Integration

by J. S. Frankel

  At a noontime press conference a few days back, Paul and Angela had stood outside City Hall, alongside the Chief of Police, Nicholas Atwater. A crowd of perhaps a thousand people had formed and stirred restlessly in the cold as the chief intoned a few greetings, talked about crime being down and his gratitude for the Nightmare Crew’s assistance. “We’re here to help,” Paul had said, attempting to be as serious as possible.

  That was the phrase he most often uttered to the various news reporters and talk show hosts who came by for a sound bite. It seemed to be the best way to phrase things. “We appreciate the help,” Atwater had replied. “We welcome their help within the law, and we are glad they’re on our side.”

  Those words, spoken with a tremendous amount of gravity, had made Paul feel a little better about what he did. Angela, who’d stood at his side, had squeezed his hand, and he’d welcomed her touch. However, another voice, feminine, strong and persuasive, spoke up, and it had tarnished the proceedings. “Thanks, chief, but we don’t need them,” the person had said, with a smug tone in her voice.

  All eyes had fallen on the woman and a murmur had run through the throng. She wasn’t a reporter. In her mid-twenties, tall, blonde and photogenic, Lacy Matthews practically ran the talk show circuit, and if she said it, by golly, it had to be true. Unlike the other reporters who’d at the very least, not viewed them with total skepticism, Lacy had taken a dim view of the Nightmare Crew’s activities.

  Additionally, she’d also been a thorn in their side for the past three months, following them to the scenes of their latest bust, always angling for an interview and always being denied, but persisting nonetheless.

  “You don’t need us,” Angela had shot back with distaste heavy in her voice. Her eyes had flashed a cold blue and her tone had sounded just as icy. “You say you don’t need us, but when the police aren’t around, who are you going to count on, a talk show host who can’t fight back or someone like me or Paul who can?”

  Her answer had rocked Lacy. The blonde had blinked—and she never blinked. She’d always come across as being too smart, too informed and too glib and self-assured to be put on the defensive by anyone, but this time she’d had no answer except to say, “I’ll take my chances with the police.”

  “Whatever you like,” Angela had said, still staring her down. She’d taken a step in the woman’s direction, then one more. Lacy had backed up with a look of terror in her eyes. “But when something bad happens and the police don’t show, don’t expect me to save your sorry ass—”

  “Uh, let’s tone this down a bit,” Paul had interrupted, while interposing his body between his girlfriend’s and Lacy’s. “Like Angela said, we’re here to help, and that’s all.”

  Chief Atwater had nodded and stepped up to the microphone. “I happen to agree with the young lady,” he’d said, nodding in Angela’s direction. “The Nightmare Crew has been nothing short of cooperative. They know their boundaries, and their boundaries have always been to work within the constraints of the law.”

  Lacy had sniffed the air as if something had died and the cleanup department had forgotten to take it away. “If you think you’re above us, you’re wrong,” she’d declared as she swiveled around to face the crowd. “They think they’re above us.”

  The crowd—many of them—had roared their approval, but there had been a few who wore undecided looks and those who remained blank-faced. They were the most dangerous of all, Paul had decided. They waited until they saw the winning side then shifted their allegiance to it.

  Lacy had seemed to revel in the attention and she’d swung back to face Angela. “If you think you’re better than us, you’re wrong. You’re not human. You have never been human, and you, Wiseman, chose to become a freak. If that isn’t sick, then I don’t know what is.”

  Her statement had been so full of fail that he hadn’t known where to begin. “Hey, listen up. In the first place, I didn’t choose this life. Someone shot me. You got that? The only choice I had was to become, uh, what I am.”

  After speaking his piece, he’d fallen silent. What he hadn’t said was that the process had changed him from an ordinary person into someone less ordinary—and something more. He didn’t have to understand the science behind it all. All he knew was that science had replaced fantasy with reality.

  Unfortunately, upgrades in abilities came with a price, that being how to deal with people who didn’t consider them the same as the rest of humanity. He’d saved them from muggings and beatings, but as with all the other times before, their eyes had given them away. They’d held wariness…and fear. He’d sought to assuage their fears by repeating, “We’re here to help,” but he wasn’t sure if they believed him.

  In the end, he’d decided not to add anything further. Lacy would never change, and right then he hadn’t cared. “Come on,” he’d said to Angela.

  They’d joined hands and walked away. This being the daytime, Angela’s powers of flight hadn’t worked. She still possessed super strength and near invulnerability, but they’d have to rough it on foot. Lacy had called out after them, “You don’t have the courage to stick around? I’m not done with you yet!”

  Angela had pivoted around then started back, but Lacy had hastily gotten into her van, then had driven off at high speed. The chief of police had offered them a friendly nod and a shrug as if to say, This is what you have to expect.

  Paul had asked with a mild touch of concern, “You weren’t going to waste her, were you?” This situation had needed some lightening up.

  “I’m thinking on it.” A slight grin had formed on her lips. “I can’t wait until night falls…”

  “Paul, are you there?”

  Angela’s voice, sharp and commanding, startled him, and Paul came back to the present with a start. Glancing up at the rooftop across the street, Angela maintained her position. The three tough guys continued their nighttime jaunt in an unconcerned manner, eyeing everyone with a blank-faced stare, gauging them, it seemed, and moving on.

  Something wasn’t right here. Paul couldn’t pin it down, but these guys didn’t seem like the real deal. It was cold, it was crowded, but crime didn’t always happen out in the open, unless it was a purse snatching. He thought about chasing after them. They didn’t look as though they ran very fast.

  No, they looked to be the mugger type. Gangbangers and their ilk operated in the back alleys, dragging their victims into the dark and dealing with them there. He also didn’t smell any booze or hint of drugs on them, not that it was a prerequisite. Still, he didn’t get a totally bad vibe. He whispered into his intercom, “Yeah, I’m still here. What’s up?”

  “I called in before, and you didn’t answer. You’re not zoning out, are you?”

  Somewhat ashamed for daydreaming, Paul felt his face grow hot. “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking about us.”

  “Well, that’s better,” she said in a slightly warmer tone. “We’ll talk about us later. Then we can— Hey, wait, we got movement. Look off to your right.”

  Swiveling his head to the right, Paul saw a van pull up. Two men got out and started to open the hood, then the three toughs ran over and started shoving them around. “Show time,” Angela’s voice crackled.

  Action time and Paul ran over to the van, grabbed the first man and tossed him aside. The second and third men pulled handguns from the back of their pants. They never got a chance to fire, though, as Angela blasted them with a gust of air and sent them reeling. Before they could recover, she swooped down from above and slammed into them, knocking the guns away and sending them sprawling to the pavement.

  “Fun’s over, guys,” said Paul as he stripped off their belts and tied their hands behind their backs.

  The drivers stood there, expressions of awe on their faces, and Paul retrieved the guns. “Oh hell,” he muttered. The guns were plastic. He could smell metal. In fact, he had the ability to discern a number of different
smells, but he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t been able to detect the weapons. Now he knew. Acting… It was all about acting.

  Angela walked over to the men with a sour look on her face. “What kind of prank is this?”

  “A good one,” a voice answered.

  The door to the van slid open, and Lacy Matthews stepped out. “Hi there,” she said in a pseudo-friendly voice. Decked out in a pair of fashionable jeans, cowboy boots and a fluffy white jacket, she thrust a microphone at them. Another man holding a camera was in back of her, busily filming away. “You guys up for doing an interview?”

  “How’s this for a sound bite?” Angela asked, her fangs elongating with anger, and she snorted, “You’re an idiot.”

  “Hey!”

  “Hey nothing,” Paul interjected, mightily peeved at this dipstick of a tabloid show host interrupting serious business. “While we’re playing games here, somewhere there’s a crime going down. What’s all this for, ratings?”

  “You bet,” Lacy replied. Her sense of self-assurance seemed to be flooding back. “Ratings are where it’s at. C’mon, nothing’s happening. You two can spare a few minutes.”

  With a sense of resignation and in the hope that he could send a positive message, Paul agreed. “Okay, you have five minutes.”

  Lacy started off with the usual questions about how the group came to be, what they’d done of late, but she seemed bored and only nodded as they gave their answers. She actually rolled her eyes when Paul said it wasn’t about glory but about doing the right thing. “Are you serious?” was her first response.

  “Yeah, I am.” He couldn’t think of anything deep or pithy to say except, “When I was growing up, I was always being picked on. That happens to a lot of kids. Well, when I joined up with the Crew, I learned that there’s a way to stop the bullying and the bad stuff from happening. This is how we do it.”

  As he spoke, he realized how clichéd it all sounded, but it happened to be the truth. Lacy listened without batting an eye, finally saying, “Yup, you’re a hero and a good guy and all that.”

  She then switched into predator mode and went right to the sex angle. Eyes gleaming, she asked, “Are you two actually dating? How about giving the public some details? Are you going to get married or are you pregnant, Angela? I can call you Angela, can’t I?”

  Even in the darkness, Angela’s face flushed an angry pink, and Paul felt somewhat discomfited. He flashed back to a time four months ago when he and Angela had been alone in the warehouse.

  “I’m over eighteen, and you had your birthday recently, didn’t you?” she’d asked, as she sashayed over his direction. He’d been checking on gang-related movements on the computer.

  Ooze had conveniently made himself scarce and Paul had wondered if his girlfriend had asked him to take a trip through the pipes. As it stood, only his empty containment suit lay next to the sink, and no telling when he would be back.

  “Well, yeah,” Paul had replied, not knowing exactly how to answer. He was into her big time, but this?

  “Look at me,” Angela had commanded.

  He‘d done so, and he’d gazed into the softest, warmest pair of blue eyes imaginable. Her eyes could go from icy cold to deep sea warm blue in the fraction of a second, and right now he felt enveloped by her heat. “Yes?”

  “I’m a person,” she’d stated with conviction. “Even if everyone tells me ‘no’, you say ‘yes’. We’ve been together, fought crime together and you care for me, right?”

  Paul had breathed out, “Yes.”

  In a voice filled with passion, she’d said, “Kiss me. I have knowledge, but no experience with love, and I want that experience. Kiss me and more, and we’ll do what comes naturally to everyone.”

  A moment later, their lips had met then—

  “I’m not pregnant,” Angela declared loudly, snapping him back from his memory. “Get it through your head. Paul and I are together. That’s all you have to know.”

  Lacy chuckled and coming from her, it sounded like sandpaper being rubbed over rock. “Yeah, you’re together—a hybrid and a stem-cell creation. I wonder if you can get pregnant. You’re a science project, honey, and you don’t belong here. Stick to being a lab subject.”

  Some objectivity she has. What’s her problem, anyhow? She seemed to have a special hatred for the Nightmare Crew, although she never said why. This wasn’t the time, though, as Angela started forward with a look of murder in her eyes, and he held her back. “Not now, girlfriend,” he cautioned.

  “It won’t take long to teach her some manners, boyfriend,” she shot back, but held her ground nonetheless.

  This whole scenario stank in more ways than one, and by now a crowd had gathered. People snapped away with cell phones, some had the ubiquitous selfie sticks, and why did everyone have to get their fifteen minutes in? He wiped a trickle of sweat from his face. He sweated when he fought crime, but that was an honest sweat. This came from nerves, and he hated being put on the spot.

  Angela tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “Forget about it. Let’s just go. They can’t handle us. We’ve got a job to do.”

  In a smooth and fluid motion, she took to the air and was soon out of range from the cameras. The crowd oohed and aahed. Lacy called out, “Hey, I’m not done interviewing you yet.”

  “We’re done,” Paul said as he started to walk away. “You got your ratings. What more do you want?”

  “I want you ended!” Matthews’ voice came out as a scream.

  Blowing out a gust of air in exasperation, Paul quickly clambered up the side of a building and jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Soon, he was well out of range. He stopped to catch his breath, and Angela landed beside him. Offering a grin, he opined, “That went well.”

  “You think so?” She sounded more than a little dubious. “It’s going to be the same. They don’t want to listen and right now, I don’t care. C’mon. Let’s go home.”

  “No dancing?” That was her passion, particularly at the Goth rave clubs. With her complexion, she fit in well there, and the participants never passed judgment on her at all. It was the only place where she felt at home.

  “No, no dancing tonight,” she answered. “I need my shot, and you need to eat.”

  Angela couldn’t absorb food. She relied on synthetic blood for nourishment. Paul had to get his protein fix the old-fashioned way. He preferred steak and he practically salivated at the thought.

  “Got it,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

  They headed that way, keeping their eyes open for trouble, but none was evident.

  Shortly after arriving home, Paul immediately checked the vicinity for trouble. This being the Bowery—a very poor section of Manhattan—he sometimes had to deal with vagrants or the accompanying problems of the homeless, and he helped whenever he could.

  However, the streets were empty, save for a black van that sat outside the front gate. Paul sniffed the air, smelled the forms of…seven men? “We’ve got company,” he said. “I can smell them, but I can’t see them.”

  A second later, though, the men emerged from the darkness. They were wearing body armor. It effectively masked their bodies’ heat. They quickly lined up in front of the van and stood as stiff and silent as robots.

  “They’re not police,” Angela said, as they continued their forward march.

  “They’re not paramilitary, either,” Paul responded, wondering what was going on.

  “We’re neither,” said another man, who stepped out from behind the vehicle. Short and with a muscular, compact build, he had cold, gray eyes and a lean, hatchet face. He carried a briefcase in his left hand. With his right, he whipped off his cap to reveal a head of short salt-and-pepper hair, and he snapped off a sharp salute.

  “I am not saluting him,” Angela muttered under her breath as she stopped in her tracks. A wary look flashed across her
face. It meant trouble could happen at any second, but the military guy didn’t seem to want to start anything.

  The man chuckled. “You don’t have to.” He spoke with a strong southern accent, but sounded mild enough and very unthreatening, in spite of the military might he had standing around him. “I’m not here to cause trouble. All I’m expecting you to do is to give me some of your time. After that, if we can come to an understanding, then we’ll be on our way.”

  Be on their way and give them some time… “Who are you?” asked Paul.

  “My name’s Colonel Stander. I’m with the United States Armed Forces—the Texas Rangers, to be exact, out of Fort Benning. Those killings out West… I assume you’ve heard of them?”

  “We have,” replied Angela, her wary look fading and a look of curiosity replacing it. “You know who did them, don’t you?”

  Stander nodded. “We do, and we’re pretty sure you do as well. If you take them on, then you’re going to need our help. We need to talk.”

  Chapter Two

  Plan of Action

  Stander immediately signaled for his men to remain on alert. “Surround the perimeter and scan the area. Make sure no one goes in or out.” They left to take up their positions, and he turned to a hulking man with a scarred face and pointed across the street. “If the media shows up, Dawkins, discourage them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dawkins replied. A look of distaste briefly flared in his eyes. “What about them, sir?”

  “Leave them to me.”

  Stander’s subordinate snapped off a sharp salute and hustled across the silent thoroughfare to take up a spot on the corner.

  “It seems your man has a problem with us,” observed Angela. A note most dour entered her voice. “Or am I wrong?”

  He flicked his eyes toward Dawkins then turned around to settle his gaze on her. “You’re not. Our men…don’t have a lot of experience working with those who are, er…”

  “Different?”