mostly men in hipster beards and glasses. The same mess of papers scattered across every available surface.
The difference is that, instead of feeling nervous and feeling like I need to prove my worth to be here or navigate some sort of gender-imposed social structure, I just exist here. And maybe it’s because this group has a few women in it, and the men aren’t outright hostile to my presence like the previous meeting. Or maybe it’s just that because from the moment I see the sketches for Swoosh’s various costumes and the look of the Falcon’s cape . . . I’m home. I’ve sketched these very ideas. Well, not these specifically, but the subject matter. How many times have I reenvisioned what I’d like THF to look like instead of the mainstream comics? Too many to count. This is my chance. These are my people. This is the place that my journey has brought me, what I’ve been fighting to find, what I’ve been looking for without knowing it.
It. Is. Like. Christmas.
It’s a buoy in an otherwise stormy sea of my life right now. It’s the first thing that I’ve found to cling to after I unmoored myself from being a full-time Genius employee. For the second time in my life, I have the thought of, I can’t believe they’re paying me to do this. The hour flies by. Daniel and I set up station at one end of the table, and we work through the cast of characters in order of importance and appearance. There is lively debate about the functionality of “boob armor,” and I end up sketching a suggestion for the new female protagonist that doesn’t involve seven miles of cleavage and two inches of spandex. Daniel adds his own expertise to the mix, even demonstrating for the artists several of the movements he thinks the actors and stunt doubles will need to be able to accomplish with the costumes on. It’s eye-opening, really. To think of not just sketching something that looks good on paper but also needs to actually function like superhero costumes were intended to function: allow our supe to fight, flee, and do magnificent stunts of probably unnecessary but totally cool acrobatics. It’s a crossover to my drag costume work, and one that leaves me with this warm and glowy, fulfilled feeling that has been sorely missing in my life lately. Daniel and I play off each other with ease; he and I both take and give constructive criticism in a way that makes it feel edifying and not personal. I feel useful, vital, and a part of a kick-ass team.
I reflect on this as Daniel and I make our way out to the parking lot. Between his working knowledge of costumes and acrobatics, and my design skills, costume work, and background with THF, we really are the Dream Team for this movie. And beyond that, there’s this solid familiarity that is extending into a budding friendship that I’m not used to. Despite my suspicions about his spandex-wearing activities, I like Daniel Kim. And now that I’m back to square one, suspecting everyone I know, maybe I can just drop my suspicion and live in the moment. Enjoy life without imagining an agenda behind everything. Just be MG Martin, comic book writer
, kick-ass costume consultant.
“That was fun,” I say.
“You act surprised.”
“I love my work, usually, but I wouldn’t always categorize it as fun. I guess I usually have an agenda to ‘stick it to the man’ or make a positive change or impact on my industry. Sometimes I think I miss the forest for the trees.”
“This role is perfect for your skill set,” Daniel confirms. “I’m glad you’re having fun. Me too.”
The streetlights are starting to turn on in the dusk, and the one overhead casts an orange glow that accentuates the yellow of the setting sun. Maybe it’s just because I spent several hours thinking about superheroes and big sweeping dramatic settings, and capes and costumes, but this moment feels a lot like the start of some awesome partnership. I feel like reaching out with some secret handshake. In this moment, it’s not hard to picture either of us as secret superheroes. In this case, I guess we’re teaming up to take on the world of stagnant comic book movies, but I can almost picture us as real superheroes, I feel that amped up and powerful right now.
My phone dings in my pocket, and I break the gaze I didn’t realize I was holding with Daniel. I offer a small smile, and wave and head to my car.
It’s Matteo, wondering where I am, and I almost feel resentful of him for interrupting this triumphant moment in my career. But then I realize this is exactly what I want too. Because even though Matteo isn’t interested in talking about the length of a cape ideal for a crime-fighting vigilante, I’m already a part of a pretty awesome crime-fighting duo.
The Queen Con (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 2) Page 19