Hunter (9780698158504)

by Carroll, Michael

  “Seriously. You work hard, you keep your eye on the details, you’re good at maintaining the peace. Used to be that there was always some rivalry going on between the clowns and, well, nearly everyone else. Not anymore. And you sorted out Kevin. That guy . . .” Nigel shook his head. “Man, I came like this close to beating the crap out of him a few times myself. Now he’s actually helping out. And you brought Josie on board too. Morty said he figured out we’re saving nearly four hundred bucks a week just by having her with us.” After a slight pause, Nigel added, “Though it has been noted that she has a tendency to cook whatever you want nearly all the time. She’s got a crush on you like a bulldozer charging at a birdhouse. You know what you oughta do if we get the next month off? You and her, take a vacation. Spend Christmas in Vegas or somewhere like that. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “There’s nothing going on between me and Josie.”

  “Well, there should be. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” Lance said with a shrug. “I just don’t get that vibe from her.”

  “You’re into boys instead?” Nigel asked. “I mean, that’s cool if you are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then there’s someone else, right?” Nigel grabbed Lance’s arm, which caused him to jerk the steering wheel a little to the side. “Sorry. But if there is someone else, tell me it’s not Tina.”

  “I do like Tina, but not in that way.”

  “Why not? You only have to look at her to fall in love with her. So what’s the story? Some chick back home broke your heart, right?”

  Lance smiled again, but didn’t respond. He wanted to tell Nigel about Abby, but he couldn’t. It bothered him that Abby still dominated his thoughts. He hadn’t seen her in four and a half years, and he knew that he should be over her by now.

  It wasn’t just that Abby had been gorgeous and unattainable—a powerful combination—it was more than that. Much of the time Lance felt as though there was an invisible cable connecting him to her, a cable that only he could sense. It’s because we went through so much together, he thought. A bond like that is probably impossible to break.

  He wasn’t even sure that he loved Abby anymore, or that he ever really had loved her beyond an adolescent crush. Sometimes he dreamed of her at night, and in those dreams all they did was sit and talk. He would try to make her laugh, and she would resist at first, but in the end, always, she caved.

  “You don’t give away much, do you? But I’m betting I’m right,” Nigel said. “There’s always a girl back home.”

  “Yeah? Who was yours?”

  “Teri. Lived four houses down. A year older than me, and I was nuts about her from day one. And you know something? She wasn’t even all that good-looking. I’m not being mean about her, but that’s the truth. She was just . . . I dunno. She just made me feel good about everything when I was near her.” Nigel rolled up his left sleeve and pointed to a spot on his forearm. “See that? My first-ever tattoo. Did it myself. It’s mostly faded now ’cause it was so long ago, but I did it for her.”

  “How did she react?”

  “She said, ‘That’s nice.’”

  “That’s it? You mutilated your skin for her, and she just says it’s nice?”

  “Yeah. She wasn’t into me at all, that was the problem. So I just kinda let go after that. I still saw her around and we’d talk whenever we met, but the spark was gone. Well, maybe not gone totally, but it wasn’t near as strong after that. That’s what you’ve got to do too, Hunter. Let go and move on.”

  • • •

  Lance knew his time with the carnival was coming to an end, but so far he hadn’t told anyone, not even Masatoshi. He’d been in touch with Parker Lethridge half a dozen times, and the detective made it clear that he wanted Lance on his team.

  “You’ve got what it takes, kid,” Lethridge had told him during their last phone conversation. “Trust me, I can tell. So keep hitting those books, you hear? I mailed you another list—you can pick it up at the local post office.”

  “About that . . . I’m still not getting why I need to know stuff like history and politics.”

  “Because knowledge is power, Hunter. And you may be smart, but you never finished high school, did you? So keep learning. Come spring, you’re working for me. You’re gonna love it. Doesn’t pay well at the intern level, but work hard and pretty soon you’ll be raking in the dough.”

  “What about the whole . . . identity thing?” Lance had asked.

  “That’s covered. I told you, you’re Hunter Washington now and you always have been.”

  WHEN HE RETURNED TO THE CARNIVAL SITE, Lance met Morty and Jerry at the boneyard, where they were standing next to the dying campfire, wrapped in thick overcoats.

  “There’s a multistory parking lot just on the outskirts of Fort Smith,” Lance said. “Funding ran out before it could be finished, and the owner’s not been having any luck raising the rest of the cash. We’ve got permission to stay there for the whole winter if we want. No one else is using it.”

  “Parking lot,” Morty said. “Yeah, that’ll work. How big is it?”

  “Three and a half floors completed, so it’s more than big enough,” Lance said. “The larger trucks will have to stay on the compound outside, but there’s plenty of space for them. Inside the lot it’s just steel and concrete, though. Big windows, but no glass in them, so it’s going to be cold. And there’s a wind running through the place strong enough to shave a gorilla. But I talked to them about that, and we’re allowed to block off the windows. We can use the stall sidings and a few tarps for that. It should be cozy enough.”

  Jerry asked, “How much is it going to cost us?”

  Lance smiled. “That’s the best part. We saw the place when we were driving into the city, so we didn’t go straight to the town planners’ office. First we went to the police.”

  “The cops? Whatcha do that for?” Morty asked.

  “The parking lot is covered in graffiti and the fence around the compound has been torn down in a few places. So I figured they’re having trouble with security. Checked with the police, and they confirmed it. There’s no security on the place at all—kids keep breaking in to hang out or skateboard up and down the ramps. The cops gave us the owner’s phone number, so we talked to him and made a deal. We get to stay there as long as we want, and in exchange we provide the security. We’ll have to repair the fences, but as long as we don’t cause any damage, we’ve got a home for the winter. For free.”

  “Hunter, you just saved our bacon,” Morty said. “Again.” He reached out with his meaty arm and clapped Lance on the shoulder. “You know, my old man woulda bin proud a you, kid.”

  Jerry laughed. “I think I might fire myself and give you my job.”

  Morty turned toward the west, where the weak sun was low on the horizon. “Four twenty,” he estimated. “Back to work. We still got three more nights here.”

  • • •

  An hour after the carnival opened that evening, Lance was in the process of attempting to twist balloons into the shape of a ballerina for a three-year-old girl when a man wearing sunglasses and a dark suit approached.

  “You in charge?” the man asked.

  “Me? No. You want Morty. What’s this about?” He gave the balloons another few twists, then asked the girl, “Does that look enough like a ballerina, honey?”

  She grinned and raised both hands to accept it, and her mother handed Lance a dollar. “Do we get our money back if it bursts?”

  “Uh, well, it actually costs just about a dollar for the balloons, so . . .”

  The woman smiled. “Just kidding!” She took the child’s hand and walked away.

  “So, yeah, what was it you wanted?” Lance asked the dark-suited man.

  “I have a question.”

  “Fire away. Balloons are a dollar, but questions are fr
ee.” Another two children came running up, but a couple of yards from the balloon stall, they abruptly stopped.

  The stranger said, “The cost of the question shouldn’t concern you as much as the cost of the answer.”

  “Is that right? So, what’s your question? Because I’m telling you up front, we’ve all been saved and we don’t want to buy any encyclopedias or water filters.”

  “How badly do you want to come home, Lance?” The man removed his glasses, and as he did so he seemed to change. He grew a little taller, his hair changed style and color, and his face became that of someone Lance had hoped never to see again.

  “Max Dalton. So, you’re a shape-shifter now?”

  “No. But I can make you think I look like someone else. I can make you see anything I want. Those children . . .” He nodded toward the twin boy and girl, and when Lance looked, there was no one there. “They didn’t exist.” Max Dalton tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “All in the mind, Lance. Or do you prefer Hunter?”

  “You know why I left. So what do you want?”

  Max sighed. “Lance, I know that you see me as some sort of—”

  Lance interrupted him. “Actually, forget that. Just tell me how you found me.”

  “The TV report you did, after the robbery. Nice clown suit you were wearing, by the way. My people have a system that scans every radio or television broadcast looking for anything it recognizes. We added your face and voice to the system when you disappeared. The clown makeup effectively disguised your face, but not your voice. We checked the recording with Thunder. He confirmed that it was you. He doesn’t remember that, of course. I’ve been keeping an eye on you since then.”

  Lance felt as though Max had plunged his hand into his chest and squeezed his heart. “Max, I didn’t like you when I was a kid, and I don’t like you any more now.”

  “I could wipe that idea out of your brain in an instant, and you wouldn’t even miss it. But I haven’t done that. Do you want to know why?”

  Lance said, “Is it because you don’t have a conscience of your own, and you think you need people who do have one? You . . .” He stopped, wondering whether those words were his, or something implanted by Max.

  “They were your words, I promise,” Max said. “And I’ll make you another promise. I’ll stay out of your head. Well, I might read your thoughts now and then, but I won’t change anything. Ever. But you’ve got to do something for me in return.”

  “Max, that’s like telling someone they owe you a favor because you decided not to run them over in your car! You haven’t changed at all, have you? You’re still trying to manipulate people!” He stared at Max for a moment. “I’ve got a good life now. I’m not rich, but I’m happy. Can’t you just leave me alone? It’s not like I could do anything to hurt you. So just walk away and let me be.”

  “You’re looking for Slaughter. Or, you’re pretending to yourself that’s what you’re doing. The truth is that you’re hiding from her. From all of us. Don’t you want to know about your friends? Roz’s powers have greatly increased, as have Abby’s and Thunder’s. Abby’s calling herself Hesperus now. She’s . . . Well, she’s come out of her shell a bit, though she’s still got that whole melancholy thing going on. She’ll never be happy until she can accept who she is. But they’re all doing well. Working as a team. Brawn is still missing, unfortunately. We almost caught him last year in upstate New York, but he managed to beat both Abby and Thunder. My brother Josh’s powers have kicked in. Same as Roz—he’s a telekinetic. Just as well, too. I’m not sure I’d have known how to cope if he’d developed powers like mine.”

  Then Lance realized: Max Dalton had no friends. His power was publicly known, so no one would ever truly trust him. Is that it? He’s lonely?

  And then he thought, Or did he just plant that idea in my head too?

  Max said, “I’m not lonely. I do have friends. And like I said, I’m done messing with your mind. Look, you have a gift for getting people to trust you. I—” Max abruptly stopped talking, and turned around. “That man at the gate, the one with the hooded parka . . . The two men behind him are his friends. They’re planning to cause trouble tonight.”

  Lance looked over at the young man who was handing his money to Alan at the gate. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Why do they want to do that?”

  “For kicks and giggles. They’re drunk. They think it’s going to be funny. His name’s Bradley Helms. Twenty-four years old, unemployed, barely literate, doesn’t have the brainpower to fix the problems in his own life, so he spends his time making things harder for everyone else.” Max turned in a slow circle. “That guy over by your friend Tina’s stall . . . Watch him too. He’s a pickpocket. And see those two women? They’re professional fraudsters. They make their living by visiting small carnivals and circuses and pretending to get food poisoning. They’ll ask for a thousand dollars each not to report it, but they’ll accept two hundred. Better advise your people not to sell them any food.”

  “You’re telling me these things because you want me to trust you.”

  “True. And because it’s the right thing to do, Lance. Those who do well must also do good, and those of us who are gifted have an obligation to use our gifts to help the innocent. Look, let me give you a demonstration.” He turned back to face the man with the baseball cap. “Mr. Helms? Over here.”

  The man walked right up to Max.

  “Mr. Helms, you’re going to turn your life around. Get a job. Start helping people instead of hurting them. From now on, every time you deliberately inconvenience someone else, you’ll get a headache that won’t go away until you make things right. Now go home. And start treating your girlfriend with respect. No more cheating on her.”

  Without a word, Helms turned and walked back out through the gate.

  “There,” Max said. “One problem solved. I’m good at solving problems, Lance. And so are you. We should be working together. If you’d stayed with the team—”

  “Don’t do that,” Lance said. “You know that staying wasn’t an option. Not after what I learned about you.”

  “You mean, when Casey Duval manipulated you into running away.” Max sighed. “Seriously, you messed up there, Lance. If you had any idea what he’s really like, you’d want to go back in time and kick your younger self in the butt for listening to him. Duval is a sociopath, and a genius. That’s rarely a good combination. He’s smarter than any of us. He’s even smarter than Cord. Try to think about that for a few seconds without your emotions getting in the way. . . . Duval is a superhuman genius who has very much his own ideas about how the human race should be run, and he’s gradually building a power base that will allow him to make those ideas come to fruition.”

  Lance took a step back, and spread his arms. “Well, what am I supposed to do about it? I’m not superhuman!”

  “Not exactly, no. But you’re able to . . .” Max frowned. “There’s someone else here!” He turned around slowly. “There’s another proto-superhuman!” He whipped back, his eyes wide as he stared at Lance. “The fortune-teller.”

  “Mary-May. What about her?”

  “You knew!”

  “Sure I knew. It makes sense that there’s more proto-superhumans than just me and Solomon Cord.”

  “Lance, you idiot—she’s read you! She knows all about you!”

  “She’s nowhere near as strong as you are—she doesn’t know much. And she’s never told anyone. What’s the big deal?”

  Through gritted teeth, Max said, “The big deal is that I can’t be near anyone who can read me! Lance, I’ve been in the presence of the most powerful people in the world. Presidents. Royalty. Five-star generals. I know stuff that if it became public could destroy the sociopolitical structure of a hundred countries!” He backed away from the balloon stand. “I can’t be here. Lance, mee
t me tomorrow morning at the gates of Fort Smith National Cemetery, at the corner of Garland Avenue and South Sixth Street. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  “No.”

  “What? Lance—”

  “Get lost, Max. Never needed you before, and I sure don’t need you now. You don’t get to come here out of the blue and ruin my life again. I’m done with the whole superhuman thing.”

  Still backing away, Max said, “You’re done when I say you’re done. So you’ll meet me tomorrow or all of this comes crashing down. Everything. Half of your friends here will lose their jobs, the other half will be in prison. You understand me? You meet me tomorrow. Come alone. And bring that open mind you used to have when you were a kid—because it’s time you learned a few truths about what’s really going on in this world.”

  “I TOLD YOU to come alone,” Max said to Lance the next morning. He inclined his head to the side, indicating that they walk farther into the almost-deserted cemetery. “This way. I don’t want to be recognized, so with a bit of luck there won’t be too many people around.”

  Lance fell into step beside him, their boots crunching on the ground’s light covering of snow. “There aren’t any other people around, Max—no footprints. And I did come alone. Josie just wanted a lift into town. What was I supposed to tell her? That she’d have to drive herself because I’m on a secret mission? I have to pick her up in an hour, so this better not take long.”

  “All right. My fault. I should have talked to her myself.”

  “Stay away from my friends, Max. They don’t need you messing with their minds.”

  “Josie’s not your friend, Lance. She works for me.”

  “No . . .”

  “She reports back to me every couple of weeks, tells me what you’ve been up to. She doesn’t know that, of course. All she’s aware of is that she’s got a strong desire to stick close to you. Not romantically—that’s all her own doing—but as long as you stayed with the carnival, so would she. If you’d left, she’d have followed you. Seriously, Lance, you honestly didn’t suspect anything when a chef with her skills decided she wanted to join a carnival? She could get a job in any of the world’s top restaurants. Instead, I sent her to you. Now I’ll wipe her memories of all this and—”