Got Hope

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Got Hope Page 9

by Michael Darling


  James nodded and gave a little wave.

  I told him I enjoyed meeting him even though he’d never remember me. I recognized Alzheimer’s when I saw it.

  Hope watched him go. “He’s my hero. He’s Superman and George Washington and Captain America all in one.”

  I didn’t point out the fact that none of those guys had children of their own, not even the one who wasn’t from a comic book. I liked that she found heroic qualities in her dad. I wished I could feel similarly about my dad, who had more qualities of a superhero than most.

  “He’s fortunate to have you as a daughter. I understand why it’s so important for you to take care of him.”

  “He’s been through so much. After mom died, his diabetes went out of control. He lost his legs. Then Alzheimer’s came on. It feels like he’s deteriorating every day. He’s at a great facility, but . . .”

  “But it’s expensive.”

  Income for cheerleaders wasn’t a lot. I’d checked. At the professional level, most cheerleaders only got a hundred dollars or so per game. They could make more through personal appearances and other events but they often needed second jobs to make ends meet.

  Or they became trophy wives for multimillionaires.

  Hope answered, “Dad’s pension and veteran’s insurance help but they don’t cover it all. He means everything to me. After mom died, he was all I had. He took care of me. Raised me. It’s my turn to take care of him.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I’m going to grab some empanadas.”

  “Good evening, Hope.” The new voice made me turn, just as I was reaching for a plate.

  “Marcus.” Hope backed away from the door.

  Chapter Ten: Blond Berserker

  Hope’s husband looked like an overfed cat, sleek in his gray suit, dark hair smoothed back, with an implacably calm expression. I wondered about the timing.

  “You just missed Hope’s dad,” I said.

  “Unfortunately.” He twitched his head and lip as he said it.

  With that single word, I got a read on Marcus. He was ashamed to have an Alzheimer’s patient for a father-in-law.

  Marcus said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to speak with you. Your boyfriend is welcome to stay.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Hope said.

  I took a couple of steps so I was partially in front of Hope, shielding her, and it gave me a chance to look closer at Marcus’s Stain. I’d never seen anything like it. He had a simple green banded Stain with tiny spikes, but around it was a second layer of black that looked like it was strangling the green one at regular intervals.

  I said, “I’m not her boyfriend. I did well on the written test and the computer simulation, but I totally froze in the interview. Subconsciously, I have too much respect for the institution of marriage to want to take her away from you before she’s ready.”

  Marcus nodded and stared at me then slid a manila folder and an electronic tablet onto the table. “I don’t think a judge will have any reservations about setting her free from me,” he said. “I have enough evidence to make sure the prenuptial agreement is nullified. On the up side, no more marriage. On the down side, no more house, no more car, and no more financial settlement.”

  I pointed at the folder. “Open it.”

  Marcus flipped open the folder and pushed a series of photographs at us, one by one. Each photo had a clear shot of Hope with a different man in it.

  Hope and a tall blond man coming out of a motel room.

  Hope and a Hispanic man laughing in the window of a restaurant.

  Hope and a bald man kissing each other in the front seat of an SUV.

  Hope made “Uh” sounds with each photo like somebody was jabbing her in the gut.

  “These photos are good,” Marcus said. “But the best proof arrived today.” Marcus pushed the tablet at us and tapped the “Play” button.

  Video from a high window looked out across a street. Downtown Miami, midday. I’d been down that street plenty of times and there were several luxury hotels in the area. The shot established the setting and the camera panned to put a window in the center of the frame. A woman walked past the window, smiling. Sons of guns and roses. It looked like Hope. She reached out and pulled someone close. They kissed. I couldn’t see the man’s face because their heads were turned so only the woman’s hair was visible. The couple broke the kiss so the man could say something and then they both laughed.

  It was my turn to make an “Uh” sound.

  The man was me.

  I watched until it was clear where the encounter was leading and tapped “Stop.”

  “Who faked that for you?” I asked.

  Marcus turned his hands up, all innocence. “Nothing fake about reality.”

  “This video is completely fabricated,” I said. “Hope and I only met this morning.”

  “And this afternoon, you sealed the deal. I’m sure a judge will listen to you. They like a joke as much as anyone.” Marcus gave us a turned-up corner of his mouth. Anger flared in my chest and I wanted to turn the corner of his mouth back down with my fist. I didn’t like being accused of things that I hadn’t done. Or seeing someone else accused of things they hadn’t done. Things that hurt.

  “I don’t know how you pulled this off, Marcus, but it won’t work.” Hope had her arms crossed tightly in front of her, standing perfectly straight, defiant.

  “We’ll see. Right now, Hope, I want you to resign from the cheerleading squad.”

  “I can’t do that. You have all my assets tied up.”

  “You have a great story. Use your new celebrity to sell it. The famous little cheerleader who catches a football. But if you don’t leave,” he pointed at the tablet, “the video of you two in the hotel goes to the press. Then you’ll be fired and publicly humiliated in the bargain.”

  I tried to quell the rising tide of hatred in my heart. I gave Marcus a hard stare. “I know why you want to get rid of her. You sit in your box and you watch everyone watching Hope and you realize you made a big mistake letting her go.”

  Marcus sneered.

  “I’ll find out how you faked this,” I said. “You’re a cheater and a liar and I’ll make sure you’re the one who’s humiliated. Not her.”

  “Who will believe you? My people checked you out, Luck. You’re a small-time investigator who got kicked off the police force. I’m a respected businessman, civic leader, and philanthropist.”

  “I’m sorry. What was that last part?”

  “Philanthropist.”

  “Ah. You mispronounced it. The word is philanderer.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “It’s what you meant. It’s good you’re opening up. Admitting your weaknesses is a big step toward self-actualization.”

  “We’re done here. Get out.”

  “It’s hard, I know. I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that I turn into a smarmy jerk when I’m face-to-face with a lying sack of dog doo-doo. Like right now.”

  “You need to leave.”

  “Doo-doo.”

  “I’m calling security.”

  “Dude of doodley-doo.”

  “I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Dudley doo-doo.”

  “You’re done.”

  “Captain Poodle-Doodles.”

  He tried to punch me. He really did try. He pulled back with his fist and shot it straight at my face. I soft-caught his hand in mine. I had my shield coin and if I had let him hit my hand full-force, it would have left him with broken fingers, knuckles, wrist, and possibly arm. You don’t hit a brick wall without injury, unless the wall lets you do it. My hand and arm flexed back, giving some cushion to his punch. It still hurt, judging by the shocked look on his face. His hands were small and I squeezed his fist in mine, forcing his arm down.

  Hope’s punch was the one that landed. She caught Marcus in the side of his face while he was busy looking at me, realizing his mistake. His head snapped to the side.


  “That’s for all the times you hit me!” She still had her shield medallion too, apparently, because her swing hadn’t been that hard. He’d certainly felt it—but she hadn’t. “Hold him still, Got!” she said. “I wanna hit him again!”

  “Hope, wait. HOPE!” I had to yell. She’d wound up for another punch and I had to stop her. With the shield working, she could crush his skull and hardly notice, which would raise unanswerable questions on both sides.

  She stopped but her fists remained balled up tight and her eyes bright. I had a potential berserker on my hands. A five-foot-two ball of fury with a bare midriff and white leather boots.

  “Let’s leave Mr. da Silva alone to think about what he’s done.” I kept my fist around Marcus’ hand. I figured I could control Hope by talking. Him, I wasn’t sure.

  I pointed at the photos. “Let’s take those with us.” I wanted to get a closer look at the photos but I also wanted to channel Hope’s energy into some activity other than bashing her soon-to-be-ex-husband into a wrongful death lawsuit. She scooped up the photos and put them back in the folder. Marcus tried pulling his hand out of my fist and I tightened my grip. Something popped and Marcus groaned.

  Through gritted teeth, Marcus said, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  I twisted his hand a few degrees. “Dang it. I just about said the exact same thing, and then I could have shut you up under the international laws of jinx. Until I said your name, of course. Which would have been never. Smarcass.”

  I picked up Marcus’ tablet and offered it to him. The anger I felt wanted release. I threaded power into my fingers and cranked up some heat. I held Marcus’ eyes in my gaze until he took the tablet from my hand. He yelled and it clattered to the table when he dropped it.

  “Never buy cheap.” I smiled. Wisps of smoke came off the tablet. “Those things get overheated so fast. It would be a real shame if you didn’t have a backup.”

  I let go of Marcus’ hand. Now he had pain on both sides. A burn on one hand. Torn tendons on the other. And a bruise starting up on his cheek, courtesy of Hope.

  He stared at me, eyes savage and mean. He wasn’t done with me, I was certain.

  Good. Bring it.

  Hope and I stared back and then walked out. Marcus snarled, “Resign, Hope. Three days. Then I release the video.”

  Two guys in dark suits met us at the door. Of course, it would be them. I made the connection that their Stains had the same colors and pointed edges I’d seen on Marcus. Interesting.

  “We were just leaving.” I grabbed Hope’s hand and pushed past the Tweedles. They let us through but followed us into the hall. A tingle ran up the back of my neck like the tread of a spider wearing eight velvet slippers.

  I needed to stop thinking about creepy-crawlies.

  “Wrong way,” Tweedledumb said.

  We had started down a hallway that led deeper into the facility. Hope turned and put her hands on her hips. “I have to change my clothes. It’s against the rules to wear a cheerleader’s uniform outside the stadium except at officially sanctioned events.”

  I tried not to smile. Hope’s eyes were still bright. The bug brothers would be smart not to provoke her. She was still amped up and if they didn’t cooperate she’d tear into them like a wolverine into a pair of butterflies.

  Tweedledumb looked at me. “Will she come back?”

  What’s he asking me for? I turned to Hope. “You’ll come back, right?”

  Hope sighed and rolled her eyes and continued down the hallway.

  I looked at Tweedledumb. “She’ll come back.” Moments passed. When I was sure no one else would hear, I whispered, “Does Marcus know you’re Fae?”

  Tweedledumb looked at Tweedledumber but didn’t answer. The section of hallway was secluded and poorly lit. A transitional hallway to other hallways. The crowds of people had efficiently left the building, along with most of the staff. The hollow sound echoing down the empty corridor let me know that this area, at least, was deserted. This was as much privacy as we were going to get.

  “C’mon. Marcus is obviously a mortal. Does he know you’re Fae?”

  They stared at me.

  “So, he doesn’t know. Does he know how you faked the videos? Looks like magic to me.”

  They stared some more.

  “Why would the Dubhcridhe need a mortal?”

  No answer.

  “What did you do with the evidence you stole out of the back of my car?”

  Zip.

  “How about those bugs? Do you ever just conjure a few for a snack?”

  “Too many questions,” Tweedledumb said.

  “We should take care of him now,” Tweedledumber said.

  “Let’s beat him up first,” Tweedledumb said. “Then he can’t set our babies on fire.”

  “Whoa. Hang on,” I said.

  The pair of them dropped into a fighting stance, fists raised. I knew they could spew bugs, but I didn’t know if they could take me hand-to-hand. They looked strong and confident, though, which told me it wouldn’t be an easy fight. And the anger that came off them seemed to call to the anger in me.

  “Last one to raise his hand goes to sleep,” I said.

  They stopped edging and started blinking, working against the rust to process what I’d said. They’d probably heard trash talk before a fight before but they hadn’t heard that.

  Tweedledumb cocked his head to the side. “What did you say?”

  “Look, guys. It’s simple. One of you raises your hand and the other one goes to sleep. That’s how it works.”

  The Tweedles looked at each other and then back at me. I kept my eyes on them so they wouldn’t see me watching Nat, who had emerged from the shadows behind them. It was scary how smooth and quiet Nat could move for a big man. I’m glad he wasn’t sneaking up on me.

  “And hey, I don’t want you to get mad at each other later. There’s no shame in deciding you don’t want to raise your hand.”

  Tweedledumb turned out to be dumber. He raised his hand. In the next moment, Nat’s arm snaked around Tweedledumber’s neck like a fifty-foot anaconda. Before Tweedledumber could react, Nat had his bicep and forearm pressed against either side of his neck, stopping the blood flowing through the arteries feeding his brain. If I hurried, he’d have time to watch me drop his friend before he blacked out.

  Having raised his hand in the air, Tweedledumb’s side was wide open. I drove my fist into his ribs and heard at least two of them crack. The air whoofed out of Tweedledumb’s lungs. He doubled over, bringing his face down just in time to connect with my uppercut. The impact flipped him backwards in the movie version of the fight. In the real version, he slumped over anti-climactically and fell to the concrete with a moan.

  Fighting with a full shield was not at all fair, but I’d practiced to make sure I could hit hard enough to knock out your average thug without putting his face through the back of his head.

  I should kill him.

  I inhaled and forced the pulse of anger out of my system. The man was down, helpless.

  I don’t hit people who can’t hit back.

  I looked up to find Tweedledumber looking sleepy. I was breathing heavier than I should have been. “My guy’s out. What’s taking you so long?”

  Nat gave a glimmer of a smirk. “Finesse,” he said.

  I grabbed Tweedledumb by the wrists and dragged him behind some equipment. Nat’s guy went out a minute later and Nat pulled him over and laid him gently down.

  We had time to check our nonchalance before Hope got back. I still felt cranked up, but Nat’s chalance had been surgically removed years ago and he was perfectly at ease. Hope looked around. Looked at Nat. Looked at me. “Where are the security guys?”

  “They took off.”

  “Really?” Hope said. She’d changed back into Erin’s dress.

  I took her bag, which was surprisingly heavy. “I told them we’re heading out.”

  “They believed you?”

 
“I’d fire them.” Hope must have magical powers of her own. She got Nat to join the conversation.

  “Why would you fire them?” Hope asked.

  “Falling down on the job.” Nat’s expression was unruffled. Not a hint of a smile.

  I felt a snort and stifled it. Inside, I laughed like a hyena but I couldn’t let Hope see. It would be better if she didn’t know what we’d done. But I was dying. Nat makes a James Bond-Schwarzenegger joke at the end of a fight and I couldn’t overreact. Or even react.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “Which way?” Hope pointed, and Nat and I flanked her as we walked out. I looked at Nat over Hope’s head and he looked at me in time to catch my consternation. More than the joke, it would be funny to him that I couldn’t say anything. For a second, he gave half a smile. The second miracle of the day.

  In the main hallway, we came across a handful of other people, all staff. Hope knew every one of them by name. Some of them had seen her make the catch or had heard about it. They gave her a thumbs-up or a fist bump. A few asked if she’d make another catch next game and she said she didn’t think so.

  We arrived at the doors leading to the parking lot. Hope stopped. She turned around for another look, even though it was a non-descript corridor.

  “Are you thinking you’ll give this up?”

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. If I do, I’ll want to say goodbye to a few people. But if Marcus releases that video…” Hope clenched her jaws, denying any tears an exit. “I’m glad my father will never know about this.”

  Nat stayed with us until we got to my car. We both walked around my Mustang, security still top-most in our minds. I stooped and looked underneath, too. All clear.

  “Thanks, Nat.” I said. We got in and Nat tapped the hood with his fist.

  He nodded and said, “Later.” Then he melted into the shadows.

  “He’s a good guy,” Hope said.

  “The best,” I replied. “Ready to go?”

  “Not yet. Can we roll down the windows?”

  We rolled our windows down and enjoyed the evening air. The stadium was on my side of the car and Hope leaned over to look. Her face was small and framed perfectly by her hair and she smelled like shampoo that should be called “Cool Breeze.” Then I remembered I’d bought the shampoo this morning and it was called “Coastal Breeze.” Close enough. The name Hope was perfect for her. Someone tried to kill her and failed. Someone had tried to get her fired and basically succeeded. Yet she still looked hopeful.

 

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