Emergence (41 page)

“Just do it, Donnie!” Margarito ordered.

Donnie looked at the kid next to him and took his hand. Both of them hung their heads, mortified.

“I don’t have a partner!” Melanie said, frowning.

“I’ll be your partner, honey,” Margarito said.

“I want Pan to be my partner.”

Pan looked down at her big eyes. He took off his right glove, tucked it into his belt, and held out his hand. The little girl grabbed a hold of his pinkie finger, tight enough to change its color.

They went out to the lobby area.

“We’re not supposed to leave without our parents,” said one of the boys.

“Your parents are all downstairs. I’ve seen them,” said Pan. “They’re waiting for you with the police and the firemen.”

This elicited a unified squeal from the littler ones.

“There’s
firemen
?”

“Do they have one of those dogs with the polka dots?”

“Will we get to ride on a fire truck?”

He let Margarito field all the questions as he opened the door and peered out into the empty hall.

“THIS REALLY WARMS MY HEART TO SEE.”

“Who’s that?” said Margarito.

Pan looked up at the ever-present electric lens eyeing them in a corner of the ceiling above the elevator.

“I don’t like that voice!” Melanie whined, grabbing on to his hand with both of hers.

He lifted her up and she put her arms around his neck and buried her face.

“Me, neither,” said Pan.

“YOU EARNED THIS, PAN. I’M GRANTING YOU A REPRIEVE. I’M GOING TO LET YOU BACK DOWN TO THE LOBBY. LET THE TEACHER TAKE THEM OUT.””

The elevator door dinged open.

Pan hesitated.

“IT’S ALL RIGHT, PAN. THEY CAN GO. I PROMISE. THEY’LL ONLY GET IN THE WAY.”

“That dude’s creepy. He’s all ‘put the fucking lotion in the basket,” said Donnie in a rude approximation of the distorted voice, which really did sound like Buffalo Bill a bit.

Some of the kids giggled.

“Pan?” said Margarito.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Margarito went in first and held the doors.

“All right, come on, kids. Everybody on.”

It was crowded, and Pan and Melanie were the last to shrug in, and he had to scoop her up, but finally the doors closed and they descended.

“The elevator’s a mess,” one of the girl’s observed. ““The floor’s all sticky, like at the movies.”

“Hey, what’s goin’ on anyway?” said Donnie.

“It’s terrorists, I bet,” said the kid next to him.

“Terrorists wouldn’t let us go. They’d chop all our heads off and put it on the Internet.”

“Why would they put it on the Internet?” Melanie asked.

“Hey man, shut
up
!” Pan hissed.

“How come you get to be a superhero? You’re not much older than me.”

“Cause I’ve got superpowers. Duh.”

“Yeah? What can you do?”

“I told you, he beat up Tantrum,” said the girl from before.

“So what? Tantrum’s just a big baby.”

“
You’re
a big baby.”

“Shut up, Lacy.”

“He also flies.”

“No, he don’t! How do you know?”

“I told you I saw it on the news.”

“Yeah, my dad says you can’t believe everything you see on the news.”

“Your dad talks too much.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“No, you.”

“No. You.”

“Both of you shut up!” Margarito said.

They reached the lobby without any further incidents on the part of Hook.

“Jeez, this place is wrecked!” one of the kids said.

“Why’s the floor all wet? Did the toilet bust?”

“Maybe Donnie plugged it up again.”

“Shut up, Lacy.”

“Come on,” Pan said to Margarito. “Let’s get you to the doors.””

Pan led the way and Margarito walked in back, ushering the gaping children forward, reminding them to hold hands.

The spotlight shined on the entrance when they opened the doors, and as they were all blinded, a cheer went up that drowned out the police bullhorn barking fruitless commands.

They got under the glass awning and waited. Thankfully the corpses from earlier had been removed. The parents pushed past the outnumbered cops and came stampeding across the plaza.

Pan crouched and let Melanie down. She ran to her mother, forgetting him completely. In the distance, he could see the smoldering wreck of the news chopper, one of the hook-and-ladders dowsing it with a hose.

Margarito came up beside him as the adults grabbed their children and ran back with them, a few blubbering thank-yous behind.

“Okay, come on, let’s go,” said Margarito.

Pan didn’t move. “I have to go back.” He sighed and looked up at the tall tower. It was like a glass road leading into the night sky. ““There’s somebody else up there.”

He looked at Margarito.

The man nodded and extended his bare hand.

Pan took it for the second time.

But this time, wherever their skin touched became a contact point, and arcs of blue electricity crackled from Margarito’s fingers up his arm, shivering the bones and crackling up his shoulder to his skull. The fiery pain drove him to his knees.

Margarito held out his other hand and sent a whip chain of lightning over the heads of the fleeing parents and their children, which blew out the big searchlights.

Pan moaned as Margarito dragged him back to the building.

SIXTEEN

“I always wanted to be a superhero. From the time I was a little kid,” said Margarito. He was leaning against the elevator wall, watching the numbers.

Pan was propped up in the opposite corner. He felt like jelly and could hardly raise his head. He’d pissed himself.

“My dad had this comic book from when he was a kid. This buddy of his from Corpus Christi wrote it and drew it. He was a judge, but he owned a comic book store. He thought Tejano kids needed a superhero. White kids got all kinds of superheroes. Mexicans didn’t have any. So, he came up with this Mexican superhero, Relampago. Got his powers from a Bruja or some shit. And he shopped it to the big publishers, but nobody wanted it. Nobody wanted a Mexican superhero. Shit, nobody in his store even wanted it. Not even the Tejano kids. He couldn’t give `em away.””

Pan murmured. His lips felt numb. He dribbled down his chin.

Margarito pulled his yellow work shirt and sweater off over his head and tossed it on Pan’s chest.

“Here, wipe your face, man. I can’t understand you.”

Pan wasn’t sure he could lift his arm until he felt his own hand on his face. It was like his entire body had fallen asleep, yet his mind was still going.

He looked blearily at Margarito as he mopped his lips. The clean-cut guy had a sleeveless shirt on underneath, and there were the Aztec tattoos of the War Gods on his chest. He read the name
Xolotl
across his stomach before he adjusted it, and something else, on his left bicep. A tattoo of a boy, maybe three years old, obviously done from a photograph. There was a date underneath it, the years entwined within a trio of doves. 2012-2014.

“I said,” Pan mumbled, “what really happened to the teacher…Miss Kinsey?”

“I told you what happened. Bombero and the other homies took her. I didn’t lie. This is my legit job. Or was. We all had to make ends meet however when La Luz got locked up. Oh what? You thought I was just some ignorant spic? I got a degree in Early Child Development, motherfucker.””

“Who helped you get that? Angelus?”

“
Shit
. Angelus. What the fuck do you know about him? That ‘ol blind-assed TCA monkey.”

Pan moaned and shifted his weight, trying to work feeling back into his muscles.

“I know Angelus tried to teach you guys.”

“Teach us what? To be ghetto superheroes? Pet projects for Jesus and the Man? How’s goin’ around in tights and knockin’ everybody’s cable out for three blocks lightin’ up some punk ass bank robber in a purple cape supposed to help some twelve to a room bunch of
pochos
down in Vestige Park elevate themselves? Angelus was full of shit. Money’s what brings a people up, man. Ends! Everybody knows that. Especially the motherfuckin’ rich gringos talkin’ about, ‘just pull yourself up by your bootstraps.’ They want you to do every damn thing, but they won’t share the means to really change things. They let you kill yourselves tryin’ to get what they got, even they know you can’t ever do it. Shit, man. You know how much student debt I’m in for? You think a job in a daycare’s gonna ever pay it off? Well, here’s me. Relampago, pullin’ myself by my own motherfuckin’ bootstraps.””

“So how’s taking a bunch of little kids pulling yourself up?”

“Hey, none of those kids were hurt. I made sure of it.”

Pan blinked. “You didn’t like that plan, did you?”

“They were just insurance, in case you didn’t come for that ugly limey
cabron
upstairs.”

“Insurance? What’s the premium on insurance like that?”

Margarito sucked his lip and said nothing.

“Who’s plan was it? Not Bombero’s.”

“Bombero just wants what we all want. To get La Luz outta San Quinton.”

“Who promised to do that?”

“Same guy that got that crazy professor out of Quinton, to prove he could.”

“YOU TWO SURE HAVE A LOT TO SAY TO EACH OTHER. JUST PASSING THE TIME? I COULD PIPE SOME MUZAK IN IF YOU’RE BORED.”

Margarito looked up at the camera in the elevator and held up his hands, shrugging exaggeratingly.

“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU LIKE HERB ALPERT. HERE, I’VE GOT YOU.”

True to Hook’s promise, a moment later a muzak version of ‘Spanish Flea’ started playing over the intercom speakers, excessively loud.

Margarito folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

Pan ignored the blaring brass. “What kinda guy takes a bunch of kids hostage to settle his personal stuff, Margarito?”

Margarito frowned.

“Man, that’s between you all. Those kids are gone and they’re all all right.”

“You think a guy that would put kids in danger like this hasn’t done it before, won’t do it again?”

“That ain’t my business.”

“So, you all split up to make ends meet when La Luz went down. You know what kinda work Bombero was doing a couple weeks ago when we fought?”

“What Bombero does is Bombero’s business.”

“I thought you War Gods were like family.”

“When La Luz is back, we’ll be like a family again.”

“You ever hear of Santa’s Helper?”

“Yeah, it’s the dog on
The Simpsons
, isn’t it?””

“Come on. You’re from Texas. You must have heard of her. Zita Cariño.”

Margarito’s eyes widened for a minute, but he turned away and looked up at the elevator numbers again.

“I caught Bombero helping her steal a baby from LF County Hospital.”

Margarito sucked in his lips and shook his head.

“Bombero came to you all with this deal, didn’t he?” said Pan. “He’s probably been working with Hook for a while now.”

“Who the fuck is Hook?”

“I don’t know. But maybe you do. He’s the guy who set all this up. He’s got his fingers in a lot of rotten goddamned pies, and I’ve been looking for him for a long time. You know what he did before this? To kids? You know what’s worse than hiring a baby napper to steal children out of their mothers’ arms? You know what some of those kids ended up doing? They don’t all go to rich, white, loveless movie stars, Margarito. Sometimes they wind up in a room, and they set up a live video feed. You ever been to one of those live model channels online where the subscribers type in what they want the girl to do?””

Margarito had dipped his fingers behind his shirt now, and there was a small gold cross he was pressing to his lips now as he shook his head.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Would La Luz want to get sprung from San Quinton on the back of that?”

The elevator stopped moving.

“EVERYBODY OFF. PAN, THIS IS YOUR BIG MOMENT.”

“No, it isn’t,” Pan said, as the doors slid open. He looked at Margarito. “It’s yours, Relampago.”

Margarito averted his eyes as frigid air washed over them both, raising the skin on their arms.

This was the main studio space for
Vulpes In The Morning
and the
Vulpes Nightly News
broadcast, including
The Aisha Cordell American Hour
. It was big, cordoned off for the various segments. There was a news desk with a faux LF skyline, the Hillywood sign prominent like it was on all the postcards. There was Cordell’s cushioned chair and couch with the American flag behind and her logo. There was the morning show’s goofy little rumpus room with the shag carpet and the computer where they ‘checked their email and Tweeter.’

Somehow, it was snowing. Big wonderland flakes were drifting all about, accumulating on the studio floor like something out of a Tim Burton movie. Icicles hung from the catwalks high above, and some of the cameras were iced over.

Sitting at the news desk was Bombero in his red hoodie. He seemed greatly interested in the woman across from him, a platinum blonde woman a bit past her prime but holding onto her sex appeal with both hands and a lot of collagen.

She was all athletic, contoured figure skater’s legs disappearing up into a lustrous white fur parka and ample cleavage pushing against the zipper of a tight white designer ski jacket. There was a pair of white Eskimo glasses halfway down her custom made nose, and she was fluttering long eyelashes at Bombero, who was rubbing her proffered hand between his.

They were both of them whispering and giggling when the doors opened, and a small cloud of steam was billowing off their hands, which they retracted at the appearance of the car.

Pan recognized her right off. She was something of a local celebrity.

‘Sunny’ Sonya Billings. She’d been Vulpes’ signature buxom blonde weather woman and beloved local party ditz for eight or nine years when the decision had come down from the station head that she was to be replaced by a younger, prettier, more Asian meteorologist.

On the night of what was to be her last broadcast she’d refused to end her segment, and forced her way in front of the cameras of the neighboring news desk, imploring her loyal fans to call into the station and demand her contract be renewed. They’d cut to commercial while Vulpes security came to escort her out.