Super

by Karen Diem

  Zita bit her lip. “Sorry about that. My clothes got messed up. I’ll return it later.”

  Something danced in Remus’ eyes. He set his bottle down by the stack of weapons and restraints. “It looks better on you than on him. I’m Remus, and so sorry for implying you were Jerome’s pet. If he had an animal, it would probably starve within a week. You have a name?” Her throat closed up when he gave her the eye. The eye. On her. The one that meant he liked what he saw.

  Yanking the hood further over her face, she opened and closed her mouth a couple times before replying. He’s looking. He must be a leg man since the sweatshirt hides everything else. “Sí, I’m, umm...” For safety’s sake, she angled her face away more.

  Jerome choked on a laugh. He turned away until his face was under control.

  Remus displayed that inviting smile again. He switched into Spanish. “Well then. Give me a call and we’ll have dinner, lunch, or whatever?” He picked up a card off the table and handed it to her. “My cell’s the second number. Use that one.”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Numb, she took the card. “Thanks, I will,” she forced out in the same language. Did I just join in a fight and then get asked out by someone I’m actually attracted to? The rest of the day has sucked but this, this half hour is epic!

  Control restored, Jerome put his brawny hands on his hips. “Did you break into my house to mack on him? Damn, I was worried you were one of my exes. Well, if you’re done with flirting and delivering warnings…” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “No, stay, the police will want to talk to you too,” Remus interjected. His expression implied the police were not the only ones with questions.

  Oh, I so don’t need to talk to the cops right now. Man has lines. She inclined her head, her eyes on the handsome Puerto Rican. “Oh, sí, I have places I need to… to go, and you know, people to do... I mean, things to do,” she stammered, pointing over her shoulder at the back of the house. “Right. I’m leaving. Bye!” Zita turned, narrowly avoided a collision with the doorframe, and escaped into the backyard. She smacked herself in the head before remembering the cameras. “Ah, fuck me. I needed to talk to Jerome.” Resisting the urge to look up, she wheeled around and went back inside. She scratched her head. No way around it. Just be cool and pretend not to be an idiot.

  Jerome slouched on a sofa, and Remus stood in the foyer, talking into his phone. Her friend’s shoulders shook with laughter that did not abate when he spotted her. He swung his feet up on the armrest. “What? You moving in now?”

  Zita shook her head, bit her lip, and glanced toward Remus nervously. “I need a favor.”

  Remus looked up at her. A smile came to his lips, and he waved. Curiosity shone on his face and in every line of the tight body she was trying to ignore. While she pretended otherwise outwardly, she did not even pretend she was not looking to herself. I’m going to have so much to say next time I go to confession. When a voice rose in query from the phone, Remus turned away to answer.

  Jerome rose, glanced toward Remus, and strode toward her. Taking her arm, he steered her into the back room, an office packed with leather furniture, paper, and giant televisions. She realized they were computer monitors after Jerome seated himself in front of a keyboard, the oversized leather chair creaking under his large form. One screen showed multiple zones, displaying camera feeds around his house and yard. The others held text or a pixilated forest. In chaotic piles, assorted computer things mingled with papers and empty takeout bags on every surface of the room except for his chair. Shelves held toys, spaced apart to best display each one. “Step into my office. You didn’t eat Ken or Ryu, did you?”

  “What? Who? No!” She hoped. “Who are they?”

  “My fish.” Jerome waved his phone at her. Her panty-clad rear end waved at her from the screen from when she fished her things out of the water.

  She pushed the oversized glasses further up her nose and studied the wall. “Oh! No, I was careful with your pond and fish.”

  “Reflecting pool. It’s a reflecting pool. You might want to be more careful with your clothes too.” He laughed. “I’m guessing you’re the Zoo Streaker! Guess I got the bragging rights to say I chased you off my lawn. Well, then, let’s talk.” He sat in his chair.

  “Right, I need a couple things. First, I need the address and phone number on a club. The name is like Dance Mister or Dan’s Misery or something like that.”

  He nodded, and his hands danced over the keys. She felt a moment of envy for speedy typists who could use more than a couple fingers at a time. “I should be able to find that in two seconds… are you sure you got the name right?” His brow furrowed and fingers stilled.

  “No.” Spotting a plastic figure in a yellow gi with a large head, Zita went over to examine it.

  He grunted a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “I kind of like the koi pond. It’s all meditative and shit,” Zita said. She touched her finger to the afro on the toy, and it wiggled at her. “Is this Jim Kelly from Enter the Dragon?”

  He nodded at her. “Sharp eye. Try not to break my bobblehead. It’s custom.”

  She withdrew her finger and just watched the plastic head bob. “Dude was robbed. His character should have ripped Han a new one, and instead they killed him. It was just wrong.” It kept nodding as if it agreed. Smart toy. Zita tilted her head. “Shouldn’t you be typing?”

  Jerome grunted. “Damn straight. Thanks for the compliment. Now, what do you want other than to admire my home, toys, and handsome face? You got a name?” He pressed a few more keys and then propped his chin on a meaty fist while Web pages and almost-English text scrolled by on most of the monitors. The exception held an armored green woman with tusks, who wielded an axe against monsters. While she marshaled her thoughts, one corner of her mind puzzled over how a woman muscled like a male bodybuilder and wearing a thong bikini could fight so acrobatically.

  She stared at the Jim Kelly bobblehead, and then gave it a vicious flick. “Not that I can give you,” she answered. The plastic toy bobbed violently, and she dragged her gaze away to focus on Jerome again. Paper under it caught her attention. “Wait…” She nudged a flyer out from under the toy. “This is the place. Danz Mizer.”

  A Web page appeared on one monitor. Paper spat out of a printer. “Here’s your address. What’s your interest in the club?”

  She hesitated. “It might be the last place two of the kidnap victims were seen before they disappeared. Can I keep this?”

  Jerome grunted, and slid the paper, a VIP invite, from her hand. “No, but I’ll tell the cops what you said about the club so they look there too. I printed you the address and directions from Rock Creek Park. Did you need anything else?”

  She lifted her hands in the air. “That’s it. Thank you.”

  He dismissed her debt with a wave. “Why didn’t you just call with your warning?”

  “I don’t have an unregistered cell phone or your number. If you got a spare cell, I won’t say no to it.” She rubbed the back of her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Jim Kelly nodded at her in approval.

  “What makes you think I’ve got an unregistered cell phone?” His query sounded aggravated.

  She blinked. “You’re a private detective and a computer hacker. Isn’t it a requirement?”

  “Not everyone who works with computers is a hacker. You knowing my address, but not my phone number, is a little creepy though.” A smile belied his words.

  “No? Oh, well, you’re still a PI.” She shrugged. “Sorry, computers aren’t really my thing.”

  White teeth gleamed. “Of course, denying it doesn’t mean one isn’t a hacker either. Yeah, I can hook you up with one, even if you’re a Luddite. Is that all? Did you want to make time with Remus until the cops get here? They should be here soon, it being a respectable neighborhood and all, despite your presence.” After opening a drawer, he drew out a card and handed it to her. “Here’s my card, so no more stalking unless it’s necessar
y.” From another drawer, he extracted a pair of cell phones and set those near her.

  “Comprendo. I didn’t stalk you. It was all Google.” Cars pulled up outside, and Zita heard Remus speak. Seizing the phones, she nodded at Jerome. “And that’s my exit cue. You’ll get your sweatshirt back eventually.” She bolted out the back door, snatching her shoes and ruined pants as she passed. Her head low and half-blind from the hoodie, she ran across the backyard, and vaulted back over the wall.

  ***

  Two hours later, she was pacing back and forth in the diminutive kitchen of Wyn’s cottage. A washing machine chugged away with her clothing and Jerome’s sweatshirt. Two Siamese cats stared at her, tails flailing back and forth, while her friend made a liquid that smelled like flowers and not like the tea she purported it to be.

  “Isn’t this a case for the authorities?” Wyn tried, fussing with little floral teacups.

  Zita’s words stampeded like horses from a wildfire, and her arms jabbed at the air as she gestured. “Right, I can go to the cops and say, hey, this dude tried to kidnap someone, but I can’t tell you how I know. It might connect to my brother's kidnapping, or it might waste your time. Alternatively, I could hope that whoever took Quentin finds me and snatches me too. Did I mention they think a sadistic torture-loving monster has him? I can’t play helpless and do nothing!” She rolled up the sleeves on the borrowed bathrobe she wore and scowled.

  Sympathy shone in Wyn’s hazel eyes, and Zita both appreciated and hated it. “Still…”

  Her spine stiffened. Quentin does not need pity. He needs action. Zita calmed herself down and planned her appeal to the other woman. She likes rational. I’ll be so rational her head explodes from the mad logic. “All we’re doing is following a lead. We find him, get him where you can concentrate, and then ask questions. You listen to his brain and if he knows something, you get the info.”

  After pouring into the miniature cups, Wyn set the cups on the table next to equally tiny flowery plates with miniscule cookies. Mice are weeping somewhere at the loss of their cookies. “Sit, Zita,” she said. “It’s Quentin. Of course I want to assist, but the moral ramifications of abducting a person and then searching his brain troubles me.” She seated herself at one chair and gestured to the other.

  “It’s not right to kidnap, torture, and murder them either, especially Quentin!” Zita answered, although she fidgeted in one of the white wicker chairs when she did it. She frowned at the girly cups in their almost-matching saucers on the gauzy lace tablecloth. The cats flowed around the table, and took up seats on opposite ends of the table, between the two women. The cats are almost as creepy as the fancy tea party. Who keeps a lace tablecloth on their kitchen table every day?

  The witch took a sip of her tea. “I prefer a certain level of formality to remind me of the niceties of life,” she answered.

  “How is it wrong to get a few answers out of his head when you’re constantly peeking into mine?” Zita consumed an entire cookie with one unsatisfying crunch.

  Wyn picked a treat up and nibbled at it. “That’s different. You’re familiar and easier to read than a stranger. Even if I can’t help overhearing you, I don’t go digging to find out all your secrets though.” She giggled. “Not like you have any.”

  Her mouth filled with the taste of flowers after a perfunctory sip of tea, Zita sprang to her feet, unable to remain seated. She set the cup back down. “I have secrets.” Her voice had a guilty tone as she took to pacing again. Stopping by her plate, she snatched up the other cookie and crunched down.

  “Your vibrator is in the drawer next to your bed,” Wyn murmured. One of the cats washed itself. The other stared at Zita.

  She flipped off her friend with no real animosity. “My relationship with ‘Bruce Ee!’ is none of your business. If you think the location of a vibrator counts as a secret, you’ve been way sheltered. I’m not asking you to hurt anyone or do brain surgery. We get him out of the club and ask him questions. You listen in on whatever he thinks for an answer. If it pans out, the cops get a tip and they rescue my brother. We go disguised so he can’t link it back to us. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything else.”

  “Bruce Ee. Really?” Wyn brought her teacup up to her mouth and giggled before sipping.

  Zita snapped her fingers under the other woman’s nose. “He’s fast and knows what he’s doing. Focus. You’re getting distracted. Are you going to help me or not? If not, I’d ask you to at least not tell anyone about this conversation since I’ll have to go to plan B.”

  Wyn took a sip. “Is B for Bruce? Never mind, don’t answer that. It’s like reading a Darwin’s List book; I don’t want to read it, but I can’t seem to stop. You can count on my discretion. It’s doubtful I want to repeat this discussion or remember it.” She toyed with her cookies.

  “I’m the one with problems when you’re obsessed by what I call my vibrator? Are you in or out?” Realizing that might not have been the best way to phrase it, Zita tried again. “Are you coming or not?” Not any better.

  Her friend snickered. “Fine, I’ll help you. If I don’t, you’ll devise an even worse plan.” She took a deep breath. Wyn gazed at Zita wide-eyed and blinking rapidly. “Are we calling in Andy for backup?”

  “You got a problem with your eyes?” Zita resumed pacing. “No. He didn’t answer his phone, maybe because I had to use a number he didn’t know. We shouldn’t need him anyway.” The uncanny cats stayed out of her way.

  Dropping the weird eyelash batting, Wyn picked up and then set down her cookie. “My eyes are fine. Disguised?” Her clever fingers crumbled it to bits. A part of Zita mourned the waste of a cookie, even one almost too small to qualify. “That’s probably smart.”

  “Hey, I’m all about protecting our identities. I might need to borrow clothes to wear though.” Since she had left her bag at the FBI office, she had to sponge clothing from Wyn. Given the way her friend had “winnowed” her clothing as a “favor,” she owed Zita some clothes, anyway.

  “How will we find him? Did you liberate a file from your brother? Sneak out a thumb drive with case data… do you even know what a thumb drive is?”

  “Sure,” Zita lied.

  The one cat stopped grooming and turned to stare at her.

  It was Wyn’s turn for exasperation. “Right. So what do you have?” She stroked the head of the nearest cat. It almost looked smug.

  “He’s in charge of some kidnappers and is the favorite of a scary murderer named Sobek. I have his first name, and I saw him at the zoo. You can do your telepathy thing and see his face that way. What the cops know is anyone’s guess.”

  The taller woman drummed her fingers on the table. “So how do we find him with only his first name?”

  Without pausing, Zita explained. “At the zoo, they mentioned him managing a club, Danz Mizer. I got Jerome to find it. I called and verified he’s working tonight while you were at work. If they had spelled the club name right, it would have been faster.”

  “Boris? Does he have an assistant manager Natasha or a thing against moose and squirrels?” Wyn groaned. “I sound like Andy.”

  Puzzled, Zita stopped in her revolutions around the kitchen to consider her friend. “Do you know him? I didn’t ask about other employees.”

  Putting a hand to her mouth again, Wyn hid a smile. “Never mind. So we’re going clubbing?”

  “You’re going clubbing in a disguise so you can charm him into going out back with you. I’ll be in the alley behind the place.” Feet itching to move, Zita started another loop around the kitchen.

  Her friend thought about it. “It would be easier to scan him without needing to go too deeply if we weren’t in a crowded environment. Why don’t I ask him to coffee and then question him? It would be a congenial endeavor rather than one that strays too close to abduction.” She sat up straight.

  As much as she hated to stop the cheer that was spreading across her friend’s face, Zita snorted. “He looked like a would-be player, and we
know he participates in kidnappings. I don’t think he’d agree to coffee, or stick around to think of the right answers if he can walk away. I want to be there to make certain it’s the right Boris…” And kick his ass if he won’t take no for an answer from you.

  Long lashes swept down over hazel eyes and glimmered wetly. “Much obliged,” Wyn said softly. “I had not thought of that, and I would prefer not to… have that difficulty with him.” The cats leapt from their chairs in unison and twined around her legs. One purred when a hand crept down to stroke it.

  Zita blinked at the other woman. “What? I wouldn’t let him paw an unwilling stranger, let alone my friend. You’re eavesdropping again, by the way.”

  Her friend rose and halted Zita’s movement with a gentle hug. Everyone was hugging her today. As a rule, she liked hugs, but these were making her feel useless. One cat jumped onto Wyn’s chair and investigated the liquid flowers in the cup. Understandably, it curled its lip and began grooming. The other cat meowed disapproval. “And that’s part of why you’re my friend.”

  Ay, crap, mush. With an awkward pat on Wyn’s back, Zita nodded and slipped back. “Cool.”

  The twinkle returned to Wyn’s eyes, although this time it had a sadistic glint to it. “Let’s go see what I can find in my wardrobe to fit a pocket Venus.” She literally rubbed her hands together.

  “Uh, I got to try to call Aideen and Trixie again to warn them about the kidnappers targeting quarantine folks. Can I use your kitchen to make a snack to take? Food is a necessity if we’re running all over. It might take a while. Why don’t you pick clothes without me?” Zita tried.

  Wyn arched an elegant eyebrow and shook her head.

  Busted. “Right, be there in a sec.”

  Chapter 13

  Next time she kidnapped a person, she would resolve the logistics issues first. Normally she planned better, but this differed from her usual plans for trips or stunts… or illegal climbing. Zita grimaced. Maybe her excuse was weaker than she had originally thought. She huddled beside Wyn, or rather, Wyn’s illusory guise, and peered at the club across the street. A flashing neon sign, a billboard atop the club, and a strobe light nearby that made the streetlamps seem anemic, provided illumination enough. Further down the block, similar clubs were closer together and better lit. Opportunistic cabbies perched like vultures between clubs, available signs beacons in the shadows. People in clothing too short and too tight for comfort came and went at a steady pace. Her friend assured her that the club was nowhere near capacity, or the bouncer would have been more choosy, rather than just collecting phone numbers and cover charges.