The cell phone beeps to inform me of a voice mail. Fuck. Just rip off the Band-Aid, Jo. I punch in my code and listen.
“Hello gorgeous,” Bennett Stone says. I breathe a literal sigh of relief. “This is my, oh, fourth call and no reply. I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me, which is a shame because there’s something I need to tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes…Joanna, I’m pregnant.” He says it so seriously I can’t help but chuckle. “And it’s yours. So you have to call me now.” He’s silent for a moment. “Seriously though, I would like to speak to you about something business related. I’m in town for a few days, and I’d love to take a meeting. Just a meeting. So please call. For the sake of our child,” he says melodramatically before chuckling. “Bye.”
Oh, what a dick. But a funny dick. With a big dick. Okay, Mr. Stone, you made me laugh. That deserves a response. He picks up on the third ring. “Well hello, Ms. Fallon.”
“Mr. Stone.”
“Screening your calls?”
“Always.”
“Hopefully next time I make the cut. How are you?”
“Sitting in traffic behind a semi. Been better.”
“And are the rumors true? You’ve officially given Pendergast Industries the finger and walked away?”
“Word travels fast.”
“It does indeed. So how do you feel about it?”
“Relieved mostly. My dream of becoming an unemployed waste of space has finally come to fruition. I now have time to be a lady who lunches between plastic surgery visits and talking down to the help.”
Bennett chuckles. “Living the dream, right?” His chuckles subside. “No. Really. What will you do with yourself now?”
“Focus on charity, I guess”
“Really?” Stone asks.
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Precisely what I hoped to hear,” says Bennett. “And it sounds as if I’ve caught you before anyone else can scoop that luscious butt of yours up.”
“Okay…”
“Are you available for dinner tonight?”
Oh, I knew it. “Bennett, I told you—”
“A business dinner. Nothing more. This will be worth your while, I promise. I’ll even pay.”
I consider the proposal for all of a second. Anything is better than sitting in that apartment waiting for a call that may never come. “Komodo’s. Best sushi in town.”
“Nine work for you?”
“Sounds good. But this is just a business dinner. What happened was a one off. I mean it. And keep the flirting to a minimum.”
“No guarantees on that last one,” he says, “but I will try my utmost. Until nine, gorgeous.”
“Until nine. Bye.” I end the call with a sigh. “You are playing with fire, Jo.”
Damn good thing I’ve spent my whole life juggling that element. Maybe this time I won’t get burned. Hope springs eternal.
*
Darryl Paul ain’t doing too shabby for a lowly bartender. The man actually resides in my old neighborhood. I lived two blocks away before Ryder blew up my apartment. Like that building, hell like eighty percent of the buildings here, Paul lives in a building owned by Pendergast, one built before the Great War. Not cheap, but no doorman. Lucky me. I press all of three buttons before I’m buzzed in. The super should hold a building meeting about the importance of vigilance while living in a major metropolitan area. I just stroll in and up to Paul’s third floor apartment. My bartender friend opens the door after the second round of knocks, obviously roused from bed judging from the boxers and Independence Eagles t-shirt. He can’t place me at first, it was dark in that bar, but my grin sparks recognition.
“Greetings and salutations, Mr. Paul. Sorry if I woke you.” I pause. “Okay, not really.”
“How did you—”
He’s left enough room for me to snake past him into his messy, modestly decorated apartment. “You think you and your boss are the only ones with people inside police departments? I handed you ten grand in diamonds. You really think I didn’t know who I was handing them to? I don’t represent some bushwhack gangbanger. We’re talking millions here. Not to mention my employer needs his order expedited. He’s not really into games. Well, not unless whips and stilettos are involved.”
“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” Darryl orders.
I flop on his cigarette reeking couch. “Yeah, not until I talk to Ms. Roth.”
“Bitch, you are—” He slams the door shut to take a step toward me.
The snub nose .38 I whip out of my black hoodie’s pouch stops the second step. I don’t point it at him, I just keep it in my hand, which I rest on my thigh. “Have you ever met a supervillain, Mr. Paul? I mean, a real one? Alkaline? That Emperor guy? The Basher? The kind with a double or triple number body count?”
His bloodshot eyes don’t leave the gun. “No.”
“Well, I work for one. I see him almost every day. So, ask yourself, do you think you scare me? The only thing that scares me is going back to my boss empty handed. And Mr. Paul, I will do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen. So I either start putting holes in strategic points of your body until you give me Ms. Roth’s number, or you just pick up that fucking phone over there so she and I can have a little chat, and you never see my beautiful face again. I vote for option two. You?”
The bartender glares at me, studying my impassive face, I guess to gage the severity of my threat. I cock my head and smile. One upside of finding yourself often facing down psychopaths, you can learn to mimic their mannerisms. I must be doing a good job channeling my inner sociopath because his shoulders slump slightly and he begins moving toward an end table where the portable phone sits. “Thank you, Mr. Paul. And your kneecaps thank you as well.”
His gaze stays on the gun as he dials. “Dee? It’s Darryl.” He listens for a second. “Not really. There’s someone in my apartment who wants to talk to you. The chick from New Urbana.” He listens again. “She said someone in the police department.” He pauses then scowls. “I don’t know, Dee. Just talk to the crazy bitch, okay?”
Holding out the phone, he bridges the small gap between us. I grip the pistol tighter, but he just hands me the phone. “Thank you.” I press the phone to my ear. “Ms. Roth? Glad we could finally connect.”
“This is not how I conduct business,” snaps the woman on the other end. I’d place her late forties, early fifties and from Galilee.
“Nor me, but as I was telling your man here, time is of the essence. My employer needs the drone Mr. Ross stole the other day.”
“Well, unfortunately that particular item was a commission and has already been delivered to its buyer. I was working on finding you a substitute from my list of contacts, but in light of this unprofessional behavior, I don’t think I’ll bother anymore. Do not contact me or mine again, Miss Royal. We’re done here.” She hangs up without another word.
That could have gone better, but it went well enough. Before I left my apartment, I set up a trap and trace on Darryl Paul’s home phone and cell. The moment he dialed Doris began tracing the number. I now have her direct line and possibly her location. Gotta love the technological age. “Your boss is a bitch,” I say as I stand. I toss him his phone back.
“You’re one to talk.”
I roll my eyes behind my fake glasses. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
I slip my gun and hand into my pouch and walk toward the door. Darryl doesn’t move I’m sure until I shut his door. With a satisfied grin, I meander down the almost empty hallway behind the man in the dark purple hoodie. Smooth as clockwork. I…my smile drops to the dirty ground when the man rounds the corner and I catch a glimpse of his profile. If the familiar cologne wasn’t a tip off those damn lips and cheekbones would be. Motherfucker.
Suddenly filled with righteous anger, I pick up the pace. He’s already a flight below me, hooded head bowed when I reach the staircase. “I know it’s you, asshole!” I shout down. “I bought you that damn cologne and s
weatshirt, remember?”
He slows his descent almost to a standstill and looks up at my scowling face. Jesus Christ. I haven’t seen him since I moved out over a week ago and in that time I swear he’s lost ten pounds and hasn’t shaved once. With the hood, baggy blue jeans, and scruffy face no one would ever conceive that this is Galilee’s premier neurologist and superhero. I’m sure I’m no model right now, but he looks almost sick. Dark circles, hollow cheeks, waxy skin. That could just be a disguise. I hope it’s a disguise. But his present state does little to quell my anger. I hustle down the stairs, my scowl intensifying with each step. I do get some satisfaction when the man who regularly beats the crap out of the baddest bastards on the planet shrinks in on himself as I approach. He should be terrified. I grab his arm and yank him to the corner of the stairwell.
“What the fuck, Jem?” I hiss. “Have you been following me all this time? Are you stalking me now?”
“Of course not,” he says.
“Then what the hell are you doing here? How did you know where I was?”
“Doris. Lizard, y-your hacker set-up another laptop for me to access her. I was working the case and noticed from the files you were as well. I know all about Missy Royal’s re-emergence, but I grew especially concerned when Harry O’Hara phoned me. He told me you fell off the wagon. That he thought you’d lied to him about working the case. He’s worried about you. So I grew worried about you.” He pauses. “I traced the GPS on your cell.”
“What?” I snap.
“We installed the program on both our phones, remember?”
“Stalker!” I turn on my heel and begin walking away before I punch him.
“I was concerned and with just cause!” he calls behind me. I’m about halfway to the next floor when he reaches my side. “What on earth were you thinking? You went into a known criminal’s apartment without back-up. Without letting anyone know where you were. He could have raped you. He could have killed you, and we never would have found your body.”
“Give me a little damn credit,” I snap back. “I survived the ghetto, over a decade on the force, and two supervillains. One underling isn’t going to take me down. I’m not stupid. I have on a flak jacket and arsenal hidden on me.”
We walk out onto the sidewalk. “It was still reckless. And idiotic. And dangerous.”
“And none of your goddamn business! Nothing I do now is your business anymore. You’ve lost the right to lecture, hell to even speak to me.” He grabs my arm and spins me around. I yank my limb from his grip. “And you certainly lost the right to touch me!”
“I’m sorry,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” He groans in frustration. “You hate me now. Fine. I can take it. Perhaps I even deserve it. But don’t you dare punish yourself for my crimes. Don’t you dare needlessly endanger your life. Don’t you dare.”
“And don’t you dare flatter yourself thinking I hate you, Ambrose,” I fire back. “That implies I actually give a shit about you anymore. You mean nothing to me. You are nothing but a tainted memory not worth a second of my time.” I smile cruelly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have to go purchase a new cell phone before my date tonight. Bennett Stone’s in town, you know. Flew all the way here just to see me. I have a long night ahead of me.” I drop the smile. “So fuck off.”
This time he doesn’t stop me from turning my back on him and walking away. “And you claim you don’t hate me,” he calls behind me.
I don’t look back. I don’t dare.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Playing With Fire
“Better late than never, I suppose.”
The hostess at Komodo pulls out my chair across from the smirking playboy. I sit with an apologetic smile for my dinner companion. I’m only twenty minutes late, and I did text him to let him know I would be. Still rude of me. After the Jphone store, which took over a freaking hour, I became so immersed in tracking that bitch Diamanda I lost track of time. The trap and trace not only got me her phone number but the general location of where she took the call, near a cell tower in Greenwitch, a suburb of Galilee. I started culling through the property records of every warehouse or large building in that thirty mile radius. That’s over a hundred buildings. I only got through two thirds when I noticed the clock. After emailing my findings to Harry, I had about ten minutes to get dressed and beautified, which took double the allotted time. The only dress not wrinkled from its time in a trash bag is so low-cut a stripper would feel immodest wearing it. Bennett’s gaze glues itself to my overflowing rack the moment I step into view. Despite what I told Jem, I have no intention of letting this dinner veer into romantic territory. None.
“Sorry. It’s been a hell of a day,” I say.
“So I heard. You’re the talk of the business world. The story went national.”
“Oh, God,” I groan. “What are they saying?”
“That you had a nervous breakdown. That you were forced out. That you’re in rehab. That you quit to become a supervillain. I think a body switching machine was mentioned as well. Let them talk. It’ll be forgotten in the next news cycle.”
Our waitress comes over and leaves with my coffee order. “Forgive me if I pass out in my miso soup,” I say.
“Well, at least you look great. I could see why someone would want to switch bodies with you.”
“Please keep the flirting to a minimum, alright? I don’t have the energy to play with you tonight.”
“Well, I have no problem with you lying back as I do all the heavy lifting,” he says, cocking his left eyebrow. “I’m in a giving mood.”
I open the menu. “Good. Then you can pick up the check. I’m fucking starving.” The waitress hustles back with my coffee and leaves with our orders. Great service here. “So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“Just a bit of business. A pet project is finally getting off the ground. I’ll be popping in and out a lot in the next few months.”
“Does your project have to do with the proposition you mentioned on the phone?”
“Yes and no, but mostly no,” Bennett says.
“Cryptic. So give me the pitch, playboy. The suspense is killing me.”
He sips his martini. “Do you recall when you said you and I could be the poster children for super powered collateral damage?”
“That was a lifetime ago. No.”
“Well, I do. And unlike you, it stuck with me. It even sparked something inside me. An idea. A vision if you will.”
“Glad I could be of assistance.”
“You’re not off the hook yet, Fallon. You started it, you’re going to help me finish it.”
“What?”
“I want to start a global fund, maybe even an organization that provides aid to anyone affected by supers.” He leans forward. “I did some research. Only about a third of the major population centers have any charitable organizations that focus on super violence. Galilee and Independence are two of the lucky ones, and I use the word loosely. And once the baseline organization or foundation is established, in the future we can branch out into lobbying for changes in the laws and—”
“Providing information and counseling, not only to those affected by the violence but those with powers,” I cut in. “A lot of these people, when they discover they have an ability, the only resource available about how to behave is from mass media. They have no other examples of what to do save for the heroes and villains they see on TV.”
“Which leads to more heroes and villains popping up and more collateral damage,” adds Bennett.
“We can stop the problem before it even becomes a problem.”
“I never thought of that possibility,” he says, impressed. “I was thinking more along the lines of reconstruction and covering medical bills, but…I like it. It’s a holistic approach to the issue. Did you just come up with that?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “Jem had the idea awhile back. It was just talk though.”
“Wel
l, if you have to steal, steal from a genius, huh?” Bennett’s cell phone rings, and he rolls his eyes. “Shit. Just when things were heating up. I am so, so sorry.” He rises. “I have to take this.”
“Go right ahead.”
With an apologetic smile, he hustles away for some privacy. I chuckle to myself. I have to say I’m surprised. I really thought the only business we’d be discussing would be who would pay the cab fare when we went back to his hotel. Not that I planned to go to his hotel room. I made a promise to myself no matter how charming he was tonight, the man wasn’t getting so much as a kiss. Until I get my head on completely straight, I’m gonna live like a nun. No more self-destruction for Joanna Fallon. Hell, if Bennett has his way I may be in the saving the world racket.
The waitress returns before Bennett with our edamame and miso. I don’t care if it’s rude I begin eating anyway. It’s actually not a bad idea this foundation or fund of his. The medical bills alone after a concussion or just removing glass from an explosion can be in the thousands, forget it the person needs surgery. After Cain, my hospital bill was almost $100,000 even before the plastic surgery for my face. Two years ago that would have bankrupted me. Most people don’t have a best friend who fakes his death then leaves you billions. Okay, I’m fairly sure I’m the only person ever that’s happened to. Well, it’s time to put my ill-gotten gains to better use.
Jem and I did discuss setting up something similar once or twice, we were just too fucking busy to go beyond talk. I’ve got nothing but time now. I find myself frowning. Another thing I wanted to build with him I have to do alone. Well, not alone.
Whoever called Bennett must have had complex news because my companion doesn’t return for over ten minutes. I’ve finished all our hor’derves when he finally hustles back. “Thought maybe you abandoned me here,” I say as he sits.
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