Mad, Mad World

by J. D. Sloane

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Brand new day, Nolan,” O’Neill said as he walked up to the small booth next to the café entrance and slapped a paper down over two half-eaten plates of eggs. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”

  Jessica and her father looked up simultaneously as O’Neill approached, their expressions so similar they were practically mirror images of each other.

  “Thanks, O’Neill,” Jack said, his voice low and ironic. “I was eating that.”

  “Whoops. Sorry Jack.”

  Jessica picked up the paper and scanned it quickly, the headline scrawling across the page in big bold letters.

  Archangel Kills White and Rescues Three! She scowled slightly as she read the smaller print below it which began with what looked like a full section expose on the events leading up to the Northridge murders.

  Citizens ask: When is the Price of Justice Too High?

  She handed the paper to her father as he put his glasses on and then looked up at O’Neill as she slid the side of her fork into what was left of her eggs.

  “Funny,” she muttered. “They weren’t saying that last week.”

  “That’s because last week he was the guy who flew off the roof and saved you in midair,” O’Neill said, tipping his brow at her ironically as Jack cleared his throat. “This week he’s the guy who killed seven men in a cold-blooded vigilante murder streak.”

  “Same guy as far as I can tell,” Jack said, setting the paper down as he reached for his coffee.

  “Yeah, well. Try explaining that to Welsh.”

  He gestured to the small gathering crowd of reporters stamping their feet across the street in front of a makeshift stage and podium, the city flag whipping in the exact opposite direction of the American flag before the two deflated slowly and then rippled in unison for a moment. Jessica reached for her coffee as O’Neill cocked his head in her direction.

  “Technically this whole horse and pony show is so the city can show you some long overdue appreciation, Nolan. But my gut says he’s just trying to smooth the whole thing over. He told me if the press cornered me to be sure and draw a very hard line between the difference between what we do and what guys like the Archangel do. As if I needed to be told that.”

  “He told me pretty much the same thing,” Jessica said, dropping her eyes as she and her father both set their coffee cups at the edge of the table in unison. Jessica met her father’s eyes over the table and gave him a smirk as O’Neill backed up for the waitress to refill their glasses and then glanced outside as the mayor’s town car slid into a space close to the podium.

  “That’s the mayor now,” O’Neill said, glancing down at her padded crutch as he tipped his chin in her direction. “Which means we are about ready to go. You sure you don’t need my help getting up the steps?”

  “It’s all right, O’Neill,” she said giving him a nod as she picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. “I’m good. I really am.”

  O’Neill gave Jack a little nod, his fingers pausing in midair as if stopping himself mid-salute.

  “See you up there then. Jack.”

  Jessica took another sip of coffee as she watched the mayor step up to the podium and grabbed her jacket off the back of the booth as she slid it on over her uniform.

  “You know I read your speech this morning,” Jack said glancing out the window as he took another sip of coffee.

  “You did?”

  “I did. The whole thing.”

  Jessica looked up at him, trying to read his expression and then sighed as he simply went on staring out the window, his kind, lined face calm and unreadable.

  “Well?” She asked finally as she gave him a look of annoyance. “What did you think?”

  “I think if you’re trying to fire the shot heard round the world then that speech is a good place to start.”

  Jessica shook her head, pressing her lips together as her brows furrowed.

  “This war started years ago, Dad. You know it and I know it. I’m just trying to level the playing field a little by saying it out loud.”

  “I didn’t say it was the wrong thing to do,” Jack said, standing up automatically as Jessica reached for her crutch. “It’s a good speech. But Welsh doesn’t seem like a forgive and forget kind of guy. And criminals have long memories, Jessie. Longer than you can believe. I’m just not sure this a fight you can win.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” she said, nodding to him as she took her crutch from him and slid it under her arm. “And since when do we only fight the wars we can win?”

  “All right then,” Nolan said, biting back a grin at the stubborn look on her face, a look that had remained essentially unchanged since the age of five. “Brand new day. Let’s go get you those accolades.”

  He reached for his pack of cigarettes as he followed Jessica down the corridor to the door, waving at the waitress as he lit up at the threshold.

  “Don’t worry,” he said holding open the door for his daughter as he took a long drag. “We’re on our way out.”

  Jessica stepped out into the crowd gathering around the podium and looked back as her father squeezed her shoulder, giving her a concerned look as the first round of cameras saw her exit the café and whirled in their direction.

  “Sure you don’t need any help getting up there?”

  “No. I’ll make it. One way or another.”

  She stomped through the soft dusting of snow, trying not to trip as the crowd closed around her and then looked up as she saw O’Neill stand up at the edge of the stairs, raising his brows at her as she hobbled quickly up the steps.

  “The chief is late,” O’Neill said, catching her by one shoulder as she stepped up onto the podium, the sea of faces below her a colorful blue blur. “Really late. And I think the mayor’s getting restless. Would you mind speaking first? Just kind of introduce him and set their minds at ease a little. It is your day after all.”

  Jessica glanced over her shoulder as the mayor raised his hand to her and then nodded, brushing her hair behind one ear.

  “Sure. Okay. How do I look?”

  O’Neill narrowed his eyes as if he was considering it carefully and then gave her a wink, his smooth handsome face spitting into a broad grin.

  “Like a hero.”

  Jessica gave him a rueful smile and then stepped up to the podium as the crowd turned towards her, setting her crutch aside carefully as they fell into a soft, shifting silence below her. She pulled out her notes, surprised that her fingers weren’t shaking, and then set them aside as the cameras started to roll, leaning towards the row of microphones as she looked them in the eye.

  Byron turned up the volume to the television as the local news came on and raised his brows as it flashed to a picture of Michael suspended in midair against the flaming apartment building, the shadows from below making him look as if he was flying. He put on his glasses as hit the raise button on the side of his hospital bed and picked up his discarded jello cup, swearing under his breath as he pulled the tab top off.

  Who is the Archangel? The large red letters below his picture flashed ominously as the newscaster began speaking.

  “I wouldn’t eat too much of that if I were you. I hear hospital food can kill you in large doses.”

  Byron turned his head to the side, his face filling with a wave of surprised happiness and then controlled the expression automatically as Michael approached, his dark eyes gleaming slightly as Michael sat down next to him and pulled his jacket across his ribs.

  “The food is worse than I had hoped, it’s true,” Byron said, scraping the side of his container with his spoon as Michael smirked, opening his jacket slightly as Byron tipped his head towards him.

  “At least you had a proper doctor. I had to drive myself to Anthony’s place. His business has- declined in recent years.”

  “Anthony! I didn’t even know he was still in business. What was it? Your ribs?”

  Michael and
then let the coat fall back, glancing towards the hall.

  “Bruised and battered. Nothing too serious. What about you?”

  “A few cuts and bruises, nothing more.”

  “I heard something about a torn trachea.”

  “Oh, that. That was the work of two EMTs who didn’t believe me when I said I could breathe perfectly well on my own. It’s actually the only reason I’m still here. I get the feeling White was waiting for you to complete the job.”

  “See how well that turned out for him. Where’s Margot?”

  “Margot is back at the hotel,” he said taking off his glasses as he let out a low sigh and leaned his head back against the pillow. “The poor woman has been beside herself with worry. She only left my bedside because I insisted. You should stay though. She should be back in an hour or so. I know she would like to see you.”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Byron pointed to the television screen with his spoon and then turned up the volume again, reaching for his glasses.

  “Have you seen this?”

  Michael turned his head as a newscaster he had never seen before began speaking and sat forward in his chair as the image of him suspended behind flames filled the screen.

  “The question of what to do about this new vigilante remains unclear,” the newscaster said, her voice beginning to trail off into the inevitable monotone of an impending video clip, her eyes fixed on a spot just below the cameras.

  “Some think he should simply be brought in like any other criminal. Others, like the officer who was rescued by the Archangel herself, sees him as something more.”

  Michael felt his brow furrow as the camera cut to a close-up image of a woman standing before a crowd in down town, the snowy white landscape around her bringing her beauty into crisp and perfect focus. He rested his elbows on his knees as Jessica began to speak and smiled slightly as she looked over the crowd, her posture falling into the unwitting stance of command.

  “So, is he a criminal?” Jessica said, the feed cutting slightly as she spoke, her soft, throaty voice as determined as he had ever heard it. “That’s what people ask me. Everywhere I go. Is the Archangel a criminal? And I tell them that the answer is yes, but not in any way that I understand. And certainly not in any city that values justice or citizenship.

  “Let’s face it. We all know what the problems are in our city. We have too much crime, too many men like Ronan White who come here and spread their disease of lawlessness and then use our own laws against us when they get caught. They see a weakness and they exploit it, over and over at our expense. And I for one, am sick of blindly defending laws that don’t protect us. Or use them against a man who risked his own life to defend his fellow citizens simply because he could.

  “Our city is not like every other city out there and what works here might not work anywhere else. But it is our city. And we have to do better. We have to do more. We have to be prepared to lose everything. We have to be brave enough to become something new. We have to be willing to throw ourselves after our neighbors and fellow citizens and snatch them back from the abyss, not because it’s lawful and not because we’re seeking some kind of reward. But because we value our bond to one another and it’s the right thing to do.”

  Michael tapped his lips thoughtfully as the video cut back to the newsroom and watched the newscaster raise her brows at the teleprompter like a windup doll that had been cranked hard and set back into motion.

  “Opponents of Nolan’s speech this morning are already making their voices heard on social media. Many of the comments focus on the fact that the Archangel has not been identified as an American citizen himself, which many believe lend credence to the President’s warnings about letting dangerous foreign nationals into the country…”

  Michael glanced at Byron as he chuckled and turned down the television.

  “The president is right. Your visa should be revoked. Too many dangerous criminals are flooding the country already.”

  “If they really want to do some good they would close the Canadian border. God knows what kind malcontents are passing themselves off as decent citizens there.”

  Byron gave him a wink and then sighed.

  “If only it were so, Michael. Now that the apartment has gone, I have no excuse to remain abroad. Margot is redecorating as we speak.”

  Michael turned in his chair and looked at him curiously as he sighed and coughed into his hand.

  “Don’t you want to go home?”

  “I would prefer Margot to come here, actually. It seems in the short time I’ve been away her oldest son has moved home as well. The two of them are starting some kind of rock band.”

  Michael laughed, the expression suddenly making him seem very young and Byron shook his head wishing, as always, that there was something he could say to make the mood last for more than a few moments at a time.

  “I didn’t know they played any instruments.”

  “They don’t. We are in desperate times, Michael. I fear for this generation. I honestly do.”

  “You know,” Michael said, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he fixed Byron with a sudden conspiring stare. “You could always stay with me for a while, if you wanted to. Just until you found a place of your own.”

  “Ha!” Byron said setting his empty jello cup on the tray next to him. “And where would I sleep? On the kitchen floor? There is barely enough space for you in that roach motel.”

  “No, I actually let the apartment go. I bought an old warehouse downtown. The upstairs is more than large enough for the two of us. Of course, it could use some work.”

  “And the downstairs?”

  Michael glanced at the television above them as an image of Jessica’s face suddenly filled the screen and Byron raised his brows, folding his hands across his chest as he gave him a look of sudden speculation.

  “She makes a powerful speech, doesn’t she?”

  “She does. Frankly I’m just glad they’re calling off the dogs.”

  “For now,” Byron said, his voice low and thoughtful.

  Michael met his eyes and cocked his head in his direction.

  “You’re thinking of helping her,” Byron said. “Aren’t you?”

  “I’m not sure that’s what she wants.”

  “Ah. And what do you want?”

  “For once in my life I have absolutely no idea.”

  Byron’s eyes fell to his wrist as Michael played with the latch of his silver watch and felt his heart constrict painfully for a moment, an image of his father picking Michael up off the floor rushing through his mind in a sudden wave before breaking apart into pieces.

  It’s a heavy burden he left you, Byron thought shaking his head as let out a low sigh. Too heavy. But maybe this would help. Maybe it would lighten the load just a little and help bring you some peace…

  “Legacy can be a strange thing, Michael,” Byron said as Michael froze and then gave him a knowing smirk as he looked at his watch. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, well. It seems to keep the time. If nothing else.”

  Byron cleared his throat and then turned up the television slightly as his face became smooth and businesslike.

  “Of course, if I was going to help her I would need better armor. If White had fired just one more shot in the same place…”

  “I’m not sure you will have many other opponents as ferocious as that. But you’re right. There will be more. There are always more.”

  Byron watched Michael’s eyes light up with the first deep show of interest Byron had seen out of him in over a decade, his eyes hardening slightly as the image of him filled the screen again.

  “So better armor then,” Michael said, his voice low and thoughtful as Byron reached for his second jello cup.

  “Yes, better armor,” he agreed, poking through the foil top with a quick poke of his spoon. “Better armor is always good.”

  He looked up as the tel
evision flashed with a sudden blurry image of Michael’s face in profile and raised his brows as Michael tipped his eyes in his direction.

  “And perhaps some kind of a mask,” Byron said, taking a bite as he reached for the remote.

  Alicia looked down at the crowd below her and wrapped her arms around the silk ropes of her aerial bar, spreading the black wings of her costume wide as she heard sudden chorus of whistles below her. She extended her back over the bar closing her eyes as the bar swung out over the crowd, the fans from above making the wings rustle against her skin as she swung.

  She brushed one hand up the length of her body as she gained momentum, her shimmering sheer black bra and G-string catching the light as she swung and looked up as she saw the lights darken, the spotlight changing from blue to red as her handler give her a quick thumbs up. Alicia closed her eyes, letting her other hand drop as the bar began to fall and spun in a slow pirouette toward the stage as she held onto the bar above her, her face soft and flushed in the spotlight as she waited for the break in the music.

  Four, she thought as she heard the music pause, the crowd of men closest to her dropping into a sudden fascinated silence. Three, two, one…

  Alicia felt the bar halt suddenly in midair, suspended six feet above the stage and allowed the momentum of the spin to carry her down as she touched her fingers to the floorboards, giving the man nearest to her a broad wink as she grabbed onto the bar with both hands and then swung her legs to the ground.

  “Let’s hear it for our newest addition, gentlemen!” The announcer said over the loudspeaker Alicia gave them her best weather girl smile and then blew the men in the first row a kiss as they rose from their seats. “Lexi Nightingale! She’s something, isn’t she?”

  Alicia raised her hand behind her neck looking over her shoulder coquettishly as she heard the second act come out onto the stage and then gave them another wave as she turned on her high black heels, her face falling into lines of weary annoyance as she passed through the velvet curtains behind her.

  “Great show tonight, Lexi,” one of the body guards said as she passed him, and she tipped her eyes in his direction as she brushed past him into her dressing room.