Even Villains Go To The Movies (12 page)

“The same week the three bandits became the two bandits. I’m willing to bet Mikey was the bagman and the laundry runner. He’s Tyler’s stunt double. Someone who’s only seen Ty in the movies would probably buy it, and someone coming in with that kind of cash, it makes sense.” She shrugged. But what did it all mean?

The taxi slowed to a stop in front of a grim detention center. “Freddie, circle the block and check for watchers,” Delilah ordered her minion.

“Problems?” Angela asked, shucking out of her lime green pseudo-dress.

“Everything about this screams trap. The Company has done everything in their power to draw you out. Have you checked your social media accounts?”

“I saw. Everyone hates me.”

“Did you see the, ‘I’ve known she’d do something like this for years!’ comments?” Delilah asked. “You met all those people in September when school started, but their accounts say differently. Someone wanted you to come and defend your good name.”

“So why are we going to a detention center instead of meeting the judge somewhere safe?” She shimmied into the pencil skirt Delilah had given her and pulled on the blouse.

Delilah checked herself in the mirror and smiled. “The judge was blackmailed into not giving Travys a trial by jury. Tricky, but sometimes sentencings don’t need juries. That didn’t keep The Company from presenting evidence. Travys was locked away because the judge believed he was guilty. I promised to make the blackmail disappear if he gave us a fair hearing. Presenting you as alive and well, plus the testimony of Travys, should solve everything. Off the record. On the record is a whole other mess, but I have my team working on the paper trail.”

Angela frowned, pausing halfway into the suit coat. “I need minions.”

Delilah handed her a makeup compact. “When we get in there, stay calm but talk fast. And don’t cling to Travys. The Company made serious accusations about your relationship with him. Act distant.”

Angela nodded, pulse hammering.
Hold on, Travys. I’m coming for you
.

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Dad,

How does Delilah rate a minion chauffeur and all I ever have are spies? I need minions who listen to me. Preferably, some that can blend in with a classroom environment.

Going back to school soon,

Angela

Freddie pulled up beside the gate.

“Show time,” Delilah said as she checked herself in the taxi mirror one last time. “Let me do the talking to start with.”

The walk to the side door of the detention center was as dark and foreboding as the red carpet had been bright and forcefully cheerful. Angela followed her sister like an obedient puppy, eager to get in and be done. Travys could have his life back, she could have her life back, and everything would finally be over. She’d give The Company the slip and get back to what she loved.

Delilah held the door for her. “Any weapons I should know about?”

“I never was interested in them.”

A night guard looked at their IDs and ran Delilah’s purse through a scanner, but he seemed unsurprised by the late hour visit.

The judge waited for them in a small, bare room with cracked linoleum and water stains on the ceiling. “Miss Samson,” he said, holding out a hand to Delilah.

Delilah took it and shook perfunctorily. “Judge Bronson, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for accommodating such a late meeting.”

The judge made a dismissive gesture. “I’m old. I don’t need sleep as much as I need my curiosity assuaged.” He studied Angela as he sat down. “Is this the evidence you said you had?”

“Indeed,” Delilah said. “This is Angela Smith, the teacher Travys Freeman was found guilty of murdering.”

“Hello,” Angela said, braving a small smile.

“Where have you been?”

Delilah rested a hand on her shoulder. “She was recovering from the shock at her parents’ home in Texas. It wasn’t until my firm called her parents about the details of her burial that Miss Smith even knew there was a problem.”

The judge gave Angela a critical look. “You don’t watch the news?”

“My father has high blood pressure and the politics get him worked up. I tried checking online, but I couldn’t find a trial date.” The judge made eye contact and Angela had no problem with letting the guilt build.

He coughed. “There were problems with the trial.”

“That much is painfully apparent,” Delilah said crisply. “Where is Mr. Freeman?”

The judge sighed. “We have him in a holding cell in anticipation of his release. And I’m not saying I’ll release him, either. This is...not what I intended. There’s the whole question of why Mr. Freeman had the gun in the school in the first place. That’s enough for me to keep him in jail.”

“Not without trial and the benefits of counsel,” Delilah said. “What you’ve done is illegal. That boy has a right to trial with a jury of his peers. You either provide him with that trial and have it dismissed for contempt of court, or we sort this out tonight in a quiet way that serves justice and preserves your reputation.”

Judge Bronson glowered at Delilah.

She raised an immaculately sculpted eyebrow. “You are the one who created the situation, Judge Bronson. I’m simply providing a way for you to correct your error.”

The judge reached for his pen, and stopped. “No. No more mistakes. I need to know why Mr. Freeman had a gun on school property. He won’t tell me, but I assume you have an explanation.”

“He was going to commit suicide,” Angela said. “His father was abusive and Travys didn’t want to deal with it anymore. He didn’t shoot at me. I tried to get the gun when he shot at himself.”

Delilah squeezed her shoulder. “Stop growling,” she whispered. “Judge?”

Judge Bronson looked from Angela to Travys. “Do you think sending him back to that situation will help?” He held up a hand. “I understand your concern, Miss Samson. I’m not saying the boy needs to stay here, but I won’t countenance sending him back to a dangerous home environment that inspired him to attempt to take his own life once. Unless you have arrangements made, he will stay here until child protective services can be called in to evaluate the situation.”

“Happily,” Delilah said, reaching into her briefcase, “I foresaw such an argument and took it upon myself to have our firm follow up with his mother and a sponsor.” Delilah presented the judge with a small dossier. “The Bright Hope sponsor network has matched Travys with one of their patrons. Travys’s mother has signed the necessary paperwork and he has been enrolled in a private school in Virginia. He’ll receive room and board, an excellent education, and the sponsor will cover the cost of his first four years at any university as long as he maintains a three-point-oh grade average or better.”

Judge Bronson’s brows knit together as he reviewed the paperwork. “Very thorough. Everything here was done in anticipation of his release.”

“Either now or as the result of a trial.” Delilah shrugged as if to say that minor detail meant nothing to her. “Travys Freeman was imprisoned and found guilty of first degree murder without trial. Standing in front of you is his alleged victim. If Travys doesn’t walk out with us tonight our next stop will be a meeting with a
New York Times
journalist. Tomorrow morning, Travys will leave for his new school, or your name will be plastered over every morning talk show in the country.”

The judge scowled at Delilah and Angela’s throat constricted with fear. “I don’t appreciate blackmail, Miss Samson.”

“This isn’t blackmail,” Delilah replied. “You made choices, and you will deal with the consequences like a responsible adult. I won’t coddle you because you’re in a position of power. You aren’t an infant.”

The judge was still waffling. Angela focused on agreement, on his desire to do good, and a sense of right, wrapping it all up and nudging it at him.

With a heavy sigh, the judge nodded. “Fine. I’ll sign the release paperwork.” He looked up at Delilah. “And the rest?”

“The blackmail The Company used will be gone by noon tomorrow. I suggest sticking to public places and avoiding your phone.”

Delilah paced while they waited for Travys to be released and change into his street clothes.

“Why are you doing that?” Angela asked. “Everything’s fine.”

Her sister shot her a dark look. “Let’s get out of the city before we declare this a roaring success.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Good.” Delilah checked her watch. “Do you have your phone?”

“Always.”

“Check the social networks. Keywords ‘superhero’ and ‘Bugman.’”

Angela pulled her phone out of the little purse she was wearing and typed in the commands. “Is there a reason for this?”

“Some people track superhero sightings.” Delilah glowered at the guard.

Angela snuck a glance in his direction, then hit him with the desire to sleep. Everything is fine, she whispered to his mind, relax. Sleep. He sighed, settled back, and didn’t even notice when his phone clattered to the floor.

Delilah scooped it up with gloved hands. “Our friend here was texting a buddy, ‘Sketchy stuff tonight. Two hotties visiting the judge after hours.’”

“That’s not technically illegal. Is it?”

“Depends on who he was sending the message to.” Pulling a thin wire from her pocket, Delilah connected the guard’s phone to hers. “Let’s have a peek at his contacts list.”

Angela frowned. “Downloading information from another person’s tech without consent is illegal. I paid attention to that part of my Ethics and Law class.”

“Super villain!” Delilah said with a cheerful smile. She unplugged the phone as Travys walked around the corner in the same jeans and T-shirt he’d worn when he was arrested. There was a small ketchup stain on the bottom of his shirt, a leftover from lunch.

No, Angela realized with sobering unease, a bloodstain. Her blood. Heaven above, that had been close. It was almost enough to make her believe in miracles.

Travys blinked at her in confusion. “Miss Smith? They said you were dead!”

“A gross exaggeration,” Delilah said. “Shall we get going? There’s a cab waiting for us.”

“We’ll get you some fresh clothes on the way.” Angela held out a hand.

Travys stepped around her as he headed for the door. “Where’s my mom?”

She touched his mind too, felt the unease and despair that hadn’t been addressed while he was incarcerated. He was confused. Lost in a sea of his own fears and a danger to everyone.

Angela glanced at Delilah as she bit her lip.

“Your mother is out of town, but we hope she’ll be in contact with you soon.”

Travys’s face shut down, and then he seemed to shrug it off.

“She would have been here if she could,” Angela said.

“No she wouldn’t. She’s always leaving, my mom. Always making plans to get the money so she could go somewhere else.” He stopped at the door. “I’m not going back to live with Chris. I ain’t doing that.”

“You’ve been enrolled in a very good school in Virginia,” Delilah said. She opened the door and nodded for Travys and Angela to follow. “I’ll make sure your mother calls as soon as she can.”

As they walked out of the detention center, Angela tugged at the curl of confusion until it straightened out. It was the least she could do. Her nerves twanged with the need to put everything right.

Travys stepped out of the detention center and took a deep breath of fresh air. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked up at the overcast sky with a smile. “The moon’s playing peek-a-boo. I missed that. Is that stupid? I was locked up and I didn’t miss TV or my mom. I missed seeing that moon. Like, it’s always there when nobody else was.”

“That’s very poetic,” Angela said.

“Poetry later, leaving now,” Delilah said. “We all have places to be and—”

A plume of dust shot up in front of them. Under the weak streetlight and the peek-a-boo moon, the person who landed in front of them was recognizable as the superhero Bugman. When he smiled light glinted off his white teeth.

Angela decided to hate him on principle. Real people did not have teeth that shone in the moonlight.

“Going so soon?” the superhero asked as he sauntered forward. “Well, well, well, how cliché. The villainess, her sidekick, and the hag.”

“Who are you calling a sidekick?” Delilah demanded.

“Who are you calling a hag?” Angela wished she’d left her hair down so she could toss it around as a physical punctuation to her question. Sometimes life had no sense of narrative.

Bugman pointed at Travys. “Did you really think you’d get away with this?”

Angela pulled her student back. Chin lifted, she glared at him. “Travys did nothing. He was wrongfully incarcerated. If you really represent justice—” Delilah snorted in disbelief “—you will let us walk away unmolested.”

The sneer on Bugman’s face was nearly as frightening as the leer she’d grown accustomed to seeing on Pyro. “Criminals must be punished. This boy shot you, Miss Smith.” He dragged her name out in a mocking way better left to the playground.

“I’m not dead. Habeas corpus, sir. No corpse. No conviction.”

“By tomorrow morning, you will be a corpse. And you”—he pointed at Delilah—”will be back in Company headquarters where you belong.”

Delilah’s eyebrows were lost under her fringe. “Which company?” she asked, feigning confusion. “My company headquarters? Yes, I’m expected there. That’s the thing about reality. Those of us who live in the real world are expected to show up at work every day. And not wear spandex.” Her lips curled into a grimace of horror. “Halloween is over, and padded codpieces are not in fashion.”

Bugman made the mistake of looking down at his crotch.

Delilah had her gun trained on the superhero in the blink of an eye.

“Put it away,” Angela ordered with an emotional shove that would have turned most people into voluntary slaves. Decades of sisterhood and a stubborn streak the size of the Rio Grande made Delilah immune. She didn’t even acknowledge Angela. “Please,” Angela begged. A cold breeze ruffled the loose hairs on her neck. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Listen to the teacher,” Bugman said. “There’s no way you can—” He froze midstep, wreathed in blue ice.