by James Moore
This place was Mark-O’s Bar. He had yet to meet anyone named Mark in the place. He didn’t go looking, either. It had cheap beer, decent food and no particular worry about carding or checking IDs, so it was good enough for Joe’s purposes.
The others quickly found a table that had just been emptied. Hank eyed the mess left behind and then started picking up the beer mugs and dirty dishes. Rather than bother with the work herself, Not-Kyrie caught the eye of a heavyset waitress and gestured for her to do it. The waitress moved quickly, a nervous expression on her face, and began busing the table.
Not-Tina reached into her pocket and pulled a handful of quarters from inside. She didn’t bother explaining; instead she headed for the cubbyhole near the restrooms that had two pay phones. Even in a time when almost everyone carried cell phones, you could still find a few pay phones if you looked hard enough. Joe risked a quick touch of her mind, just enough to skim over her intent, and realized that she was planning to call on the mob connections she had robbed on his behalf. Probably she wanted to play with them some more. Not-Tina seemed to like playing with her food.
Hunter wouldn’t have approved. Hunter was all about being peaceful and happy and letting the sunshine in. At least he liked to tell himself that. In his defense, Hunter was suffering from amnesia, to Joe’s perpetual joy. Back when Seven had been a lab rat, Hunter had been Bobby, a good little boy who was raised by loving parents and given a good upbringing. It was the bleed over of Bobby’s happy memories into his tortured existence that had convinced Subject Seven to escape the labs in the first place. Now Bobby was called Hunter because he didn’t know any better and Seven called himself Joe Bronx because he needed a name other than Subject Seven to answer to. No matter how much the world changed or the names shifted, one thing remained the same: Seven hated Hunter and always would.
The rest of them sat down and Joe ordered wings and a pitcher of beer. Maybe in a lot of places they would have asked for ID, but not at Mark-O’s. If you had cash, they sold you what you wanted. That was why he’d chosen the place, and that much at least had not changed.
Hank was checking out a girl wearing enough leather to upholster the entire room. Joe couldn’t blame him. She was attractive enough in a trashy way. She was also very obviously with a biker who was covered with tattoos and wearing the colors of the Road Kings, a biker gang that had charters in every state from New York to North Dakota.
“Keep staring at that, and her boyfriend might take it personally.” Joe’s voice was amused, but also carried a warning. They weren’t here to fight with anyone. They were too close to their goals.
“I could take him.” Hank’s voice was low, but his confidence was high.
“He’s got friends.”
Hank finally looked his way. “I could take them too.”
“Probably true, but we can’t afford the trouble.”
Hank opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Not-Kyrie slid onto his lap and ran her fingers through his thick hair. “Don’t waste your eyes on that trash.” Joe made sure not to look into Hank’s thoughts, but Not-Kyrie was almost an open book. She was distracting Hank on purpose to defuse the tension she sensed between him and Joe.
Joe smiled tightly for her. He appreciated the assist, though he could have handled it himself. He also stifled the instant jealousy he felt; he had already decided he wouldn’t allow himself to get to know either of the girls he was traveling with too well. He couldn’t afford the complications that would come from it. He needed everyone on his side for now, and that meant he couldn’t get personal with either of the girls because the other might take it as an insult. Politics. That was one thing about being on his own: he’d never had to worry about making nice in order to keep the peace.
Hank slid a possessive arm around Not-Kyrie’s waist and pulled her in closer. The waitress set down the pitcher and five mugs, and at the same time Sam looked over toward where Not-Tina was talking urgently into the phone.
“So what’s up?” Hank spoke softly, very obviously distracted by the girl in his lap.
Joe resisted the temptation to answer that particular question bluntly, but Not-Kyrie smirked.
“As soon as Not-Tina gets back, we’ll talk about it. Mostly I think we need to discuss the people we ran into earlier.”
“They were hunting us.” Sam’s voice was calm. His face was troubled, but his posture and tone were controlled. He was making himself stay as composed as possible. Joe understood. The fight earlier had gotten his blood up, and he hadn’t even really been involved much beyond watching. It was in their nature: they were quite literally designed to be killing machines, aggressive and quick to respond to challenges.
Not-Tina sat down and grabbed the pitcher, pouring herself a beer before she bothered to acknowledge anyone at all. She was smiling, excited. Whatever she’d been talking about on the phone had left her pleasantly agitated. Her eyes shone with mischief.
“What was that all about?” Joe tried to keep his tone light, but it wasn’t easy. She could cause them trouble if she was playing games with the wrong people.
“Just had to say hello to some friends.” She smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. She wanted her privacy. Too bad. Joe reached into her mind again to see if he could glean anything. Her defenses were up. She wanted to keep something a secret, which by itself was enough to tell him that there were likely to be problems.
Joe saw Hank look his way as he tried to reach into Not-Tina’s mind. He knew, but he didn’t say anything. He merely got that little knowing, annoying half smile on his face for a moment as he looked at Joe.
Joe couldn’t read their minds, not in the truest sense of the phrase. He could collect feelings sometimes, and he could now and then pull an image from them, but mostly the mental connection he had with the others was more like an assessment of their intentions. He’d scared Cody Laurel half to death with that ability by discussing things on the phone that he shouldn’t have been able to see—things that were happening to Cody almost six hundred miles away. That had been a monumental effort, but it had been worth it because he’d convinced Cody to come to him in Boston with his ability to know more than he should have.
Unfortunately for him, Not-Tina was giving nothing away.
Sam tapped the table. “Okay, so let’s talk about the losers who were trying for us earlier.”
Joe looked his way. “I think they were like us, Others. And I don’t think they’re done with us, not by any stretch. They didn’t come after us to lose. They came after us to finish what we started in Boston.”
Not-Tina nodded and spoke. “So what are we gonna do about them?”
Joe smiled. “Well now, I think that’s where this could get interesting.”
“Spill it.” Hank poured himself a beer, drinking it like water despite the thick foam. Joe suppressed a desire to swat Hank. The more he was around him the less he liked him. He’d have to watch that.
“We’re here because of a letter. That letter is almost guaranteed to be a setup. Think about it. The letter just happens to be the only paper left in the office where we got attacked. It also just happens to mention the only name I know for certain: Evelyn Hope. And it gives us her address and it gives us another name too.”
“Wait. What other name?” Not-Tina was interrupting now too. He’d have to work on teaching them manners, but not right now. It could wait.
“Josh Warburton. Near as I can tell, he’s one of the higher-ups. I figure if we can’t use Evelyn Hope, he’s the other possibility, but not as good a choice because he doesn’t have an address on here.
“And the ones who tried to stop us? They have to work for Evelyn. They were too much like us for it to be a coincidence. They were looking for us, or else why would they have come along and stopped us in the middle of nowhere?”
Not-Tina shrugged and leaned back in her seat, her eyes looking over Hank and Not-Kyrie with an expression that was just a little too casual to be sincere. It o
bviously bothered her that the guys were flocking to the other girl more than to her, even if she didn’t say anything about it. And that was why Joe was making himself behave around both of them for now. It would be too easy to get caught up in something messy. “Maybe he’s dumb enough to be in the phone book,” she said.
Joe shrugged. “Maybe. But let’s worry about the rest of this first. This whole thing is a setup. Those guys either followed us from Boston, or they knew we were coming here, or they were sent to meet us here. Whatever the case, everything here smells like a trap.” He stopped talking as the waitress set down a massive pile of wings. Not-Tina attacked them. Joe reached and grabbed one himself, sucking all the meat away from the bones before he continued. “What we need to do is go after what we were after all along. We just have to be aware that there are new players.”
Sam shook his head. “What exactly are we after?”
“Freedom from the Others.”
“And how are we going to get that?” Sam was interrupting now too. It was like a stupid question conspiracy. Still, he had to remind himself that the people he was dealing with were basically newborns. They had feelings and thoughts, yes, but they hadn’t been conscious of the world around them until he made them aware of it. They were like little kids who wanted answers to everything, and he’d teach them restraint soon enough, at least the ones who lived through it all.
“Evelyn Hope. She made us. That means she has the answers. And if she doesn’t have the answers, she knows where to get them. She’s luring us back, obviously. She wants us there.” Joe stared hard at Sam and then reached for another wing. “And if they’ve got others like us out there and fighting, then they’ve got more answers than I was hoping for.” He smiled. “Wait and see. We’re going to come out on top of this one.”
Chapter Nine
Not-Tina
NOT-TINA LOOKED AT Joe and did her best to listen to his words, but it wasn’t easy. She was still reflecting on the conversation she’d just finished with Paulo Scarabelli. Old Paulo, he wasn’t in a very good mood.
She liked it that way.
He’d made a few threats, promised to kill her family, to make her pay for every dollar she’d stolen. And she’d listened, nodding all the way. Finally, when he was done making his threats and calling her a dozen names that would have shamed most women, Not-Tina spoke so softly, he had to strain to hear her.
She said, “I know where you live. I know your wife’s name and I know your daughter. You hear me? I know little Annabelle, and if I ever hear you call me any of those names again, you fat pig, I’m gonna gut your little cow daughter and send her fat, rotting heart to your wife.”
And as soon as he started screaming at her again, she hung up the phone.
She wasn’t done with him. Not a chance. Maybe Tina wasn’t ready for payback, but she was. Scarabelli was going to suffer a great deal at her hands, and then he was going to die for every slight he’d thrown against Tina and against her. What he’d done to Tina mattered, because it was part of what Not-Tina knew about the way the world worked. Best way to get what you want? Take it. Fat Paulo had taught her that and he didn’t even know it.
She had a lot to thank him for. She was making lists and checking them off every time Tina went to sleep and she was freed.
Joe finished his opening speech. No two ways about it, the boy liked to hear himself speak. She was okay with that; he was still a nice-looking piece of eye-candy, and he was still working toward a goal they all wanted.
“Don’t keep us in suspense.” Hank was grinning, taking her in. She didn’t mind. She sort of liked the attention. It made her happy to know that men looked at her with hunger while they basically ignored Tina. “Tell us about this plan of yours.” Not-Kyrie was sitting firmly in his lap and Not-Tina could tell he was excited, but Hank was looking at her anyway. He had an appetite, that one. He wanted everything, maybe even more than she did. He’d woken himself up earlier. Maybe if she was lucky, he could teach her to do that too. So far the only time she got out to play was when Joe woke her when Tina was sleeping, or when Tina got good and scared. Really scared.
Joe Bronx nodded. “We know they want us. Probably they want to take us to the closest facilities where they can finish what they started with me and maybe look the rest of you over before they start chopping us into pieces.”
“Why would they do that?” Not-Gene—no, Sam. He wanted to be called Sam—spoke, frowning again. He always had that look on his face, like he was puzzled and needed to know all the answers. Well, except when he looked like he wanted to kill something. She liked him better when he was pissed off. He was sexier that way.
“Like I said, we’re the Failures. I was used for study, probably to help them figure out how to make the losers that came after us. You were thrown away. You shouldn’t be alive and you shouldn’t be able to change, so of course they want to know why you’re still alive and what you can do.”
Not-Tina nodded. “Lab rats. Wanna see if anything we can do would make the next group better.”
“Exactly.” Joe flashed her a smile. Too damned good looking for his own good.
“Too bad for them. I don’t feel like getting cut up.” Not-Tina looked around the room. There were a dozen guys in leather around the bar and a couple of skanks hanging all over them. They weren’t all that bad looking—she’d certainly seen worse-looking guys—but they also acted like they owned the world. Long before she let any of them touch her, she’d have to teach them how to bathe.
“Here’s the thing. I’m almost certain the address I have for Evelyn Hope is a plant. They wanted us to find it. I just think they got impatient and tried to get to us before we could get to that address. So we have to fix that. We have to go into the place ready for them. I mean locked, loaded, and ready to blow the hell out of whatever gets in our way.” Joe’s voice was low. He wasn’t stupid enough to talk about shootings in a loud voice. Maybe the others were ignorant, but Not-Tina understood that every dive had the possibility of being a trap. Maybe it was a biker bar that didn’t care about carding or maybe half the people at Mark-O’s were actually working as informants. They couldn’t be too safe.
She sipped at her beer again. The stuff was already half flat and tasted like horse piss. “Think maybe a few of us could use training, slick? I’m just sayin’, I know the basics, but I’ve never had any formal training.”
Joe smiled at her. “Here I thought you preferred the up-close and personal approach.”
She shrugged. “So maybe I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to go into anywhere without the right equipment.”
Joe pointed at Sam. “We’ll go over that after we leave here. Right now we need to make sure everyone understands their part of this plan.”
“What’s to know? We shoot them first.”
Joe smiled then, a broad unpleasant expression that looked like he was ready to rip out someone’s throat.
“Not quite. No, I have something a little different in mind.”
“Like what?” Sam again, still frowning. His eyes were glued to Not-Tina’s chest, so she squared her shoulders to make sure he could get a better view.
Joe smiled. “We scope the place out, then we come back on our timetable and we take down anything that gets in our way. They know we have weapons, but they don’t know that we’re all going to know how to use those weapons by tomorrow.”
Hank managed to look up from his close scrutiny of Not-Kyrie long enough to let them know he was actually listening. “Who’s gonna teach us?”
“Sam. Sam has a lot of practice. We’re going to learn tonight, before we go to sleep.”
“How?” Not-Kyrie wrinkled her brow when she asked the question. Not-Tina rolled her eyes. Even the girl’s confused look exuded sex appeal.
“It’s the way we’re designed. We were made to learn fast, especially when I’m here to allow a mental connection. It’s kind of like computers. We’ll download the information directly from Sam’s head.”
Sam’s frown got bigger. “Wait. You’re going to get into my head? What if I don’t want that?”
Chapter Ten
Evelyn Hope
EVELYN HELD HERSELF IN check, though it was an effort. She did not like being kept waiting, didn’t appreciate not knowing the answers to questions she needed answered. She knew George was working on getting everything taken care of, but still, patience was a virtue that she had little desire to pursue at the moment.
George was in the room, working away on tracking down information on the four unknown entities that were running around with Subject Seven. He was smart enough to keep quiet. George could read her like a book, which was one of the reasons she kept him around. It was hard to find good help. As if to prove her point, the phone rang harshly. George flinched at the unexpected noise. She did not.
She answered the phone immediately; Caller ID had told her all she needed to know. “Do you have them?”
“No, ma’am. They got away.” Did he sound worried? Yes, he did, with very good reason.
“Would you care to explain that to me, Rafael? Would you like to clarify for me exactly how five unprepared targets got away from the best of my soldiers?” Her tone was frigid.
“They were stronger than we expected.” His voice cracked a bit and she reminded herself that he was young, only thirteen despite his size and training. “Sean was badly hurt.”
“Am I hearing tears now, Rafael?”
His voice tightened up instantly and she could almost hear him standing straighter. “No, ma’am!”
“How badly was he hurt?” Sean was a good boy, a good fighter, and normally careful to not get injured.
“He’s got a concussion and a few broken bones. Whoever hit him, he was like a rhino.” There was a pause, but she sensed there was more.