Dreams of the Golden Age (17 page)

Then again, she had that youthful association with the Destructor. Most commentators dismissed that as old news.

It was all very vague. Anna could try to track down some kind of evidence of who the Executive was and what he was really doing. But there wasn’t even enough information to start an investigation. She’d just have to do what Eliot suggested: keep her eyes open for any evidence that might present itself.

*   *   *

That same night, the Trinity stopped an actual, honest-to-God bank robbery. The MO was standard by now: The police arrived to find the robbers immobilized and unconscious, chilled by ice or knocked out by blasts, and the supers lingered just long enough to make sure that blurry photos were acquired. Anna was sure Teia was calling the
Eye
to tell them where to be. Teia was also probably keeping a scrapbook and practicing lines to use on Anna to rub her face in it.

Even if she and Teddy had stumbled across a bank robbery during their patrol, what could they have done about it? Nothing. That day at school, she avoided everybody, Teia, Lew, Sam, even Teddy. She didn’t want to talk about it, so she hid out until the bell rang and everyone else had gone to class. Being five minutes late was a small price to pay.

Maybe Eliot would e-mail her. Maybe.

*   *   *

The second time they went out on patrol—Teddy insisted on giving the patrol another try because he said it made him feel like a real superhero even if they didn’t actually accomplish anything—he brought his paintball gun, fully loaded.

She’d been furious. “What, we can’t actually stop bad guys so you want to just piss them off?”

“I just want to try something,” he’d insisted. At this rate, they were going to end up in jail for being public nuisances. She couldn’t talk him out of it, so there they were, in the run-down tenement neighborhoods south of downtown, Anna skulking and Teddy striding confidently, holding the paintball gun across his chest like he was in some war movie. The guy
really
wanted to be an action hero, and it seemed tragic that his powers were so unassuming.

He was still more powerful than she was. She wondered if she could expand her awareness to, maybe, concepts. Like she could think about “crime” or “mugging” and be able to locate something like that happening nearby. She gave herself a headache trying, but she could only ever find people, and only ones she’d already spent a lot of time thinking about. Like Eliot.

She needed to stop thinking about Eliot.

The city at night was becoming increasingly familiar, and even comfortable. The regularly spaced yellow halos of streetlamps illuminating near-empty streets, walls of shadowed buildings blocking out the sky made the whole place seem like a kind of oversized playground. As long as you knew where you were, knew where you were going, and paid attention to what was going on in between, the city at night couldn’t hurt you.

She was pretty sure they weren’t going to find anything just by walking around. The Trinity had all the luck on that score. So she was surprised when they heard an incongruous wrenching, metal on metal, and an associated string of cursing.

They slowed at the end of the block and peered around the building’s corner. Up ahead, two guys with a crowbar and bolt cutters were breaking into the steel overhead door at a loading dock. Anna didn’t know what was in the building; in this part of town, it was just as likely to be abandoned. Still, the guys were breaking and entering. This was exactly the kind of situation the Trinity would eat up. She sighed. Teia and the others were out and about, but not here.

“Here,” Teddy said, handing her a cell phone. She didn’t recognize it—it wasn’t his usual phone but a cheap pay-as-you-go model, the kind you could get at convenience stores.

“What’s this?” she whispered.

“Call nine-one-one.”

That plan was better than nothing. They might be little more than a neighborhood watch at this point, but at least it was something.

“And stay out of sight,” he said, before vanishing.

She stopped herself from calling out to him, gritted her teeth, and called the cops.

“Nine-one-one dispatch, what is your emergency?”

“Um, yeah, I’m at the corner of Vineland and Fifty-third, and there’s a couple of guys breaking into a building here. They’ve got crowbars and stuff and they’re wrenching the door open.”

The
thunk
of the paintgun firing sounded up ahead, right in front of the loading dock door. No sign of Teddy. Point-blank range, and they didn’t see him. He fired four or five shots, and all of them hit. The guys writhed and shouted, but when they turned to look for their assailant, they saw nothing. Anna saw nothing. Teddy fired another two shots, which hit, and the guys doubled over at the impact, straight in their guts. Had to hurt.

“Ma’am? Are you still there?” the dispatcher asked.

“Um, yeah. These guys? One’s white, one’s black. They’re dressed in black coats and stocking caps. And, um … they’re splattered with yellow paint. Really bright yellow paint.”

“Did you say paint?”

“Yeah. Like from a paintball gun.”

“I’m sending a patrol car to that location now. Are you in any danger?”

“No, I’m fine. I … I have to get going, bye.” She switched off the phone.

Unable to figure out who was attacking them with paintballs, the hoodlums ran. The problem was, they ran right toward her and would be on her in seconds. She turned and charged for the nearest likely hiding place—the stairwell down to a garden-level doorway. They probably wouldn’t take well to having a witness and were still hefting the crowbar and bolt cutters.

Hunched down on the concrete steps, she listened to their footsteps pound away. Much closer than she expected, a police siren howled. A patrol car, right in the neighborhood. One of the crooks cursed, and this was all going to get very exciting in a couple of minutes.

The actual pursuit and arrest happened a couple of blocks away, so Anna didn’t get to see it. If the guys were still holding their array of tools, they were sure to be taken in and charged. She imagined the stray yellow paint spatters would tell the cops exactly what door they’d been attacking.

She wanted to get out of the area entirely, but she didn’t feel like leaving her hiding space until she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t be spotted. Teddy had it easy.

Finally, a voice hissed above her. “Hey, you can come out now.”

As she tromped up the stairs, Teddy flashed into visibility. It was like switching on a TV.

He was grinning. “Wasn’t that cool?”

She handed the phone back to him. “You could have told me you had a plan.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

She rolled her eyes.

“So now we have a system,” he insisted.

“That isn’t a system, it’s—” She threw up her hands and glared, because she couldn’t think of what that was. “We still need the cops to do all the work, you know?”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m sorry I’m no fun.” She walked off. She was tired, frustrated, and she wanted to go home.

“Anna—I mean, Rose! Wait up!”

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said and caught her own bus home.

ELEVEN

C
ELIA’S
schedule was full. She liked it that way, now more than ever.

Second and third opinions on the leukemia diagnosis were acquired, confirming the first diagnosis. She and Arthur spent an afternoon poring over treatment options and survival statistics. The prognosis was generally good. If the chemotherapy worked, she’d probably be fine. If it didn’t, treatment options remained, but her odds decreased. It felt like rolling dice. Nothing to do then but roll and get it over with. Arthur made discreet phone calls and they arranged for her to receive treatments in one of the penthouse’s unused guest rooms. She hired a nurse and paid very well for her secrecy. Celia would receive her first round of chemotherapy by infusion on Friday afternoon, have the weekend to deal with side effects, and do everything she could to be back on her feet by Monday. No one would ever know, not until she was good and ready to let them know.

In the meantime, she had a company to run.

At the next city planning meeting, the committee would vote on which contract to award: West Corp’s downtown development project or one of the sprawling suburban expansion plans, including the one backed by Danton Majors’s company.

The meeting itself looked much like the previous one—same people, same room, same bitter coffee smell, same political subtexts. The vote didn’t cause much tension because the outcome was predictable. She’d worked hard for this, on behalf of the company and the city, and the committee wouldn’t award the contract to an outsider with a misguided agenda. This vote was just a formality. Celia hoped.

When she entered the room, she noticed Danton Majors right off. It might have been her imagination, but he seemed to be watching for her. His face was turned to the doorway, and his dark eyes lit up when she entered. He gave her a moment to exchange pleasantries with the deputy mayor’s assistant and chair of the city planning committee before he strolled over to have his own words with her.

“Mr. Majors,” she said. “One might think you’ve decided to move permanently to Commerce City.”

“I confess, I’m tempted,” he answered, his smile charming, his gaze predatory. “I had no idea there were so many opportunities here.”

“Oh, yes. Endless opportunities.”

“Ready for round two, then?”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” She tried to look thoughtful without laughing.

Mark was here again as part of the committee and gave her an encouraging smile across the room. Her heart sank at the sight of him. He was another person she’d have to tell about her illness, another person who would kick her ass for keeping it secret. She put on a good face and returned the smile. A good face: That was the whole point of keeping the secret.

She made a decision then, sudden and abrupt, which was unlike her. But right now, she felt like she was drowning and had to do something. Arthur was right. She couldn’t keep the secret for long. The committee vote was the important thing, the business could run itself after that. After the vote, she could hand the whole project over to her managers, tell everyone she had cancer, and focus on taking care of herself. Just a few more hours.

The chairman of the committee consulted with Mayor Edleston, who then made his way to the podium and called the meeting to order. The shuffling of papers and file folders rained throughout the room, which amused Celia because everyone also had laptops and netbooks open.

As the mayor began his opening remarks, a very young man, probably fresh out of law school, came into the room, fidgeting and seeming out of place despite his nice suit and fashionable haircut. Intern, she pegged him. He glanced around, swallowed, and found the courage to approach the planning committee chair, sitting at the head of a long table at the side of the room. He handed the chair one of several manila envelopes he carried, they whispered a moment, and the chair looked across the room to Celia. The guy blanched, then came toward her, holding another slim envelope like a shield. The mayor hesitated, trickled out a few more words of his opening remarks, then fell silent. Everyone watched her like she was on stage.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the package. She drew out the contents in what she hoped was a confident manner, without fuss. It was a clipped stack of papers. She read the cover page, flipped to the page behind it, flipped back. The format was familiar, she knew what it said, but she couldn’t quite seem to take it in. The words made sense, but their meaning didn’t. Her brow furrowed, and she attempted to strategize on the fly.

“Mrs. West?” Majors asked. “Is something wrong?”

Leave it to him to poke at her. She made a noncommittal hum and tried to wave him off. She’d just been served papers, and she couldn’t think of why. The language was dense legalese, she needed to parse it, and wasn’t at all inclined to discuss it with a rival like Majors. Though the man seemed suspiciously pleased, like he already knew what the packet said.

It was the committee chair who said, “West Corp is being sued.”

Might as well have said her cat had died, the way everyone looked at her with shock and pity. She scowled back. The plaintiff was a small contracting company, Superior Construction. She’d heard of them, barely, but they’d dropped out of the city development talks early on. Too big a pond for them to play in. Now, they were suing West Corp for monopolistic practices that excluded fair trade and competition. The company had also applied for an injunction against any further planning committee activities until West Corp’s role in the proceedings and the true extent of the company’s monopoly on city development could be determined.

While the meaning of the pages sank in, the committee chair, city attorney, and mayor huddled together in a conference. She wished they hadn’t been clever enough to move away from the podium’s microphone, so she could hear what they were saying.

Danton Majors sat with his hands steepled, resting on his chin, examining the scene like a chess player, revealing no emotion but studious interest.

Celia couldn’t say a word until she got her own lawyers on the case. And figured out what Superior Construction was really trying to do. This smelled fishy.

The mayor, looking a bit green around the gills—the results of the planning committee’s work was supposed to be his big triumph this term, with his reelection bid coming up next year—returned to the podium microphone, clearing his throat. “In light of this new development, we have decided that it is in the city’s best interest to postpone the planning committee’s vote on pending projects until the matter can be investigated and details brought to light. Thank you all for understanding. We’ll be in touch with your various offices when we know more.”

Someone wanted to sabotage West Corp’s plans. That was all this was. Celia was certain she could get the whole lawsuit thrown out, but in the meantime the vote would be delayed, and anything could happen in the interim. First thing, get the suit dismissed, then she’d figure out who was behind it, and why. So much for her vacation. So much for letting go of the project, letting go of the secret … She could see the worst-case scenario play out if her medical news went public now: Superior Construction would accuse her of making a play for sympathy, demand to see her records, her right to privacy be damned, and there’d be yet another court fight over the whole thing. The best solution: maintain status quo for as long as possible. Keep pretending that all was well. Don’t give them the least little crack to dig their claws into.