Recovering (9 page)

 
I watch the two guys slink off across
the field, their flashlights turning the snow golden as they sink ankle deep
with each step.

 What….the…fuuuucccckkkkk?

 I’d know
those tarded masks anywhere. I’m dealing with the douches from the video I took
down.
But…but…
my mind sputters. How the hell did they get Maya’s phone? Are
they the ones who grabbed her?

No way. It’d
be like losing a fight to a Smurf. Maya is trained. She’s got angel speed and
reflexes. These guys…they look like they read too many comic books and raided a
zoo gift shop.

I let the
reality of the situation sink in.
Ohhhh, ho, ho,
when I rescue the shit
out of Maya, she and I are having a serious conversation about getting abducted
by proper bad guys.

 And now I’m
stuck. The humans have gone off to set up their grand ambush of me, and it’s
not exactly like I can go tromping out there and shoot them in the face. Not
only are humans off limits in general, but these bumbling idiots are actually
on our side. Maybe I could talk to them…except the fields are too empty. Nowhere
to hide. I might as well wear a huge target on my ass if I took one step out of
the parking lot. Which means I wait and think of a new plan.

My phone
purrs in my pocket.

Oh thank Captain
Picard’s glorious bald head.
Tarren is finally getting with the program. I could so use
his scowly self right now.

“Bout damn
time,” I say into the phone.

“Hello?” The
reedy voice on the other end is uncertain.

Don’t tell me
Tarren got his ass kidnapped by a malicious AV club.

“Who is this?
I don’t have time for games,” I snap into the phone.

“Uh…dude, I’m
just calling about the truck.”

Truck?

“The one for
sale on Taylor Street,” the guy clarifies.
Holy Special Olympics Batman!
Did
I seriously write my real phone number down on the sign? Worst. Vigilante. Ever.
I think the spirit of James Bond just hung himself in despair.

“Yeah, yeah,
course,” I say as I tuck myself back into the Bug and close the door. No reason
to freeze my dick off outside.

“How much…”

“Twenty
grand.”

“What? No
way.”

“That’s a
steal for a talking truck,” I assure him.

“A….”

“Yeah, she
talks. You know, all Magnum P.I.”

“Uh…”

“You’re
probably wondering why I want to sell. Thing is, we’ve just grown apart these
last few months. We used to be best friends, singing songs together as we drove
the highways, occasionally fighting crime, but then, well, probably shouldn’t
be telling you this, but full disclosure and all, I kind of…” I sigh
dramatically, “I fell in love with her.”

“Look, uh…”

“I know, it’s
crazy!” I cry. “You don’t have to tell me. But the heart wants what the heart
wants. I told Jennifer, that’s her name. I got wasted one night, sat in the
driver’s seat, and just poured my heart out while I stroked her steering wheel.
Told her I wanted to take our relationship to the next level, but she just…” I
let my voice waver. “She just didn’t feel comfortable with that. And so what am
I going to do man? When I put my hand on her stick now, I just…things are so
awkward. Even a drive to the gas station is torture.” I sniffle. “So we talked
it over and…and we both agreed….Hello?”

The dial tone
greets my ear. He actually held on longer than I would’ve guessed. I don’t even
know I’m shivering until I hear my teeth chattering against each other.
Probably should have grabbed an actual coat from home while I was getting my
lucky hat. I love this duster to death, but Mandy was right. It doesn’t do anything
against sub-zero temperatures. I turn on the engine, crank the heat, and start
channel surfing the radio for some good figure-out-how-to-get-stubborn-human-dickheads-to-talk-without-shooting-them
music. Every radio announcer seems to be talking non-stop about the storm and
the growing body count. Apparently a cop died this morning. Heart attack they
say.

 Yeah, and I
own a talking truck. Angels are here. Angels, us, and this new band of posers. What
a combo.
Hmmmm.
Something starts to click in my brain. Did Zoo Friends think
Maya was an angel? Did they see her toss a car over her shoulder, and then go
after her?
And what did they do to her?
My heart does this weird
squirming thing. If they’re wannabe vigilantes, what’s the chance that they
abducted my sister instead of just putting a bullet through her head?

Maybe they
needed information,
I
tell myself, but it’s a long shot. We don’t keep angels alive for questioning –
never have. It was Mom’s number one rule. We take them out, W
ham, Bam, Thank
you Ma’am
. What if these guys are the same? What if they…. I press my
forehead against the wheel, wishing my brain would just shut off, that I didn’t
feel sweaty and freezing at the same time.

I assume the
Zoo Pals will man the ambush for at least two hours, but an hour later I see
them trudging back, masks shoved up, noses red. Sad, sad, sad. Tarren and I would
have staked the holy hell out of that playground. We would have been there all
night, taping our fingers back on when they froze off.

I watch the
guys come closer. The tall, pale one with the penguin mask resting on his
forehead hunches over, hands plunged into the pockets of his parka. The
shorter, Asian guy next to him looks pissed.

Lucky for
them, I’m going to get their spirits up. I move into position, leaning casually
against their Chevy truck. The wetness of the snow seeps into my jeans, and I
shiver. My legs feel weak, but I keep a bored expression on my face.

 Penguin
seems to grow taller as he approaches. He might even have an inch or two on
Tarren but only half the muscle mass. An ugly red welt stands out on the side
of his head. The Asian guy looks young, maybe not even out of his teens yet. His
long face is twisted into a snarl. His tiger mask reminds me that he was my
favorite in that pathetic video that they made. He’d bungled the script,
shouting about how he was going to kill all the angels they found.

 I smile at
the memory, but God help them if they’ve hurt my sister.

 They spot me
and their steps slow. The tall one looks confused, and the short one just gets
angrier.

 “Oh, I get
it,” I call out to them. “The masks are like some kind of living artistic
statement. Something about the animal trapped within. Very deep.”

 The tall one
frowns and stops. They haven’t put two and two together, and I don’t blame
them. They came here looking for a roided out angel. I don’t exactly fit the
bill.

 “That’s our
truck,” the tall one says. He moves to do something – maybe just open the
driver’s side door, maybe try to shove me back. I take one swift step toward
him, grab his arm, and throw my shoulder into his sternum. The beauty of this
little trick is that I use his own momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He
lands hard, the breeze whooshing out of his lungs.

 “Guess they
don’t teach you that in art class,” I say.

 Tiger has
smartly reassessed the situation. He steps back and quickly struggles out of
his big jacket. When he moves into a basic defense pose I’m almost glad for it.
This shouldn’t be so easy. A large chain hangs around his waist like some kind
of retro belt.

 “Heavy
pants, huh?” I say.

 “You wanna fight,
asshole?” he spits out in this deep, low voice that’s all show. “Try me out.”

“Okey-dokey.”
This is going to be fun. Sure, I may be at the end of my strength, and maybe
every bone in my body aches with fever, but I’ve been training in martial arts
my entire life – judo, karate, tai chi, krav magna, MMA. You name it, and I’ve
practically imprinted it on my DNA. And, unlike the majority of chain-belt-wearing
ass hats I might mention, I don’t spend two nights a week sparring at a dojo in
the local strip mall. I get plenty of real world practice against guys who are
a hellauve lot faster and stronger than me.

 Tiger wants
to take the first punch, so I let him have it. He edges closer and tries to go
high with an elbow strike. He’s terrible about broadcasting his moves and not
nearly as fast as he thinks.

Not fast like
me.

 I twist away
from the incoming blow, spin behind him, and give him a little push to get him
off balance. He stumbles forward, and I laugh. He’s so pissed, I expect to see
steam coming out of his ears. He grits his teeth and comes at me again. This
time he feints a round house but drops low to try and sweep my feet from under
me. I duck the arm, grab his leg, and pull. He goes down on his back and rolls.
Not a terrible recovery. He might be salvageable.

Just as Tiger
makes it to his hands and knees, I give him a knee to the ribs – not that hard,
but it doesn’t take much. He goes down with a grunt.

 “Stay,” I
tell him and try really hard not to grin so much. Probably not great for his
ego.

I turn to
Penguin, who’s managed to pull himself into a sitting position against the
tire. He wheezes like an 80-year-old pack-a-day smoker. Something tells me that
he’s my best bet for information. Just as I open my mouth to start my first
round of questioning, I hear Tiger’s feet scramble against the ground behind me,
the warning
clink
of his chain. I wait, allowing him to ready his
attack. Just as he takes his first step, I turn, duck the wild swing, and give
him an upper cut to the jaw. My knuckles explode with pain, but he staggers
back and blood spurts out of his mouth. I strike again, a swift punch across his
face. My knuckles are begging for mercy, but Chainy goes down with a gushing
nose.

 “Stay,” I
tell him again and shake out my hand.

 Bird Brain
watches me cautiously. I reach inside my duster and pull out the Berretta with
silencer affixed. Smart of me to cut those holes in the pockets of my jacket to
accommodate the silencer. The guy’s eyes widen for a moment, but then he takes a
long, slow breath and meets my gaze.

Color me a
tiny bit impressed.

“I don’t like
that one,” I say motioning to Chainy, who tries to catch the blood waterfall in
his hands. “He called me an asshole. Point of fact, I’m actually a pretty nice
guy when you get to know me.”

 Bird Brain’s
face is pale. “Are you one of…of…them. An angel?” His voice is soft but steady.
I keep both guys in my line of sight and the gun tucked in front of my body,
shielding it from view of the other cars in the parking lot. I’m pressing my
luck, and I know it. Every second I stay out here is another second someone
could walk out of the Rec center or pull into the parking lot. 

“I’ve got the
talking stick,” I tell Penguin and give my gun a little wave. “So, I’m going to
ask you a question. You’re going to answer me, or you’ll be shelling out for a
pine box for your fashion disaster friend over there, capiche?”

 Bird Brain
nods slowly. Chainy looks like he wants to take another run at me. “Don’t even
think about it,” I tell him and try to put menace in my voice. Hard to play the
badass when my teeth are audibly chattering, but I do my best. “I’ve got a real
itchy trigger finger. You even fart over there, and it might be the last thing
you ever do.”

 Chainy eases
back down, but he doesn’t look scared. Not good. You find a man who isn’t
afraid to die, and you’ve got one dangerous motherfucker on your hands. Luckily,
Bird Brain looks scared enough for the both of them.

 “You texted
me on a phone that belongs to my sister,” I tell Bird Brain. “I’m rather fond
of my sister. The first thing you’re going to tell me is whether she’s alive.
The second thing you’re going to tell me is where she is.”

 Bird Brains
stares.

“Start
talking,” I bark.
Lame, lame, lame,
but my heart is jackhammering
waiting for his answer.
Please, please, for every drop of blood in my body,
let her be…

“She…she’s
alive,” the guy stutters.

 I let out
the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I couldn’t dip those words in gold to
make them any more precious.

 “But….she….”
Bird Brain winces, “…she escaped.”

 
My new friends introduce themselves
as Penguin and Chain, and the three of us take a little walk across the parking
lot, my gun keeping things pleasant as can be. I invite my captives to take the
front seats of the Bug, while I slide in back. As soon as the doors close, I
immediately feel less conspicuous, and it’s a hell of a lot warmer in here too.
I keep my Berretta tucked in close to my side and trained on the dumbass with the
chain belt.

I order
Chainy to hand me Sir Hopsalot’s carrying case, and once I place it securely
next to me on the seat, we’re ready to begin. Bird Brain and I do a bit of
conversating about my sister. Apparently Zoo Pals was on the trail of a
different angel. They crossed paths with Maya and decided to abduct her
instead. When he mentions cuffing her to a chair for interrogation, my trigger
finger gets itchy.

“Skip ahead,”
I growl for their own safety.

Whatever Bird
Brain hears in my voice makes him swallow and stutter on his next words. They
cut Maya’s questioning short when one of their team members – Bear or Beard or
Burt, whatever – got a hit on another angel. I immediately have a million and
one questions about their angel detection system, but I stay on track with
Maya. I’m proud when Bird Brain glumly explains that Maya pulled off an
impressive-sounding escape, bagging the angel the team brought back in the
process and basically saving the lives of all of these jokers. Not that they’re
willing to admit it.

“Okay, she
coffins the wings, and then what does she do?” I say, mostly to myself. Answer:
Find Tarren, except my brother has apparently checked into the Fortress of
Solitude and is completely unreachable.

The peanut
gallery pipes up. “Bear doesn’t think she killed the other a…angel,” Bird Brain
says, like his mouth has a hard time pronouncing the word “angel.”

“Course she
killed him,” I snort at him. “Only a slobbering lummox keeps angels alive and
tries to question them.”

Chainy
mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I
snap at him.

He sighs as
if this were the most pointless conversation in the world, like he wants to
talk opera but we’re just sitting here trading dick jokes instead.

“She didn’t
kill him,” he says.

“Look, I know
my own damn sister and…”

“Bear’s
cameras have caught at least four of those soul sucking monsters around the
city in the last two days. There’s a big group of them here dropping people
like flies. He told your sister, or whoever she is, about it, told her to find
the nest and take it out. She tranqed our captive; didn’t kill him. Finch saw
the whole thing go down.”

“She’s not
that stupid,” I tell him, but a knot is twisting in my stomach. None of it even
makes sense. How could the Bad News Bears here have tripped over four sets of
wings in the same town? The only time we’ve come across a group of wings that
big was in Poughkeepsie. The magnitude of this shit storm begins to rain all
over me. Those four angels could only be the tip of the iceberg, or, for a
better comparison, only the cockroaches who didn’t scurry fast enough out of
the light.  Would Maya risk keeping the angel alive to try and discover their
home base?

I know what
Tarren would do.
He’d run right into the fire and take as many of them down
with him as possible. Probably look totally awesome doing it too until he bled
out and they put his head on a pike, all Ned Stark style.

The knot in
my stomach tightens. If I can’t get in contact with Tarren, then Maya can’t
either. She’s out there alone.
What next Maya? How far would you go?

The fact that
I can’t answer these questions makes me want to retch all over the worn vinyl
of this Pinto wannabe. I notice that both guys are turned in their seats,
looking back at me. Great. Have we just been sitting in silence while I realize
I hardly know my own sister anymore?

“So, who the
hell are you guys anyway?” I manage.

“We’re the
Totem,” Bird Brain answers right away.

I remember
the name from their so-horrible-it’s-actually-good video. I should probably do
the right thing and stifle my laughter. I don’t do the right thing.

The Asian kid’s
face bunches up with anger. “These monsters, they’re just killing people, and no
one’s doing anything about it!”

“There are
people doing something,” I correct him. “And you’re getting in our way.”

“Are you
human?” Bird Brain cuts off whatever the Chainy was going to throw out. His big
brown eyes are serious, and somehow that cuts through my panic giggles.  

 “Through and
through.” I hold up my left hand and show them my palm. No angel seams of doom
Xing through my skin.

 “But
your….sister….” He seems to have trouble with that word.

 “It wasn’t
her fault,” I tell him. “She was changed against her will.” Guilt slugs me in
the gut as I remember that night. If only I’d kept a closer tail on Maya. I’d
thought the campus was safe, that Grand would never be so bold.

“She said…” These
words seem to be costing Bird Brain something big. “…Buffy said she was on our
side, that she didn’t kill anyone in….” his hands grip his knees, “…in Marymoor
Park.”

 Buffy, huh? Nice.
Maya either used the nickname I gave her as a cover, or they took it from her
fake license. I remember her face when I handed that baby over to her. Man, if looks
could lop off testicles, I’d be singing soprano in the choir. Another thought
nags at me. Marymoor Park sounds familiar. I chew on it a second, and then it
comes to me.

 “Yeah, that
was Redmond, Washington. What, about half a year ago?”

 The guy’s
neck goes red. “Five months.”

It’s coming
back to me in fits and starts. Harold Krugal. All those dark, slimy memories.
I’d had to hurt him. Not my best moment, but it led us to his network of
angels…to Poughkeepsie.

“People were
going tits up in the park,” I remember out loud. “I’ll never forget that
mission. Turns out the angel was this little girl, fifteen years old I think,
doing all the murdering. Couldn’t help it really. The hunger does that to them,
all the full angels. M—Buffy is different.”

Weird that
Maya mentioned Marymoor to Bird Brain. I don’t see the connection. She’s been
on a dozen missions since then. Why spill the beans about that one?

“Different?”
the guy mumbles, and his face is scrunched up like the universe shoved a
spoonful of anchovies into his mouth.  

 “Yeah, Buff,
that’s her nickname, is only half an angel, a hybrid. She doesn’t kill people.
Just rats. You knew that, right? She must have told you.”

The guy’s
face is stricken, making the red, angry welt on the side of his head stand out
even more. I’m kind of worried that he might actually blow a heart valve in a
second here.

“But she’s…I
saw….” the guy stammers. Something is going on inside his head, but I don’t
have the time to play therapist. My energy reserves are gone, and I’ve got no
place to go. Tarren is out in the wind, Peoria Fucking Illinois is apparently a
snake pit of angels, and Maya might be trying to play snake charmer all on her
own.

Wow, so we’re
much more fucked than usual.

 Then I have
a wonderful, big-ass light bulb moment. “You said you took a phone off this
other angel you brought in?”

 Bird Brain
nods.

 “Then we can
find them,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

 The two guys
upfront are silent.

 “Let’s go
get it,” I tell them impatiently. When they both look back at me uncertainly, I
realize that I have to spell it out for them.

 “We’re
teaming up you numbskulls. You need my help more than you can possibly know.” I
don’t mention the fact that I’m practically dead on my feet.

 “We don’t
need anything from you,” Chainy snarls. Something about him has been nagging at
me besides just his delightful personality. His face looks familiar, but I
can’t place it. Maybe he was in some herpes commercial or something.

 “You really
hunt them? You know how to do it?” Bird Brain’s voice is soft, a little awed.
He’s definitely the only one in this pair worth talking too.

 “I’ve been
putting those assholes in the ground my whole life,” I tell him, “and I’m still
breathing.”
Barely
. “You need me or your little totem pole is going up
in flames.”
Nice!

 As a gesture
of goodwill, I switch the safety on and slip my Berretta back into the inner
pocket of my duster.

 “We should
take him to Bear,” Bird Brain says to Chainy.

 “I don’t trust
him.” Chainy touches his swollen, blood-crusted nose.

 “He could
have killed us, but he didn’t. You heard him, he knows how they work, how to
kill them.”

 I lean
against the back seat and wait for the inevitable.

 Chainy
sulks. Bird Brain looks back at me, “Okay, we need to take you to Bear.”

“Yeah, sure,
can’t wait to meet him. Mind if we pick up some food on the way?”

 ***

Chainy goes
ahead with the truck. Honestly, it’s a relief to get his angry ass out of my
sight. Kid like that might kill you in your sleep. Bird Brain tells me he’s
alright, but I know the difference between good crazy and bad crazy when I see
it. I order Bird Brain to drive the Bug. Outwardly this seems like a good
defensive move on my part, but really it’s because my vision is starting to go
swirly, and my hands are shaking like pennies on top of a churning washing
machine.

 I guide Bird
Brain to the first pair of golden arches that I see. At the drive-thru speaker,
I lean over him and order three burgers, two containers of fries, and the
biggest drink size they have. When we get to the payment window, Bird Brain
looks at me. I raise an eyebrow, and he pulls out his wallet. He goes for a
credit card.

 “Cash, you
idiot.” I roll my eyes for good measure. When he complies and we move up to the
next window, I give him a look. “Tell me you haven’t been using your credit
card all around this town.”

 He grimaces.

 “God
almighty,” I sigh. “Is your cell phone registered in your name?”

 Silence.

 “You been
logging into any websites here using your real name?”

 More
silence.

 “You
seriously have no clue what you’re doing, huh?”

 He looks so
shaken, that I have to smile. Kid is growing on me. Maya was Queen of Disasters
before Tarren and I – mostly me – whipped her into shape. If I don’t help Bird
Brain and his psycho friends cover their asses, then who will? In fact, I’m
probably the one and only thing between them and utter bloody doom.
This is
my good deed of the year,
I think up to God.
You’d better send me loads
of good karma for this…please…amen,
I add.

 A hot,
probably under-age girl hands over the bulging bags of food. I give her a wink
and get a little blush in return. Ahhhhhhhh, the smell of grease and meat and
more grease. Cheap and delicious calorie overload is definitely one of the main
reasons we have to save the world from an angel takeover.

 “Drive,” I
say to Bird Brain and dig into the bag. He eyes me like maybe he’s under the
mistaken impression that I’m in the mood to share. I give him a look that says
he’s going to have to hijack his own superhero wannabe if he wants to earn a
meal. I scarf loudly and probably let out a few groans too. Bird Brain doesn’t
do a good job of hiding his discomfort.

 “So…not a
vegetarian then,” he says meekly.

 I raise an
eyebrow at him.

“I guess all
the PETA stickers are a cover?”

 It takes me
a moment, and then I remember that this piece o’ crap death bucket is slathered
in “Animals Are People Too!” stickers.

 I give Bird
Brain a big smile. “That’s adorable.”

 “What?”

 I just keep
grinning at him and watch his frazzled meter tick up and up and up. I do this
to Maya all the time too. She hates it.

 “What?” Bird
Brain says again, louder.

 “You think
this is my car.” I go back to eating, all nonchalant, and watch as it clicks in
his head. He pretends, very poorly, not to be concerned, but I see him start
glancing in the rearview mirror, probably looking for cops.

 “We’re
almost there,” he says. His voice is still a little high, but I appreciate the
effort at playing cool. Too bad I have to totally mess with him for roughing up
my sister.

 “I assume
you’ve been using diversionary driving tactics,” I say as I dig deep into the
fry container for the last few survivors.

 “What?” Doubt
creeps into his voice.

 “In case
we’re being followed by the enemy,” I answer as if this is the most obvious
thing in the world. “There’s a posse of angels running around, and you
kidnapped one of them. They could be tracking you right now with their super senses.
You did know that, right? About the super senses?” A fry falls in my lap, and I
fish it out.