I had a date with an extremely hot guy, and I had a plan to make an almost-deadly weapon. Things were definitely looking up.
I wandered a few blocks until I found a shop with video games, comic books, and promising electronic doodads in the window. A glowing sign above the door read Dreaming of Electric Sheep. The weirdness of it almost kept me walking, but I figured I’d give it a shot before moving on.
When I stepped inside, a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ryder nearly knocked me over.
The temperamental universe was speaking to me again. I knew it.
At the counter sat an average-looking guy flipping the pages of a technical magazine. A little bit of grease glistened on his chin, mostly likely from the half-eaten pizza slice laying on the counter by his elbow. Every now and then, he cast a glance over to his phone. Occasionally he tilted it up to look at, what I was guessing, was a text message, but generally he ignored the constant barrage of noise coming from the little device.
I made my way through the aisles trying to find everything on my list, but I wasn’t having much luck. I needed help.
I walked over to Mr. Customer Service as the phone on the counter buzzed again. This time the guy didn’t even look at it. Instead he simply muttered, “Just not that into you.”
“Um, excuse me?”
He lazily rolled his eyes up to mine.
“I was wondering if you could help me with this.” I handed him my list.
He looked it over. “You’re making this?”
“Yeah, I—”
Suddenly the front door swung open violently.
A beautiful young woman stomped in, her long brown hair, straightened within an inch of its life, swaying. She wore a fitted grey sweater dress and knee-high leather boots.
She was perfect…except for the mascara-streaked tear marks all over her face.
“Why haven’t you called me?” she shrieked.
Electronics guy scratched at some cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth.
“Babe, I’ve been busy.”
“You said you’d call two days ago.”
“Has it been two days already? Man.”
“You’re killing me! Do you know that? You’re really killing me!”
“And that dress is killing me,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. His gaze flicked to mine, I guess, to see if I got his joke. I did not.
What the hell was going on here? Apparently, I had walked into Bizarro world. While this girl was obviously a little unstable, in the real world she could be bat shit crazy and still be out of this guy’s league. Yet, here she was, desperately clinging to every word he said.
“I’ll tell you what, babe. Why don’t we get together tomorrow night?”
She was already nodding.
“Oh wait, tomorrow’s no good…the next day. You can take me to that place by your building.”
Her eyes rounded with hopefulness.
“Now, listen, you go on home. I’ve got a customer here,” he said jerking a thumb in my direction.
I half-smiled at the girl, now disembowelling me with her eyes. I considered ducking under the counter, but I figured that would only make things worse.
“Run along,” he said making a shooing gesture with his fingers. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She turned slowly and left.
I looked back to electronics guy. I couldn’t help it. My jaw was dragging. My eyes were bugging.
“What?” he asked.
“That!” I said. “You shouldn’t be getting that! Does this store exist outside of the natural world order?”
He laughed. “That’s not very nice. Are you saying I’m not handsome?”
I paused for a moment. I was being rude, but then again, how he treated that girl wasn’t exactly nice either. “Yes, I’m saying that!”
“What can I say? Hot chicks are easy prey.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You make them feel insecure, and they’re yours for life…or at least a night,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. I threw up a little in my mouth. “The less I care, the more they do. And the hotter the chick, the better it works.”
“That’s terrible.”
“But effective.”
“Maybe on some girls, but—”
He smiled. “Oh let me guess, it wouldn’t work on you.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“Sure.”
“What?” I planted my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, I’m just not that upset by it,” he said with a shrug. “You’re not my type anyway.”
I scoffed loudly. “Oh, and what is your type?”
“I usually go for something a little more sophisticated,” he said with an apologetic expression. “Where are you from?”
“I’m—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m guessing it’s a place where daddies throw Virgin Balls and people drink straight from the cow’s teat.”
“Oh…my…GOD!”
He laughed. “You look mad. Sorry kid. I could get you a hot chocolate or something.”
I made a pfft sound.
“And just like that we’re going out.”
“Hey!” My jaw was down again. The scary thing was that a part of me did want him to buy me a hot chocolate, but then again it was probably the starving part. I hadn’t eaten all day.
“Told you. It’s that easy. But I’m serious. You’re not my type.”
“I get it already,” I said smacking the counter. “Can you just help me with my list?”
“Sure, sure. I think I’ve got all this stuff, but some of it’s in the back. Come with me.” He got up and disappeared through the beaded doorway behind him. Normally I wouldn’t follow a strange man into a dark room, but this guy didn’t seem like the type to put the effort into being a serial killer.
Once in, the first thing that hit me was all of the tiny flashing lights. He had more equipment than NASA.
“What the hell is this place?”
“My laboratory,” he said rubbing his hands together.
“This is all your stuff? What are you doing? Planning to take over the world?”
“No. No. I’m just a dabbler since I dropped out of MIT,” he said, walking around some metal shelving and pulling off little boxes. “But this is still where I do all my ‘Q’ type experiments. Speaking of experiments, I know the site you got these instructions from, and there are a few modifications you’re going to want to make.”
I shook my head. “What? Are you some kind of electronics genius?”
“Yeah, I am. I was tested.”
“Then what are you doing here?” I asked, still smarting from the teat comment. “Why don’t you go all Zuckerberg?”
“Please,” he said, furrowing his brow into an angry expression. “I have everything I need right here.”
“Sure.” I almost tacked on a jealous much? but thought better of it.”
I waited in silence as he strolled around ticking things off my list. He stopped briefly at one of his thousand computers and typed in a few commands at blazing speed before moving on to the next shelf.
“What’s a nice girl like you making a weapon like this for anyway?”
I thought about lying, but I couldn’t think of any good reason for why I needed to, and disturbingly, I wanted to raise my coolness factor in his estimation. “I’m auditioning to be Dark Ryder’s apprentice.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Shut the front door.”
“I’m serious.”
He really looked at me for the first time. “Was that you I saw on the news the other day? On the balloon?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t reply right away. He seemed to be taking it all in.
“That is awesome.” He typed a few more commands into another computer then walked past me back out to the front of the shop. I followed him. He put everything on the counter.
“I could make you something way better than this. Something dange
rous.”
I considered it. I mean who doesn’t want more power? But I decided against it. “Um, that’s okay. Dangerous might not be too good in my hands, and I don’t think Ryder would be impressed if I accidently killed a pickpocket or something.”
He nodded sagely. “Good point. Dark Ryder’s M.O. isn’t usually deadly.” He moved to ring my items up on the register.
Oh, crap. The register.
I had forgotten that I had to pay for all of this stuff. It may sound stupid, but buying without worrying where the money was coming from was still second nature to me.
“Um, I don’t suppose you have store credit?”
His fingers froze midair. “Oh yeah, sure. I’ll put you on our store credit plan, and then I’ll go for a ride on my company jet where I’ll flip through my profile in Fortune Five Hundred magazine, and—”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” I said, shoulders slumping. Tears probably would have come to my eyes if I hadn’t been so dehydrated.
I turned to leave when he called out.
“Wait a minute. Maybe we can work something out.”
“It’d better not be sexual.”
“Jeez, no, I told you already. You’re not my type. You need to get over it,” he said with a twinge of disgust. “But Dark Ryder, on the other hand, now she’s my type.”
I tried very hard to stop myself from laughing.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll let you take all this stuff now, and you can pay me back later…if you get me a date with Dark Ryder.”
I froze trying desperately not to show any emotion. Right, like I was going to be able to get pudge boy here a date with Ryder. Impossible. Then again, he didn’t know that.
“Fine,” I lied. “It’s a deal. Uh, what’s your name?”
“Bart.”
“Hi Bart. I’m—”
“Brianna St. James. Or do you prefer Bremy?”
Well, somebody hit the bull’s-eye on my dunk tank. “That’s not my name!”
He said nothing.
“How did you know that?”
“When we were in the back room, I ran the balloon footage from the news through my facial recognition software, and your name popped up.”
Holy crap. That’s what he was doing when he was typing at that computer. Maybe he was a genius…maybe not an evil genius, but a disinterested one.
“So you think the police know it was me too?”
“Please, the police can only dream of my technology,” he said. “Now, you’re not going to welch on our deal right?”
“Absolutely not.”
It was partially true. I would pay him back as soon as I had the cash. As for getting him a date with Ryder, though, that was about as likely as my getting him a date with a big-breasted mermaid.
“Because if you don’t—”
Oh please, I thought. I had been threatened by the likes of Mr. Pushkin and Mr. Raj. Electronics guy wasn’t about to scare me.
“—I’ll have to take this fight to your dad and maybe the media.”
God dammit!
“And how are you going to do that?” I asked, trying to sound tough.
He pointed to a video camera mounted to his ceiling. “I bet there are a bunch of tabloid websites that would love footage of Bremy St. James buying equipment to make what you’re thinking of making.”
“I hate you.”
“Why? Because you were always going to make good on our deal?”
I muttered something unpleasant under my breath and turned to leave.
“You have a month!” he called out to me.
“Of course I do,” I said. God willing I’d be dead in a month.
I stopped suddenly in front of the cardboard version of Ryder. She looked so calm, so cool, so powerful.
Everything I wasn’t.
I can do this I told myself. I looked back to Bart. He was staring at Ryder too. I couldn’t tell anymore if that was grease or drool on his chin.
“You’re not going to, like, make out with this cutout or anything after I leave, right?”
“We geniuses do have active imaginations.”
Well, on the bright side, I definitely wasn’t hungry anymore.
Chapter Thirteen
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to put my weapon together. It was harder than I thought, probably because I was daydreaming in equal parts of muscle and food. It also didn’t help that Queenie music’s was blasting so loud the glass of water on my toilet slash nightstand was vibrating.
As the sun dipped in the sky, my focus shifted to getting ready for my date. I couldn’t do anything about my unfortunate mouse brown hair, but I had brought a few nice clothes from my former life. I had also taken my make-up and basic toiletries. To make them last, my daily routine consisted of one swipe of deodorant and a poppy seed-sized drop of toothpaste—not ideal by any means—but passable. In fact, the only thing I hadn’t brought with me was a razor.
This was unacceptable.
I had a date! I did not want a threesome involving me, Pierce, and my unwanted hair.
I tried sitting on my bed for a while, willing the hair away.
It didn’t work.
I then grabbed an old roll of packing tape I had found tucked away in my suitcase. I smoothed a long swatch of it over the front of my shin. After a deep breath, I ripped it off.
All the blood and screaming dissuaded me from doing it again.
I was out of options.
Or was I?
I turned to look at my pulsating wall. Granted, the first time I had asked Queenie for help hadn’t gone so well, but last night had taught me I was nothing if not persistent.
The thought of my mentor got me in some boots, off my bed and into the hallway.
I banged on the door.
It swung open.
Queenie stood before me looking like the baby of the guy from A Clockwork Orange and Pippi Longstocking.
Immediately, she tried to slam the door, but my protected foot was way ahead of her.
“What?” she snapped. “I’m late for work.”
I was speechless.
Work? What job could she possibly be dressed for? Angel of Death?
I shook off my horror. “You wouldn’t happen to have a razor I could borrow?”
She started banging the door against my foot in angry bursts.
I raised an eyebrow, Ryder style. “Is that really necessary?”
“No, it’s less effective than necessary. Next, I’m going to try punching you in the face.”
I suspected she meant it. I leaned back but didn’t move my foot. I was highly, highly motivated to show up for this date with smooth skin.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Queenie said nothing.
“I will never knock on your door again if you do me this one favor.”
Holding Queenie’s gaze was a little like having a staring contest with a growling dog. She could probably smell fear too.
Suddenly she let go of her door and turned back into her room. She reached over her bed to a makeshift shelf and pulled down a decent-sized plastic bag…a decent-sized plastic bag full of razor blades.
“You know what I find most annoying about you?”
“My eyelashes,” I said quickly. I always wanted to be on a game show.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“You go around asking everyone for help, but you’re wearing a two hundred dollar pair of jeans.”
Huh, I hadn’t expected that. “I see how that could be annoying.”
“So either you’re manipulative or stupid.”
It was hard to hear the truth from someone dressed like a scary puppet, but she might be onto something. “Let’s say we were working with door number two. Why exactly would I be stupid? I mean, I know the answer, but I want to see if you do.”
“If you needed money, you could sell some of that designer crap.”
“Sell it, of course, that’s exactly what I was thinking. But if
I were extremely stupid I wouldn’t know where to sell it, now would I?” I said the words slowly, trying to follow my own hypothetical reasoning.
“At a secondhand store.”
“And people actually buy clothing that other people have worn?”
The puppet didn’t deign to answer.
“Huh. And where would I find such a—”
“Stop talking! Every word makes me want to pull your hair out!” The U-shaped wire braids on either side of her head shuddered.
She picked out a single blade from the bag gripped in her hand and passed it to me.
“Uh…thanks?” I cocked my head. “You know, that’s an awful lot of blades for one person. Do you—”
She violently rattled the bag of razors at me. I jumped back.
“You’re kind of terrifying,” I said as the door slammed in my face.
***
Oh what a night!
I practically skipped down the street with my hairless, hacked up legs.
Things were looking up, up, up.
I had a hot date, a job prospect, and a newfound source of income. What more did a girl in the big bad city need? Well, there was food, but that would be okay too. Pierce didn’t seem the type to go dutch, but I didn’t want him to think I was dating him simply for his access to calories either. To be on the safe side, I had cut out a fake credit card from a magazine and taped it to some cardboard. That way I could do the exaggerated reach for my card at bill time in order to give him ample opportunity to decline my kind offer. Solid plan.
It took me twenty minutes to find the restaurant, but it was worth it. Tucked nestled away behind some towering buildings was an outdoor Italian restaurant with wrought-iron furniture and red and white checkered tablecloths. I couldn’t help but let out an Aww.
I was so ordering spaghetti.
Since I had arrived early, I sat myself at a table with a little candle and tried to calm the butterflies hyperventilating in my stomach.
While I waited, doubts crept into my mind.
Why exactly did Pierce want to go out with me anyway? Sure, I think I’m cute, but I had nearly broken the guy’s nose. I racked my brain for reasons why he might find me attractive and when I came up with nothing, suspicions started to beat up the butterflies in my belly. Once again, this was my father’s fault. You don’t become a billionaire by trusting people.
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