by wade coleman
Pam laughs, lets out a loud snort, then blushes madly, embarrassed. She looks around to see if anyone’s looking at her, but the GI’s in the coffee shop are engaged in their conservations.
Amused by her behavior, I go on, “When the sun sets, no matter how hot it is during the day, the night feels like an autumn breeze.” I break up a piece of the high-end chocolate bar and take a bite; it is succulent and rich in cocoa butter. “The breeze comes from the moon. I know where it is by the direction of the breeze, even when the Moon is below the horizon.”
“Did you get lost in the moors and get bitten by a werewolf?” she says in a new accent I don’t recognize.
“Did you hear that?” Natasha appears, sitting next to me, holding a cup of coffee. She’s dressed in blue jeans and a blue t-shirt. “She was referring to An American Werewolf in London. Her accent is perfect for northern London, the place where they shot the movie.”
I smile. Natasha, along with the musical scores, is turning into a movie buff.
I take a sip of coffee. “Oh, you’re clever, making a double entendre by quoting the American Werewolf in a north London accent.”
Pam breaks off a piece of the chocolate bar. “Technically, that’s not a double entendre, but it’s nice to know my linguistic talent is not wasted.” She leans to me. “Tell me more about this relationship you have with the moon.”
“The moon is a gate that lets things in and out…good things…bad things.” I take a sip of coffee. “Sometimes, when the moon is full, I stand at the edge of a cold world with an orange sky. I’m somehow connected to that place, and I think that’s why my skin gets cold.”
Pam leans in. “I’d like to get a full scan of your DNA.” She gets out her phone and sends me a text, a phone number. “Call him; Theo’s very discreet.” Pam gets up and refills our coffees while I sit in stunned silence. After she sits back down, she asks, “Hermes, are you all right?”
I gesture with my hands and say, “I…I don’t know how to respond to that. Are you asking me to get a DNA test because you’re a nurse, or are you coming on to me?”
Pam holds her coffee cup in both hands and looks over the top. “Don’t you want to know if your ability is genetic? Wouldn’t you want your children to have this ability?”
“I don’t like to look at things too closely. Otherwise, I could jinx it. I know it’s irrational, but the only profession more superstitious than thieves are baseball players.”
She adds sugar to her coffee and takes a sip. “I did some checking up on you. Kimberly, Maggie, you and your parents formed a co-op to buy farm equipment. Isn’t Kim an ex-lover whom you still work with?”
I don’t need to reply; Pam reads my face.
“And then there’s your father, ex-army who’s been arrested but never convicted of dealing in stolen goods. And your mother…who seems to be the secretary of your criminal organization.”
I put my hands together so my fingertips touch. “I think the word ‘criminal’ is a bit harsh. I like to think of it as a ‘gathering of like minds.’”
“I checked your records. It seems you are surrounded by a miasma of allegations.”
I smile and shrug. “Merely a victim of circumstance.” I take a sip of coffee. “You missed your calling. You should have been a detective.”
“Speaking of detectives, I saw you with Detective Coleman talking before the missile attack at the Broadmoor.”
“I think you like me, spending all that effort checking me out. I’m flattered.”
“And then there’s Natasha, the other woman in your life. I met her last night while you slept.” Pam smiles, pleased that I’m surprised.
I freeze. Natasha knows all my secrets. “What did you two talk about?” I ask, warily.
“Apparently you own an Apex Orbiter drone and a twin-engine Cessna Eagle.”
I let out my breath. “Oh.”
She smiles. “You’re also a gentleman.”
I turn beet red, recalling my conservation with Natasha in my room while we were naked.
I quickly change the subject, “Did your RSVP to Jason Baron’s party?”
“Yes. But, no offense, I can’t be seen with a mutant. It’s a scheduled society event.”
I laugh. “Now, why would that be offensive?”
She starts to say something, and I put my hand on her arm. “It’s okay; I get it. There are rules to the game, ridiculous as they are.”
She nods. “Yes.”
“I have an alias…he’s Pureblood named, John Norwich. He owns the twin Engine Cessna Eagle that Natasha told you about.”
I stand up. “My body is full of caffeine and is screaming at me to stretch my legs. How about a walk?”
So, we take a stroll around the base. With the lifting of quarantine and the arrest of the mayor, life is returning to normal.
In LA, everyone was ordered to stay in their homes except the Type A mutants who are immune to the virus. Since one in ten mutants are Type A, these people were enlisted to deliver food and medicine directly to people’s homes. These measures have contained the outbreak. At least for now.
Refugees from Frisco are going home. Military personnel at intersections are directing traffic. There is visible relief on peoples’ faces.
After an hour, we sit under a gingko tree in the park. She returns important texts while I nap on her thighs. She protests a little, but I whine until she relents.
I wake up to her pinching my nose, the sun in the west telling me it’s already mid-afternoon.
“You were snoring, and I need to pick up dinner.”
We buy a whole chicken and dessert at the market.
“Where’s your place?”
“I had to move out when we took in refugees. The Broadmoor was looted, and parts of it were burned to the ground. It will take months to rebuild. Until then, the members of the Broadmoor are staying in base housing. I’m staying with my parents.”
“Oh, so, that’s not dinner at your place for just the two of us?”
She smiles, takes my arm and pats it. “You’re so clueless.”
Pam leads the way to the guest housing. Rows of identical concrete barracks with rounded tops that have been remolded into small apartments. Each building is painted a slightly different shade of blue. During the Bio War, it housed ten thousand people. Children play soccer in the street while adults hang laundry on clotheslines.
We stop in front of a building with the number R12C16-4 spray painted on the side. Pam invites me into their temporary home.
Pam’s mom is sitting on a couch past its prime with her feet on a coffee table.
“Mom, you know Hermes.”
She blows out the smoke from her cigarette and looks at me with one eye. “Pam’s only interested in you because her father despises you.”
I smile. “Thanks for the heads up, Mrs. Fields. Now I know how to keep Pam’s interest.”
She hides a smile while putting out her cigarette.
“Mom…kitchen.”
They go in the kitchen while I sit on the couch, wondering if this is a good idea. I'm a little bit snarky, but that’s the game they enjoy, so I’m happy to oblige.
The two cook dinner and chat. I get lost in their arcane Pureblood girl-talk and decide to take a nap on the couch, my body still needing rest.
Pam wakes me. “Dad will be home in five minutes. Please try and be nice.”
The girls fuss over the table while I watch.
The captain arrives soon after and we all sit down to eat. Pam says grace.
Dinner is roasted chicken and rice. I pick up my chicken with my hands, ready to devour it. Pam kicks me under the table before I get carried away. She gives me a look, reminding me to be civil. Taking the hint, I switch to my best table manners.
We eat our meal while Pam and her mom engage in polite conservation. Captain Fields remains silent, probably under the same orders as I am – be nice. I like Pam, and I need to learn how to operate in the Pureblood world, so I’ll play nic
e. I take a sip of wine. “Have the police arrested Jason Baron?”
“We have no evidence of wrongdoing,” the captain says.
“How about the freak factory?” They’re making our replacements after the mutants are killed off by the virus.”
“The manufacturing of new life forms is perfectly legal, boy. Besides, we didn’t have a search warrant, so the evidence is inadmissible.”
I put down my fork. “What about the modified cars spewing plague?”
He looks at his wine through the overhead light. “We can’t find the owner of the auto body shop. It’s a maze of shell companies.”
He’s talking to me but not looking at me, and it’s pissing me off. “Jason Baron kills fifty thousand in LA, and he walks?”
He takes a drink of wine. “Nothing I can do,” he says and shrugs.
I lower my voice. “Can't-do, or won't do?” The last few words come out dripping with contempt, and I think: so much for being nice.
His fist comes down on the table, and the plates jump in the air. “Enough! You think you can just walk up and arrest Jason Baron of Baron Enterprise? You learned nothing about how this city is run, skulking around like a thief.”
“I’m glad you brought that up. A Sikorsky Seahawk helicopter is twenty-eight million credits. My cut is half.”
The captain coughs his wine back into his glass.
“It’s the Baron’s private helicopter. If you’re giving it back, that’s fine, but if you’re keeping it…” I take a sip of wine. “But if you’re keeping it, you owe me fourteen million credits.”
The captain’s face turns red. His neck puffs out like a frog, but he says nothing.
Pam and her mom get up and clear the table without saying a word. I look at my wine through the light, the ruby red of the Kukan eyes, and it makes me smile.
“How would you like to keep that money for yourself?”
He looks at his wine glass. “I’m listening.”
I look at Captain Fields through my wine glass. “I fly search and rescue, not a helicopter in hot zones.”
The captain nods.
“Next, the US Navy hospital takes care of the maintenance on my augments.”
He puts down his glass and looks at me. “Agreed.”
“Now that we concluded our business...” I look at Pam. “Let’s talk new business.”
Pam opens the third bottle of wine between the four of us and pours.
“I think the Jason Baron should pay for his crime. I have a way where he pays, and we all profit from it. How does that sound?”
All eyes turn to me.
“The best way to hurt a rich man is to make him poor, and I can do that. Jason Baron has a dedicated terminal in his home. He logs on with a retinal scan. All I need are the specs on his eyes.”
The captain rolls his jaw around. “I see.”
“On August third, he celebrates the Roman festival, Punishment of the Dogs. Pam and I are going.”
“I need a dress and accessories. Definitely, jewelry, since it a scheduled social event.”
“Enough of this! You can’t involve my daughter.”
“Do not speak for me,” Pam says, her brow descending in anger.
The situation breaks down, and I head to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet seat, I sip my wine. The Fields family are still shouting when I finish and put the glass in the tub. Twenty minutes later it’s finally quiet, and the door to the bathroom opens. Mr. Fields steps in and looks me in the eye.
“If anything happens to my daughter, I promise you…they will never find your body.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” I head to the door and he blocks the way.
“Do you know why I don’t like you?”
“I’m a young upstart mutant with talent and a bad attitude. That and your daughter likes me.
His eye twitches on my last few words.
“You have no idea who Pam is.”
“You know what I find the most attractive about your daughter.”
He leans into me. “Be careful what you say next.”
“Even when she’s mad, Pam is a kind woman. She picks up worms of the sidewalk and puts them on the grass. Pam said ‘excuse me’ when she bumped into a bush.”
His face softens and then Captain Fields smiles. “You made her mad? What did you do?”
“I summoned her.”
“That’s strike one,” Fields says.
I nod. “That what Pam said.”
The captain opens the bathroom door and grabs me by the shoulder. He leads me out. “Looks like I have nothing to worry about, you’ll screw this up on your own.”
I follow him to the kitchen table. The girls are leaning against the stove, Mrs. Fields handing me a mug of black tea.
I lean on the sink, and the captain takes up position on the other side of the counter.
They all look at me, and I put the mug down. “I visited the Baron’s attorney and downloaded a layout of his mansion, plus passwords to his financial accounts. All I need is an invite, a date, and a car. I know where I can get a Humvee.”
“What are you going to do?” Pam’s mom asks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Should I call you, Mrs. Fields or …”
She puts down her glass. “Carol is fine at this table, but in public, I’m Mrs. Fields.”
I smile. “Carol, Jason Baron has been quietly buying shares in Blue Algae Inc., so he’s been keeping about twenty million in credits and cash. At the rate he’s buying, he will be the majority stockholder in a few weeks.”
I sip my mug of black tea, like mud with bits of sticks in it. I wonder what my teeth must look like. “From Baron’s office terminal inside his home, I plan to steal the Baron’s money and then ship it through a few hundred bank accounts to hide the trail. We’ll split the money two ways. Me, my crew, and Pam and her crew. Agreed.”
“You mean, my crew,” Captain Fields says.
“No. This is not a military operation, it is a criminal one. The rules are different. The person who goes into the field is the one that gets the money deposited into their account. Then, they split the credits between their crew members.
“Alright,” Captain Fields says, “We’ll do it your way.”
Pam’s parents retire and leave us alone, and Pam and I go to the backyard. The fresh air clears my head while the moon casts shadows through the trees.
I take Pam’s palm, placing it under a leafy shadow. I tap into the edge between light and dark and direct the current across her skin. She trembles and takes a sharp breath.
“What was that?”
“That’s a shadow, it’s a portal to the orange sky world.”
“How is that possible?”
“Think of our universe as a single bubble in a frothy latte. Where the bubbles touch is where our worlds meet.”
I take her hand again and place it in the shadows. Finding the cold edge hiding in the dark, I let it creep over her skin. “That line of chill is the meeting point.”
“Have you ever taken anyone on a shadow walk before?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She freaked out, threw up, and cried.”
“You mean Kim?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes, but not in the same way as I did before.”
She pulls her hands out of the shadows and rubs it. Then we sit down on a bench swing. Pam is seated with a space been us, and the moon is cut in half by the fence.
Rocking, I look over at Pam, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“With all the medical evidence, I expected you were a mutant of unusual abilities.” Using her foot, she stops rocking. “I never expected to experience your mutation.” She starts rocking again. “And what you say about being connected to another world, I don’t even know where to begin to understand that.”
“Near as I can figure, living beings are all connected to each other. Some connections are strong,
and others are weak.” Reaching over, I take Pam’s hand. “It doesn’t matter where it is, but there’s a bond between me and the world with an orange sky. I just don’t know what it is.” And for some strange reason, I think of Bogart.
She looks at me funny, not bothering to respond. “It’s late…I have a lot to do in the morning.” She leans in, kisses me lightly and stands up. “You can sleep on the couch.”
* * *
I wake up with a headache on the Fields’ couch, a typical reaction when I drink wine. My phone beeps and I get a text. I order a new electric bike online. It was delivered the navy base’s “Visitors Center.”
I sluggishly make my way and to the kitchen, open the fridge, crack open three eggs and pour them in the last of the orange juice. Drinking juice and egg breakfast, I notice Pam out of the corner of my eye. She’s watching me with her arms crossed.
“Sorry, can’t drink wine. It gives me a headache.”
“So, who’s this John Norwich fella who’s taking me the party?”
“An orphan with UK citizenship. His mother was Brazilian. They were rich and left him quite a bit of money.”
Pam eyes lighting up. “That’s perfect. John is courting me for an egg.”
“What?”
“Let me explain. The Irish genome consists of half a dozen subgroups. Each group has a name. Mine is Breen. My genes were tailored to be closest to the ideal Breen genome.”
I lean against the counter. “Wow, I had no idea.”
“When I turned eighteen, I had a third of my eggs harvested and arranged into grades. My highest grade eggs go for fifty thousand credits.” Pam comes over and leans against the counter with me.
I scratch my chin. “How many children do you have? Do you see them? How does this work?”
“Most of my customers are men whose wives are barren. They raise the child as their own. When they’re old enough, the children are told the truth.” She holds my arm by the bicep. “Some men want a relationship with their egg donor. Since we have a child together, I understand. Sometimes, a couple wants to be intimate. If it feels right, I’ll oblige.”
“Just couples?”
“Yes, I don’t believe husbands should be keeping secrets from their wives’.”
I laugh, then stifle it.