by wildbow
Damn, this family had good genes.
You just needed one look at Aisha to know that she was going to be drop dead gorgeous when she had finished growing up. All that said, though, she had a streak of hair bleached and some of that bleached hair had been dyed into a stripe of purple. It was as though she had gone out of her way to look trashy, with ripped denim shorts over neon green fishnet leggings, and a strapless top I would hesitate to even call underwear. Any envy I felt towards her was accented by an almost offended feeling, as far as how she was spoiling what she’d been naturally given.
“Am I interrupting?” she said, her tone vaguely mocking, as she gave me a look I couldn’t quite figure out.
“Aisha,” Brian stood up, “What are you doing here? You—” he stopped as a solid, heavyset black woman entered through the front door. Where Aisha’s glance my way had been ambiguous, the look this woman gave me was anything but. Disapproval, dislike. I realized what I must look like, slightly sweaty, on the floor amid pieces of furniture, stomach showing, practically glowing with a pink blush. I hurried to grab my sweatshirt and pull it on.
“Mr. Laborn?” the heavy woman said, “I’m afraid I expected you to be more prepared, but it seems like you’re in the middle of something.”
Brian shook his head, “Ma’am. Mrs. Henderson. I’m almost positive your office told me to expect you at two this afternoon.”
“That was the original time. Aisha told me you wanted to reschedule—” Mrs. Henderson trailed off and gave Aisha a hard look.
Aisha smiled, shrugged, and hopped up so she was sitting on the end of the kitchen counter. “What? There’s a movie I want to see this afternoon with my friends.”
“If you’d asked, I might have said yes,” Brian told her, “Now I’m probably going to say no.”
“Not your call, bro, I’m not living with you yet,” she raised a double-set of middle fingers his way.
Brian looked like he was going to say something else, but then he stopped himself. He sighed, then turned his attention to Aisha’s caseworker, “I’m sorry about this.”
She frowned, “Me too. I should have called to check, given Aisha’s history of bending the truth.” She looked at her notebook and turned a page, “If you’d like to reschedule, hmmm, I’m afraid I’ve already filled the afternoon slot, but perhaps this weekend…?”
Brian gave Aisha an annoyed look, “Since you’re already here, if you’re willing to look past the furniture we haven’t finished putting together, we could do it now.”
“If you’re sure? What about your… companion?” she glanced at me.
My blush probably hadn’t gone away, and I suspect I blushed a little harder at suddenly being put in the middle of an awkward situation. Probably didn’t help banish any wrong impressions she’d picked up.
“She’s a friend, she was helping me out. Taylor, I’m not sure how long this will be. I don’t want to waste your time, but I’d feel bad if you left so soon after coming all the way here. If you want to stick around and take it easy, I could give you a ride back after.”
Every socially awkward part of my brain itched to take the offered escape route, make my exit, cool off. It was hard to say why I didn’t.
“I’ll stay, if I won’t be in the way. No plans for the afternoon.”
When Brian smiled, I realized why I hadn’t jumped on the chance to leave.
The woman gave me another close examination. She asked me, “Are you in his online class?”
I shook my head.
“No. You looked a little young for it.” Then she challenged me, “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Um,” I hesitated. Stick as close to the truth as possible. “I was caught at the edge of one of the bomb blasts, got a concussion. I’m missing classes until I’m totally better.”
“I see. I’m sure that assembling furniture is what the doctor intended when he told you to rest and recuperate?”
I smiled awkwardly and shrugged. Man, I was really hoping I wasn’t tanking this thing for Brian.
“So,” Brian spoke to Mrs. Henderson, “You wanted to look my place over, and see the space I set aside for Aisha? I guess this is a chance for you to check out a place before the family has scrambled to sweep everything under the rug.”
“Mmm.” A noncommital response. “Let’s step onto the balcony, and you can tell me about the area and the nearby schools.”
Brian led the way and held the door for the caseworker. It swung shut behind him, leaving me with Aisha, who was still sitting on the kitchen counter. I gave her a small smile, and received a cool, penetrating stare in return. Uncomfortable, I turned my attention to the table and tried to see what I could do on my own, with the second leg.
“So. You’re on my brother’s team?”
What? I was proud of myself when I barely missed a beat. “Team? I know he boxes, or boxed, at least, but—”
She gave me a funny look, “You’re going to play dumb, hunh?”
“I’m not following. Sorry.”
“Right.” She leaned back and kicked her legs a bit.
I turned my focus back to the table leg. I didn’t get very far before she interrupted me again.
“Look, I know you’re on his team. Process of elimination, you have to be the bug girl.”
I shook my head, as much to deny it as in exasperation. What the hell, Brian?
“He told me that he had powers, didn’t say what they were. Since he has powers, he thinks there’s a chance I could get ’em too. Didn’t want me to be surprised. I figured out who he was after that, saw something about some villains robbing a casino on a night he wasn’t at home, started keeping track of times he wasn’t available and it kept matching up. Called him on it, and he didn’t do a very good job at denying it.”
Hoping to throw her off balance, I put the most convincing wide eyed expression of shock on my face that I could manage, “You’re saying your brother’s a supervillain?”
She blinked twice, then said, slowly, like she was talking to someone with a mental handicap, “Yeaaaaah. And I’m saying you are, too. Why else would my brother be hanging out with you?”
Ouch. That stung.
I was spared having to come up with a response and keep the charade going when Brian and the caseworker came back from the balcony.
The caseworker was saying, “…hesitant, with the waiting list.”
“She’s in the territory and she’d be entering the school at the same time as the rest of the grade nine students.” Brian replied, giving Aisha the evil eye, “And it would mean separating her from the bad influences around where she’s living now.”
Aisha gave him the finger, again.
“Mmm,” the caseworker replied, glancing from Aisha to him. “I’d like to see your bedroom next?”
“Mine? Not Aisha’s?”
“Please.”
Brian led the caseworker up the stairs to his bedroom, which overlooked the rest of the apartment.
“Maybe I should see how you react if I shout it aloud,” Aisha suggested. She played up an accent, “What do you call yourself, again?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Not saying? Whatever.” Hands cupped around her mouth as though she were shouting, she mock-shouted at a volume barely above regular speech, “Ladybug and Grue, in da house!”
I glanced upstairs, hoping that Brian and the caseworker weren’t in earshot. The murmur of conversation up there didn’t seem to have been interrupted by what Aisha had said.
“Seems like you’d be in a lose-lose situation, broadcasting it like that,” I replied. “Either you’re right, and you tick off two people you really might want to avoid angering, or you’re wrong and you look crazy.”
“What if they already think I’m a little crazy, though? What do I have to lose?”
“Can’t say.” I tightened the bolt, checked the chair leg, and found it solid as a rock. I moved on to the next one. “What do you have to gain?”
“Come onnnn
,” she wheedled. “Just admit it.”
My heart was pounding when Brian and the caseworker came down the stairs. Aisha, for her part, pasted a wide, fake grin on her face to greet them. Brian ushered the woman into the second bedroom, but didn’t go inside with her. He stopped to look at me.
“Taylor, you don’t need to do that on your own.”
“It’s alright,” I said. Glancing up at where Aisha was sitting on the countertop, I added, “It’s a nice distraction.”
“Sorry. I think we’ll be just another minute.”
It was, it turned out. The caseworker exited Aisha’s bedroom-to-be and glanced through the bathroom, then investigated the cupboards and fridge.
Mrs. Henderson spoke to Aisha, “I’d like you to step onto the balcony for a minute.”
“Whatever.” Aisha hopped down from the counter and headed outside.
“And,” she said, turning to Brian, “You might want your friend to step outside too.”
“I don’t really have anything to hide,” he answered, glancing my way.
“Alright. Let me start off by saying this is better than most.”
“Thank you.”
“But I have concerns.”
You could see Brian’s expression change a fraction, at that.
“I read the documents and plans you emailed me. You have a solid plan in mind for accounting, paying the bills, assisting with her education, possible extra expenses, clothes budget, even setting money aside for college. In many respects, this is the sort of situation I wish for, with most of my cases.”
“But?”
“But when I look at this place, I see that you’ve made it very much yours. The furniture, the decorations, the artwork, they seem to point to your personality, leaving very little room for Aisha’s, even in the space you’ve set aside for her.”
Brian looked a little stunned at that. “I see.”
“Look, Mr. Laborn, we have to consider Aisha’s perspective. She’s a serial runaway. She clearly doesn’t see your father’s place as a home. Extra care should be given to ensure she sees this as one. Assuming she winds up here and not at her mother’s.”
“My mother’s,” Brian’s expression took on a more serious cast.
“I’m aware of your concerns on the subject of Aisha’s mother, Mr. Laborn.”
My cell phone buzzed once in my sweatshirt pocket. I ignored it.
Brian sighed, sagging a little, “Is this fixable?”
“Yes. Involve Aisha in the decoration, be willing to compromise your tastes and aesthetics to allow her to feel like this is her space too,” she said. “I know it won’t be easy. Aisha is difficult sometimes, I’m sure we can both agree.”
I was beginning to gravitate towards that conclusion, myself.
“Yeah,” Brian nodded. “So what’s next?”
“I’ll be making a visit to her mother’s home in a week and a half, if I’m remembering right. If you want to send me another email when you feel you’ve amended this minor problem, and the small handful of things I pointed out during the inspection, I could arrange to stop by again.”
“That would be terrific.”
“Keep in mind that I have an overflowing caseload, and I probably won’t be able to stop by until at least a week after you’ve let me know.”
“Thank you,” Brian said.
“Any questions?”
He shook his head.
“Then I wish you luck. To apologize for the unexpected appointment time, I’ll make you a one time offer to take Aisha off your hands. If she insists on getting herself suspended, I can maybe introduce her to some others that went down that road, while I go to this afternoon’s appointments.”
Brian smiled. Not quite that amazing smile I’d seen so often, but a nice smile nonetheless, “I guess she’ll be missing that movie she wanted to go to.”
“Looks like,” the caseworker smiled conspiratorially. “Keep it up, Mr. Laborn. Aisha’s lucky to have you.”
Brian perked up a little at that.
The meeting didn’t last long after that, and a complaining Aisha was dragged off by the caseworker. I couldn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief until they were gone. Even then, I was uneasy, knowing how strong Aisha’s suspicions had been.
Remembering that my phone had buzzed, I reached for my cell phone to see what the message had been. While holding down the button to unlock it, I told Brian, “Aisha knows about the Undersiders, looks like.”
“Shit. Sorry,” he made a pained face, “If I thought you’d be running into her, I would’ve given you a heads up. You didn’t say anything?”
“Pretended not to know what the hell she was talking about, for all the good it did. Is this going to be a problem?”
“She promised she wouldn’t say anything to anyone… and it really bothers me that she was indiscreet enough to raise the subject with someone I hadn’t okayed. But Aisha wouldn’t tell for the sake of telling. I think she was probably messing with you.”
“If you’re sure.” I had my reservations, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to press him on the subject, when he was already stressed.
“Pretty sure,” he sighed.
I looked at my cell phone. It was from Lisa.
srry to interrupt smoochfest. you two need to hurry back. shit is going down.
I felt a bit of heat on my cheeks as I took extra care to delete the text. When I was done, I turned to Brian. “Lisa says something’s up. She says to hurry back.”
“Pain in the ass,” Brian said. “I was hoping… ah hell. Guess we’re not going to get this stuff put together, huh?” he smiled at me.
I smiled back, “Another time.”
He gave me a hand to help me to my feet. Was I being hopeful or observant when I noted his hand maybe lingered a half second longer than necessary on my own?
Was a part of me dreading those possibilities, hoping that it was neither hope nor accurate observation on my part? Because I couldn’t quite tell if there was, or if I just wanted there to be a sane part of me having a say.
Fuck. I mentally moved up my timeline. No longer than a week, and I’d have to take what I knew about the Undersiders to the Protectorate. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself for any longer than that.
Tangle 6.4
“Thanks to a concerted effort by members of Brockton Bay’s Wards and Protectorate teams, the local gang, the ‘ABB’, or Azn Bad Boys, has fallen.”
Brian and I had arrived at the loft just in time to catch the bulletin on the news. Lisa, Alec, Bitch and the three dogs were gathered on the couches.
“The heroes of the hour are the young members of the Wards, Clockblocker and Vista, who played a pivotal role in managing a crisis with a superbomb, allegedly used by the supervillain Bakuda in an attempt to hold the city ransom and guarantee her safety. While experts on the scene refused to offer hard numbers, a local cape was quoted as stating the superbomb could have had a yield of nine thousand kilotons of energy. This device, containing power on par with conventional nuclear bombs, was fashioned with household materials scavenged from the area, after fighting in the Docks and pressure from local authorities forced the bomb’s alleged creator to relocate to a derelict boathouse just days ago. Were it not for the efforts of the Wards, this might have been a tragic day for our nation.
“As much as we might wish for a period of somber reflection, other local villains have shown little interest in putting recent matters to rest. Less than an hour after suspected ABB leader Lung and alleged accomplice Bakuda were brought into custody, the head offices of Medhall Corporation were assaulted by armed forces, in an altercation that drew the attention of members of local Aryan villain group Empire Eighty-Eight. This appears to have prompted a rash of more than six major incidents in the past hour—”
Lisa muted the TV, turning around on the couch to look at Brian and me. “I’ll give you the cliff notes. The Travelers just hit an art gallery and an airport in the span of an hour. Coil and Empire Eighty Eight are appare
ntly trying to make up for lost time and are just a hair away from open warfare on the streets. The Merchants—Skidmark’s group—are taking advantage of the chaos and trying to do what the ABB did, but with local drugheads and hobos and zero control over their situation… they won’t get far, but I’m sure they’re having a grand old looting spree.”
“So the ceasefire is over,” I spoke. Weren’t things supposed to get better with the ABB gone? Why did I feel partially responsible for this?
“It’s like everyone was poised at the starting line, ready to move the instant the gun fired,” Alec said.
“Except us,” Brian pointed out.
“Not necessarily,” Lisa shook her head, “Five minutes after Medhall got hit, we got a message from the boss. He’s got a job he wants us to do, maybe our biggest yet, but the timeline’s short. It’s why I called you here.”
Brian folded his arms.
“Here’s the thing,” she said. “Morale is down. The city is spooked, and things aren’t calming down the way people were hoping they would. The fact that we all dodged a bullet with this superbomb thing? It didn’t help.”
She typed on her laptop while she talked, “Topping it off, it doesn’t look good when the local news gets wind of the fact that a large part of the fighting against the ABB was being done by villains. Get my drift? So with the idea that they were planning a fundraiser around now anyways, the mayor’s promoting a function to help sell the idea that it was the good guys that were the major players here. End result? A fundraiser-slash-celebration involving the Protectorate, Wards, the PRT forces, cops and all those guys. Tonight. Most of the Wards and New Wave are gonna pick up the slack in the meantime, to keep the city protected, because the mayor’s prioritizing PR here.”
“I’m not liking the direction this is going, here,” I told her.
She picked up her laptop and set it on the back of the couch, facing me and Brian. The page showed details on the celebration, had links to ticket vendors and sported an image of a bunch of people in tuxedos and gowns. “The Protectorate and some of the Wards are going to be there with the upper crust of Brockton Bay, their friends and family, and anyone else willing to shell out the cash for a ticket. The boss wants us to, quote, ‘embarrass them’, unquote.”