by S. J. Delos
She shrugged one shoulder. “I think you’re an embarrassment either way. But I know what you mean about having to deal with being under the ever-watching eye of sleaze journalism.”
“Well, that’s not surprising. You used to fly around the city with your ass practically hanging out,” I said with a snort. “I’m sure you loved all the attention.”
“Now it’s all yours,” she said, going back into her room.
Something about her tone and body language itched at me. When she didn’t close the door behind her, I followed.
“Are you jealous, Darla?” I asked, leaning against the inside of the frame, watching as she knelt down beside her bed. “That Omega-Girl is no longer the most popular member of the Good Guys?”
She looked up at me, then pulled a large box from beneath the mattress. It was about the size of a suitcase and was made of some type of dull matte metal. It was dinged in several places, looking like the sort of thing a younger Darla might have in her college dorm.
Hell, for all I knew, it was.
She set the trunk on the bed, twisting open the latch. The fastening arms flicked up with a snapping click.
“You’re right, in a way,” she said as she stood. “I used to be the one getting all the press coverage. At least, the photographic portions. No one cared how I managed to stop the bad guy, just as long as I looked good doing it.”
She reached inside the trunk, pulling out a copy of The Hero Report from a couple of months ago. She held it tightly against her chest.
“I honestly didn’t really care what they said. I was accustomed to people saying mean things to me out of spiteful jealousy. When you’re a hero, out there doing things that matter, especially if you’re an attractive female, there’s always someone who wants to let everyone know that you’re not all that great.” Her frown became a little more pronounced. “Now, though, they’ve become something worse.”
She tepidly handed me the paper, her hand trembling just a bit. I turned it around in my grip to stare at the front.
I recognized the scene in the photo taking up most of the page. We’d been fighting against the newly reformed Legion of Bedlam. During the battle, Darla had taken more than her fair share of hits—both energy and physical, leaving her uniform ripped in several places. The additional exposure to unfiltered sunlight greedily absorbed by her body increasing both the strength of her powers as well as her waistline.
The headline text didn’t comment on the fact that the photo showed her knocking Behemoth on his ass with a double plasma blast. An action, by the way, which pretty much ended the whole fight. Instead, the bold lettering above the image read: OH, MEGA-SIZE GIRL SAVES THE DAY.
I handed the paper back to her, unable to not see the embarrassed look on her face. Sure, there were issues between Darla and I from our past—and present—issues, I occasionally poked fun at her size problem.
But we covered each other’s backs when it came to the world outside. Nobody messes with my teammate except me.
“I’m going to go rip someone’s head off,” I told her as I pushed off the door. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Karen, don’t.” Her voice sounded so small. Tired. “It’s really not worth it.”
I turned back to see her sit down on the edge of the bed, holding the paper in both hands on her lap. She looked like someone who either already gave up or was on the verge of doing so.
“Darla, this can’t go uncontested. I mean, we are out there every day, saving people we don’t even know. We don’t deserve to be maligned by smug shitheads with little dicks and zero appreciation for the fact that they aren’t dead a thousand times over thanks to us.” I shook my head. “We deserve better than that. You deserve better.”
She looked up at me, a tiny smile forcing its way through the melancholy. “Thanks, Karen. It does mean a lot to hear you say that.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to keep my own grin from making an appearance. “Yeah? Well, don’t let it go to your head. I still plan on punching your lights out for telling my mother about the award nomination.”
She shrugged again. “I wasn’t scared of you when you were Crushette, Karen. I’m sure not scared of you now that you’ve gone all soft and cuddly.” Then a little gleam appeared in her eye. “Besides, you hit like a girl.”
“That’s for damn sure,” I said, finally letting my smile out. I sighed, jerking my thumb over my shoulder toward my own room. “Well, I have to go get ready. Bi-monthly mother/daughter lunch date today.” I sighed. “Honestly I think I would rather face off against Colossal again.”
Darla snickered. “Tell your mom I said, ‘hi’!”
Charro’s was a little upscale bistro, catering to diners with a more refined palate and a deeper wallet than most. It was the kind of place where you could drop fifty dollars or more on lunch and still be hungry two hours later.
I was supposed to meet my mother at 12:30, but when the cab pulled to a stop in front of the place ten minutes early, I saw through the window she was already seated at her usual table. I should have known that she was going to make sure that it was she who was waiting on me to arrive. Some things never change.
I paid the driver, grabbed my backpack, and climbed out of the cab. Walking into the cozy, crowded café, I stopped at the hostess stand to nod toward the already occupied table in the back.
“I’m with the lady in the bright pink bandana,” I said, peering at the young girl over the tops of my sunglasses.
“The lady in the … Mrs. Hashimoto? Oh!”
I brought my finger up to my lips. “Let’s not announce it to the whole restaurant, okay?”
She nodded twice. “Of course… Miss Hashimoto. Right this way.”
The girl turned, leading the way to where my mother sat, regally watching the room around her. None of the other patrons in the place paid any attention to me as I approached the table. I stopped to stand behind the chair opposite my mother.
The hostess looked between us. “Enjoy your meal, ladies,” she said before returning to her station.
My mother’s eyes swept over me, judging my appearance as usual. “Hello, Kaori. Hmm, no jeans, no uniform. To what do I owe this unexpected surprise?”
I pulled off the sunglasses, dropped the backpack on the floor, then held my arms out to the sides.
In an attempt to fit in with the rest of the customers, as well as get some tiny measure of parental approval, I dug out a nice outfit to wear to lunch. The day was cool, typical of late October in North Carolina. So, even though the temperature didn’t really affect me, the maroon sweater dress was paired with dark gray tights, and the boots usually worn with my uniform.
“I’m trying to be discreet. Apparently, my skills in that area are lacking.” I pulled out my chair, sitting as I placed the sunglasses on top of my head. “So I’ve been told.”
“Well, discretion never did really suit you. I remember when you dyed your hair that repugnant bright green color. All so you could get out of having to go to your dance recital.” She leaned slightly to the side, eyeing the pack at my feet. “True discretion would have called for a purse. Not luggage.”
“It’s got my uniform in it,” I said. “I’m supposed to take it with me everywhere I go.”
Granted, that’s not exactly what Greg suggested, but I knew the first time I didn’t have it and ended up with my ass hanging out on the evening news, I was going to get another lecture.
“Besides,” I continued. “I’ve got a patrol shift this afternoon. Didn’t feel like flying all the way back to the tower just to get changed.”
“Of course. Because changing clothes in the restroom of a trendy restaurant is much better.”
“Honestly, Mother? For your information, Kurt’s place is just a couple of blocks from here. I am planning on changing there.”
Her perpetual frown deepened. “Oh? Does Detective Braddock have the day off of work? Or do you just drift in through an open window?”
“I’ve got a key, if you really must know. We’re practically living together.” I picked up the menu, blocking our view of each other. “What’s good here?”
I heard the expected sigh, and a few moments later she answered me. “The grilled chicken half-wrap is excellent. Or perhaps you could have the grilled salmon salad?” There was a detectable emphasis on the second suggestion.
I lowered the menu to stare at her. “Are you making a specific recommendation based on something you’ve eaten before? Or is this some subtle hint about me watching my weight?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your body, Kaori. At least, not from what I could tell by the photo on the front of that awful rag.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine my embarrassment when Jodi Fenrir called last night to tell me you were practically naked while provocatively posed on a tabloid magazine in the supermarket check-out line?”
I dropped the menu on the table, leaning forward. “Mother, I wasn’t posing. I was stretching my back after holding up a truck. It’s not my fault the cameraman took the photo in a way that makes it look worse than it was.”
“I guess it wasn’t your fault you weren’t wearing a bra, too?” She rolled her eyes. “Really, Kaori. I raised you better than that.”
“I’ve already been beaten up about that picture enough for one day, Mother. So just drop it, okay?”
But it wasn’t going to be over until Rebecca Hashimoto wanted it to be over.
“You know,” she said in her mortified voice. “As much as I loathe to admit this, I was thankful that your image never found its way on that sort of smut when you were being bad. You would think editors would enjoy publishing horrible and shameful things about Crushette as often as they could.”
I looked at her with the most serious expression I could conjure.
“Martin would have killed them for it,” I said, bringing up the menu again. “He would have killed them, their friends, their families, and their pets. No one is crazy enough to get on his radar on purpose. Least of all some tabloid reporter.”
“Still…”
“Drop it, Mother.”
I frowned as I searched the menu for the meal with the worst nutritional value. It took a few minutes, since everything Charro’s served was designed with the non-working, upper-class female in mind. When the waitress came over, I still wasn’t decided.
“I’ll have the shrimp and black bean wrap,” my mother said. “With a cup of hot tea.” She smiled super pleasantly to the other woman, then looked at me. “Have you made a decision, Kaori?”
I nodded, handing the menu to the server.
“Can I get the steak that normally comes on the steak salad served on the type of bun you normally get with the veggie burger? Oh, have the chef also sprinkle that bad boy with the shredded cheddar and bacon that is offered with the chef salad.” I smiled as she wrote all that down, even though her face was twisted into an expression of confusion. I’m sure she was wondering why I didn’t just go someplace else if I wanted a bacon cheeseburger. “I will have a hot tea as well, please.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” the waitress said as she left to put in our order.
I watched her depart, then gave my mother my most innocent smile. “Guess I’ll see if I can borrow one of Darla’s expanding uniforms.” I leaned back, patting my flat tummy. “I doubt I’ll fit in the one I brought after I devour that feast.”
My mother snorted. “Really, Kaori? Could you be any more cantankerous? You’re acting just like the spoiled teenager I remember.”
I nodded slowly. “While you’re acting just like the constantly disapproving mother I lived with for years. Nothing I did was ever good enough, was it?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I thought things were going to be different. I thought we were reconciling our differences.”
Her already flush cheeks reddened more, then she looked away. “I don’t want to fight with you today. I wanted us to have a nice lunch, like a normal mother and daughter.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that we had never been a normal mother and daughter, even before my Activation. However, before the first syllable could pass by my lips, the sound of a not-too-distant explosion rattled the windows of the café. I jumped to my feet, knocking over my chair.
Three seconds later, the commlink in the outer pocket of my backpack beeped loudly. I snatched up the bag, dropped it unceremoniously on the table, and pulled out the device. I stuck it in my ear, pressing the button on the side.
“Kayo here,” I said.
Richard’s voice came through clearly. “Kayo, the EAPF is requesting our assistance near 6th Street. Where are you?”
“I’m on the east side. I can be in route within five minutes. Kayo out.”
I grabbed the pack and scanned the room until I found the door marked “Ladies” then I looked at my mother. Her face was slightly ashen and her green eyes were wide.
“What … what was that? What’s happening?” There was an uncharacteristic tremble in her voice.
I knelt down, placing my hand on her arm. “I don’t know, Mother. Some type of trouble. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
She nodded in agreement. I patted her on the arm before jumping up to rush across the room to the bathroom. I burst into a tiny enclosure that reeked of clouds of grandma perfume and roses. Tossing the backpack on the sink counter, I leaned against one of the cool tile walls, struggling out of my boots and tights. I yanked the sweater over my head, letting it drop to the floor. Then I grabbed my uniform out of the bag and climbed into the legs, pulling the rest of it up around my waist with a much-practiced wiggle.
I was in the process ditching my bra right as one of the stall doors opened. A little old lady, who was probably just the other side of eighty, emerged. She stopped the moment she realized I was standing there, staring at me through the thick lenses of her bifocals.
We looked at each other for a whole second, then I resumed dressing while she moved around the pile of clothing in her path to wash her hands. I slipped my feet into my boots, scooped the civilian attire into the pack, and zipped up the front of my uniform.
The woman dried her hands on an expensive-looking towel hanging on a copper hook. As I went for the door, I glanced in the mirror to see her watching me carefully.
“You really need a phone booth, dear,” she said with a dryly sarcastic tone. I tossed her a little three-finger salute and went out the door.
I exited the bathroom, drawing back my arm to bowl my backpack across the floor, sliding it right to my mother’s feet. I ran toward the door as fast as my feet would carry me. Right as my hand hit the door, I heard my mother call out. “Kaori!”
I glanced back over my shoulder, pausing halfway through the doorway.
“Please… be careful.” I could see the tears on her cheeks from across the room.
“I will,” I said. Then I ran outside, leaping into the air the moment I cleared the ornate awning over the entrance.
Game time.
CHAPTER 9:
MUSEUM THROWDOWN
I picked up Alexis on the way to the scene of the commotion. She was running as fast as she could along the sidewalk, ghosting through pedestrians who were confused enough about what was going on that they simply stood there looking around with surprised expressions. I laughed, swooping low as I came up behind her.
“Phantasm, go solid,” I said. “You’re about to get a ride.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little joy at the fact that she immediately stopped to become tangible. She didn’t ask any questions, simply trusting me implicitly to do whatever it was I planned.
I slowed just enough so when I scooped her up into my arms, the impact on her non-durable body was negligible. Once she was snugly against me, I blasted up, carrying us above the rooflines.
“Thanks,” she said, grinning. “My feet were beginning to kill me.” Her voice echoed slightly, coming from right in front of me as well as through the open com.
“I
thought you were patrolling with Omega-Girl,” I said.
“I am over on the south side of the city,” Darla responded in my ear, sounding hurt. “Heading that way now.”
I looked at Alexis, shaking my head. Darla was notorious for patrolling by herself, usually flying in a wide arc around the very edges of our area. If she really was on the southernmost location, it was going to take her at least eight minutes to get to the scene.
I swooped around the corner of Trade and 6th Streets, immediately seeing the cause of my having to bail on lunch with my mother. Four villains, each one a handful of trouble all by themselves. But as a group, they were downright deadly.
Carbonado, Sonix, Mega-Blaster, and Syncope. The Doom Quartet.
Several years ago, Martin recruited them to do a couple of jobs he felt were too insignificant to be assigned to Sarah and I. Back then, they were known as the Doom Quintet. They did acceptable work, impressive enough that Martin even entertained the idea of making the group’s members semi-permanent employees.
That was before one of the Quintet, a water manipulator named Splash, thought it a good idea to mouth off at him in front of a group of underlings. She claimed, rather loudly, that Doctor Maniac owed her team more respect than he was showing.
Last I recall, she was still in a stoppered crystal decanter on a shelf in his study.
I stopped over the middle of the street, hovering about ten feet in the air while Alexis and I surveyed the commotion below.
The EAPF were set up at both ends of 6th Street, using a couple of heavily armored vehicles as a barricade on one side and a transport hover on the other. A group of InBees caught in the middle ran around haphazardly, trying to stay safe while getting out of the danger zone. A couple of lucky ones made their way past the blockade.
Four of the ten cars parked at the curb in front of the Museum of Discovery were burning, their sides almost completely melted into slag. Mega-Blaster’s handiwork. The thick smoke swirling around helped increase the pandemonium, making the civilians nearest the museum cough and stumble around in their attempt to find refuge.