by C. C. Ekeke
Proctor spread both hands. “I would've sent Kerry to the townhall and kill the parents who raised monsters like these.” He ran through his thwarted plan with relish. “Then Brent and McKenna to that basketball party. But call this my contingency—”
Hugo circled the room at blistering speeds.
…forty-five seconds…
Instants later, Hugo stood before Proctor, holding three unfastened bomb vests. He’d also moved the teens and Khan directly under the manhole he’d entered a mile away.
For the first time, Proctor looked worried. “Shit.”
“I watched you latch those vests and did the reverse.” Hugo smiled proudly, but now wasn’t time to gloat with these bombs still active. He glanced at Proctor’s vest.
…thirty-eight seconds…
“Please,” Hugo pleaded. “Deactivate the bombs.”
Proctor’s gaze went from glassy to malicious. “I won’t fail Shauna like you failed Violet Torres and Paul Moreno, Aegis.”
“Excuse me?” Hugo was so shocked he almost dropped his Aegis voice.
…thirty seconds…
Proctor’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Or do you prefer Hugo?”
A cold shock ran down Hugo's spine. He stared back in horrified silence.
Proctor regained his poise. “The camera on Kevin Coleman’s vest couldn’t make out who attacked Khan in the dark. But his description sounded so familiar,” he continued casually, as if explaining a math problem. “Then, all but two people mysteriously survive the library bombing. And you emerge without injury carrying Ms. El-Saden. Refusing medical help.”
…twenty-three seconds…
Hugo couldn’t find his voice. The man he was trying to save could end his superhero career before it began. On instinct, Hugo reached for Proctor’s vest.
Proctor held two fingers up with casual arrogance. “This automatically explodes if you try removing it. And even if you can save me, I know your secret.”
…eighteen seconds…
Hugo backpedaled, trying to process, coming up empty. Lady Liberty’s words filled his thoughts then. You can’t save everyone. Proctor had made it clear he didn’t want salvation.
Right then, Hugo knew what must happen. “Let’s do option three.”
…thirteen seconds…
Proctor’s jowly features contorted. “Huh?”
…nine seconds…
Hugo’s smile was as ice-cold as he’d made his heart. “I won’t kill you. Nor will I save you.”
Proctor gaped. “You—”
…four seconds…
Hugo grabbed Proctor's shirt and ran. Sewer tunnels and grubby pipes smeared by as he dragged Proctor along like a ragdoll. Soon, Hugo found a hole casting pale moonlight into the tunnels. He ran faster.
…one second…
Halting just before the tunnel mouth, Hugo flung Proctor and the three bomb vests. The cluster shot higher and higher until starry night skies swallowed them.
…zero seconds…
Distant thunder shattered tonight’s quiet, the heavens illuminated by plumes of white-and-gold fire. Hugo watched the explosion wink out from below. Despite a stony exterior, his heart tremored.
I let someone die? He wanted to think there was no choice, like with kicking Sione. But Hugo knew that was a lie. “I had no choice,” he told himself, maybe so he might believe it. No time to contemplate. Hugo made his heart go dead before zooming back into the sewers.
He reached the pile of unconscious teens seconds later. Khan stirred but was still out and bound by pipes. Hugo would rather leave, but someone needed to communicate what happened. Tensing, Hugo gently shook Brent’s shoulder. “Rise and shine,” he said in his superhero voice.
The blond-haired teen’s eyes fluttered open. One look at Hugo in costume sent Brent scrambling back on hands and heels. “What the…who are you?”
He doesn’t recognize me. Hugo sighed in relief. “It’s okay,” Hugo stated in the Aegis voice, hand raised to mollify his friend. “You’re safe.”
Brent’s head swiveled around as he absorbed his dank surroundings. His disbelief when seeing McKenna and Kerry’s motionless bodies was obvious. “Where am I?”
Hugo rose to his feet, which hid his face more in shadow. “You got kidnapped by Mister Quiet, who was one of your teachers. Mr. Proctor.”
In the dark, Brent’s ruddy face paled. “Oh my God!” He clutched his head.
Hugo knelt again, laying a calming hand on Brent’s shoulder. “You and your classmates are safe. He’s won't hurt anyone again.”
Realizing how harsh he sounded, Hugo softened. “What’s your name?”
His friend trembled, taking slower breaths. “Brent. Brent Longwell.”
Hugo nodded. “Okay, Brent. Be right back.” Before Brent could reply, he snatched up McKenna and Khan, racing them up the manhole. After plopping them next to Brent’s Escalade at the Beach Bum Burger parking lot on the surface, Hugo raced back to Brent’s side.
“Holy crap,” the blond teen yelped, leaping back.
Hugo marched forward. “Hold on.” He grabbed Brent's collar and scooped up Kerry under his arm. “You might feel queasy.”
Hugo dashed up the manhole again, plopping Kerry next to McKenna.
Khan growled woozily, straining at his binds. Hugo advanced and dropped him with a right cross. Brent yelped at the sudden brutality.
From a distance, Hugo heard wailing sirens approach. Scanner chatter confirmed they were converging on this area. He turned to Brent, who was fixated on the liger. “That thing kidnapped me—”
Hugo guided Brent’s gaze back to him. “Tell the police there’s a lair underground where you and these other students were being held.” Hugo gestured at McKenna and Kerry, both still unconscious. “That is Khan, Mister Quiet’s minion. The owner was Mr. Proctor from your school.”
Brent sagged under this revelation. “Mr. Proctor was Mister Quiet?”
Hugo nodded. “He blew himself up.” With my help…
“Good GOD!”
“Remember my words,” Hugo ordered. When Brent nodded fearfully, Hugo knew his work was done. Blaring sirens grew closer, a few blocks away.
Hugo raced off before Brent could ask another question. He braked beneath a freeway overpass blocks away with zero people or traffic. He tapped his earpiece, a few preprogrammed numbers scrolling before his eyes. He chose one encrypted line. “Clint. Its Hugo,” he announced normally. “Need a favor.”
“Kinda busy. But hit me,” the hacker said.
“In the next half hour,” Hugo announced, “hack into any personal computer belonging to Darren Proctor of Paso Robles High, then erase any mention of me.”
“On it,” Clint stated.
Hugo then called Simon back. “Hey! Mister Quiet’s lair had a jammer.”
The Korean boy’s relief was tangible. “What happened?”
“Everyone’s safe. Mister Quiet’s been stopped.” Hugo glanced around his vacant surroundings. The cars racing across the overpass rumbled through his bones. “It was Mr. Proctor.”
“WHOA! Where is he now?”
Hugo closed his eyes, beginning to regret his decision. “Which part?”
“Huh?” Simon sounded lost.
Guilt roiled in the pit of Hugo’s stomach. Mr. Proctor had been a husband, a father, a son. Paul Moreno had been someone’s son, too. That squelched enough guilt. Would Simon look at him the same way after learning the truth? Hugo opened his eyes. “I’ll come over and explain. See ya soon.”
Hugo zoomed home in a whoosh, with ample guilt chasing at his heels.
Chapter 39
Quinn approached her search for Annie like a news story.
Following up on leads, aka Annie’s favorite hangouts.
Speak with sources, aka mutual friends.
Quinn struck gold with Lauren Porter, a mutual friend who worked at Annie’s PR agency.
“So glad you called,” Lauren shouted over a loud crowd. “We’re at
the Archipelago bar. And Annie’s in rough shape. She’s been crashing here the last two days while Johnny’s out of town.”
Quinn cringed at Annie’s lie but wouldn’t embarrass her friend further. “I’m coming. Just keep it a surprise.” She spoke the location into her car’s GPS.
In under fifteen minutes, Quinn reached the Archipelago and checked a new text.
HeroBoy: I stopped Mister Quiet! Thanks for your help, Q!
ME: Nice! I knew you could do it!
Hugo’s victory filled Quinn’s heart with much-needed joy. She’d talk to him tomorrow. Archipelago Hotel was a mix of five-star elegance and Central Coast rustic. Quinn spotted Lauren across the bar in a corner booth. No sign of Annie, worryingly. The mahogany-skinned woman was slender with long braids, wearing an off-the-shoulder green minidress.
Lauren waved her over with palpable relief. “Thank. God!” She gave Quinn a hug, then motioned worriedly into the booth.
Quinn’s heart stuttered in alarm. “How bad?”
“Bad.” Lauren emphasized bluntly. “She was pounding back beers and talking crazy about never marrying and skipping town to become a travelling singer. It freaked me out.”
“You’re a good friend, Lauren,” Quinn stated. She found Annie Machado lying curled up in the booth seats, hand covering her face, rip-roaring drunk. This sight left Quinn both thankful to see her friend and saddened by her condition. “Giaconda?” Quinn announced over the noise. “It’s Quinn.”
Annie stiffened, curling up more. “Mmmmgoway,” she slurred feebly. “Mmmmfine.”
Quinn had to smile. “I can see that, sweetie.”
“Mmmmmfuckoff,” Annie grumbled.
Quinn was debating with Lauren how to get Annie up, glancing at the bar entrance. She stopped, looked again and recoiled in surprise.
Therese Levesque stood at the entrance, seemingly out of nowhere. She watched Quinn like a lioness eyeing its prey, wearing tight grey jeans, a red V-neck, and a jean jacket. Her wavy brunette bob was tucked behind both ears.
Quinn swiftly contained any shock, while her stomach kept flip-flopping. She offered Lauren a taut smile. “Gimme a minute?”
Quinn marched toward Therese, no longer smiling. “What are you doing here?” she demanded while passing the vigilante.
Therese pivoted smoothly and followed Quinn out of the bar. “We need to talk,” she answered with a subtle Quebecois accent. “About Missy Magnificent.”
Once in the hotel lobby, Quinn whirled in sudden irritation. “Here to scare me off another assignment?” she demanded, nose to nose with the vigilante. “Not happening.” The tension between them crackled and tightened, making her instinctively step back.
Therese cocked her head sideways in tempting fashion. “I have info from Clint and our police contacts.”
Quinn gulped. “You should've called,” she chided. And yet knowing that Therese had stalked her gave the reporter such an intoxicating high.
The vigilante glanced over her shoulder into the bar. “Given your errand, I figured speaking in person was more effective.”
Quinn followed her gaze and cringed.
Lauren tried pulling Annie up to a seated posture, and got aggressively shoved off. Annie slumped back onto her side.
Quinn looked back at Therese, an idea forming. “Help get Annie to my car first.”
She approached an exasperated Lauren with Therese. “My pal Terry’s here to help. She’s real French,” Quinn mocked. “Not Canadian-French.”
Therese glared daggers at her before gracing Annie more positively. “Bonjour, Annie,” she greeted in a flawless French accent.
The three women sat Annie up. Quinn tried not to fret seeing her friend barely conscious, head lolling forward. Getting her out of the bar was Quinn’s next challenge. “We lift her on one, two, thre—”
Therese crouched, pulled Annie across her shoulders, and hoisted her up like a sack of laundry.
Quinn gaped in awe, especially since Annie was a big girl. Then again, someone in Therese’s profession had to be insanely fit.
Lauren’s eyes went saucer-wide. “Wow.”
“Terry does CrossFit,” Quinn lied, flexing an arm. “And Pilates.”
Annie protested feebly atop Therese’s shoulders. The archer nodded at the exit. “Let's go!”
After thanking Lauren, Quinn and Therese departed for the reporter’s car. The vigilante carried Annie on her shoulders all the way to the hotel parking lot, ignoring hotel patrons’ stares. Quinn couldn’t stop marveling at Therese’s strength in that lithe, trim frame.
Once she strapped Annie into the car, Therese hopped on her motorcycle parked nearby.
“I’ll take care of you, sweetie,” Quinn assured. Once Annie dried out, a heart-to-heart was long overdue. “We’re going to my place.”
Annie sagged in the front passenger seat, eyelids fluttering. “Mmmfuckoff.”
Once they reached Quinn’s condo, Therese carried Annie inside. She was slurring in incoherent Spanglish. After Quinn held Annie’s long hair while she threw up in the toilet, the reporter cleaned her friend up and tucked her into the guest bed.
Closing the guestroom, Quinn focused on Therese waiting in the living room. “Okay. Hit me.”
“Clint’s Ultimax search found countless shell companies,” Therese said. “And the name Zachary Teller.”
“Zachary Teller?” Quinn pressed harsher than intended. The long day had frayed her patience.
“Someone who doesn’t exist.” Therese’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Until someone visited the downtown San Miguel police station to bail out Nightfang.” The archer pulled out her cell, revealing grainy images of a brawny, hostile-looking Asian man in a sports coat. “Clint ran facial recognition to identify Ivan Oshiro.” Therese pursed her lips. “Employed by Zachary Teller’s shell company owning Super Solutions. Oshiro’s been bailing out Missy’s opponents within hours of their arrests.”
That grabbed Quinn’s attention. She plopped down in her lounge chair. “What about the actors?”
Therese remained standing. “All had their online footprints scrubbed from public record.”
More dead ends. “Fudge,” Quinn griped.
Therese waved off her discontentment. “Back to Oshiro. He also works for Laura Tarsitano, board member of a new firm called Solstice Equity. That funds the shell company behind Ultimax.”
Quinn massaged her brow. “Okay?” These shell companies within shell companies made her brain hurt. Clearly, Missy and her husband were pawns in a larger game. “Why’s that bad?”
“Tarsitano works for Paxton-Brandt.”
“I’ve heard of Paxton-Brandt,” Quinn replied. Evil Incorporated, many joked. “Has fingers in lots of pies. Pharmaceuticals, genetics…” Her breath caught. “…and superhero disaster insurance.”
Therese nodded in satisfaction. “Paxton-Brandt has been quietly purchasing Junction properties last year through another shell company. Acme Properties. And with the low property values, no one cared.”
Quinn’s brain sagged from the growing complexity. “I’m guessing that included stores damaged during Missy Magnificent’s fake battles?”
“Bingo.” Therese sat down next to Quinn with catlike elegance. “Ultimax premiums skyrocketed to where business owners can’t afford them. Acme offers to buy their debt and damaged storefronts for dirt cheap.”
“What about the stores sponsoring Missy’s profile? Or why she’s being positioned as The Junction’s patron hero.” Quinn sucked on her teeth, annoyed at these lingering questions. Sometimes she wished these superhero profiles unfolded without incident. Then again, Quinn knew she wouldn’t be half as engaged.
Therese studied her thoughtfully. “Geist and I have cased The Junction on our patrols the last three nights,” she added. “Construction trucks were driving to and from buildings purchased by Acme well after midnight. We tried to get closer, but security was too thick, even for us.”
That surprised Quinn. Why all
the secrety secrets for real estate redevelopment? “Isn’t Paxton-Brandt trying to rebuild The Junction?”
Under the lights of Quinn’s living room, Therese’s face darkened. “Or destroy.”
Quinn’s blood curdled. “But the residents haven’t moved out…No.” She refused to believe Paxton-Brandt was that evil.
Therese fiddled with her phone again. “Our thoughts initially, until we saw Tarsitano meeting someone near Paxton-Brandt’s Morro Bay offices.” She leaned forward, showing Quinn her cellphone.
The image revealed an older woman who had to be Laura Tarsitano. She spoke with a man of average height in an impeccable charcoal-grey suit. With short dark hair slicked back, he might have been handsome and debonair. Except his facial expression resembled a stone-cold killer’s. Quinn shivered and looked at Therese. “Nice suit. Who’s that?”
“Damián Hazard,” Therese said with an undercurrent of warning. “Superhuman and prominent figure in Central Coast's underworld. He’s clashed many times with Geist long before I joined his war on crime.”
Quinn’s skin prickled. She was sensing the severity of this growing conspiracy. “How worried are we about Hazard’s involvement?”
In the short time Quinn had known Therese, she’d never seen her appear afraid. Until tonight. “The Junction is about to become a bloodbath.”
Chapter 40
Sleep came in fitful spurts for Quinn after Therese left, having no connection to her night terrors. Those didn’t happen whenever a guest or warm body was staying over. Her mind was consumed with Damián Hazard’s scheme for The Junction and Missy’s role. Her heart ached over Annie, who was out cold in the guestroom. After waking up at four in the morning, Quinn gave up on sleep, took a long shower, and parked herself in front of her laptop.
From there, she organized sections for the Missy Magnificent expose and this Junction conspiracy.
She mulled over Therese’s words. Damián Hazard was bad news. Drug running, money laundering, extortion, smuggling, murder. He had all the criminal checkboxes marked. Why would Damián Hazard want to level The Junction? Unless he wanted to rebuild something better in its place? Which meant any redevelopment plans for The Junction would include his brand of villainy.