Lafferty, Mur (14 page)
Authors: Playing for Keeps [html]
"Well, look at it this way," he said. "Have you ever tried throwing a full bar tray? As a weapon, I mean."
"No, actually. Thanks, Bloodhound. You be careful out there, OK?" “’Bloodhound?’”
She grinned at him and waved him out the door. Tomas had insisted on coming with him as a guard.
Ian's scent was all over the jacket; one didn't need superpowers to be able to tell that. It reeked from the shit splattered on it during Ian's fights with the heroes. Peter didn't relish inhaling the scent, but figured it was his best bet to track Ian. It had worked in the Academy, it might work here.
He made a face and steeled himself. He hadn't eaten anything since Keepsie had offered him a snack last night around dinnertime, so luckily there was nothing in his stomach to come up. However, it did register a complaint as he inhaled Ian's scent deeply. The stench of feces was overpowering, and Peter staggered.
The image was clear in his mind, though, and he laughed ruefully when he realized Ian was very close to Keepsie’s apartment. His friend was standing near the woods in the park, with Clever Jack.
How the hell am I going to do this? He didn't ponder the answer to the question.
“He’s in the park, about eight blocks away,” he said to Tomas. The large man nodded. They went up the street at a jog.
Peter’s pain was back, throbbing and aching. Were the wounds seeping again? He had warred with the idea of sending someone else to find Ian, but he was closest to him, not to mention if Ian moved, only Peter could find him.
The drones turned their red eyes toward the two men, but they didn’t harass them. Many of the larger automatons paused in their mayhem to watch them and Peter wondered if they were reporting to their master.
By the time they reached the park, the robots had changed their tune.
Drones buzzed around their heads, and larger ones began following them. One finally leaped onto Peter, its sharp feet digging into his back for purchase. It grabbed onto his bandages and Peter cried out in pain.
Tomas plucked the robot off his back and threw it, smashing it against the stone wall that surrounded the park. Peter ran for the trees. An aerial robot attached itself to his shoulders like a bronco rider and beeped loudly as Peter ran. Tomas didn’t help this time: he’d been attacked by his own menace.
Peter backed up to a tree and swung his head back, intending to slam the robot against the tree and get it off him.
It was apparently smarter than it appeared. It was certainly quicker than it appeared. Peter's thought as his head connected with the tree was embarrassed realization of his idiocy; he'd thought only fools fell for that trick.
He slumped onto the ground and passed out.
***
A foot nudged his ribs. It wasn't a cruel kick, nor was it a concerned gesture. Peter opened his eyes.
Clever Jack smiled down on him, his wide friendly smile that now set Peter's hair on end.
"Pete! Tomas! How's it going? Come to hang with us, have you? Wanna see what we're doing with our new pets?" he asked.
Ian stood back from Clever Jack, hesitation and anger on his face. Peter tried to focus on his friend, but found his vision blurry. "I need help."
"No kidding," Clever Jack said amicably. "Looks like you've got a concussion there. And not to mention your little perforations that Frankie the Crane gave you."
Peter tried to sit up, saying, "No, that's not-" but Clever Jack pushed him back down.
"Before you get up, Petey, I need to know some things from you."
Peter groaned. "It's unlikely I have more information than you do on anything."
Clever Jack pressed on Peter's chest harder, and he grinned. "I think you're wrong. For example, I think you know what you're doing here, and I don't. I also think you know why you lied to me a little while ago, and I don't know that either. I thought we were friends, Peter Peter."
"I need to talk to Ian,” Peter said. “I lied to you because I wanted to keep Keepsie from saying something she shouldn't. And although I am quite grateful for the help you gave us in escaping the Academy, I really don't think we're friends.” "Told you he wouldn't hold up under pressure," Ian said, not looking at Peter.
Clever Jack sat back on his heels. "That's not entirely true, Ian. He held up very well at the Academy. Well, he's no threat, that's for sure. How you both ended up Third Wave is beyond me."
Clever Jack waved his hand. "Talk to Ian. I'm interested in hearing this." “Didn’t Tomas tell you?”
Tomas looked abashed. “I wasn’t sure what to say.”
Peter sat up, unhindered this time, and gingerly touched the back of his head. It was wet. No surprise there. He looked at Ian, who looked defiant.
"I need Alex's phone number."
Ian's eyebrows shot up. Clearly he'd been expecting something else.
"Huh?"
"Your surfing buddy? Alex? Minor healing powers? We need to contact him. Keepsie's not dealing with her injuries well and the heroes will likely be having the ERs watch for us." Peter held the bloody hand up to Ian. “I could use him too.”
Ian shook his head. “She wasn’t that hurt when I left.”
“Adrenaline can make you forget a lot of things,” Peter said. He hadn’t meant to make a subtle point with that, but Ian colored anyway.
Peter pressed on. "Still, Ian, she's hurt. She could really use his help. I'm not here to infiltrate you, not here to convince you to come back. For one, you're a grown man and I'm not your father. Secondly, if I were here to try to reduce Clever Jack's army's numbers, I don't think I'd make it out alive."
Clever Jack looked at him, head cocked to the side. "The dog look," Ian had called it once. "Now, there's an interesting choice of words. Clever Jack's army. I like the sound of that."
Peter ignored him. "All I need is a phone number and an address. We won't bother you. All we want is to get some medical help. Please, Ian, if any semblance of friendship remains between us, or between you and Keepsie…"
Ian looked at Clever Jack, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. Like Petey said, you're a big boy now, Ian."
Ian nodded. "His phone number's 555-7140. He lives in Mountain Island apartments in 34C. It's a couple of blocks away."
Peter got to his feet with Tomas’s help. "For what it's worth, thank you."
A weight settled on his throbbing head as he left them. Ian had been hurt that he hadn't been there to talk him back to their side. That was clear enough. But if Peter couldn't talk him out of it back at Keepsie's Bar, then how was he going to talk him out of it in front of a super villain whose power was insane luck? Improved, insane luck.
He turned around. "Ian, if you change your mind…" But they were gone, having disappeared into the trees.
Robots did not attack them on the street. It seemed odd that the villains had a stronger sense of rules and decency than the heroes, that even though they were attacking the city, they were allowing Peter passage to do something he was fairly certain the heroes wouldn't allow.
***
Peter found the walk to Alex’s apartment to be quick. There was no traffic on the streets and what few pedestrians were out were driven back inside as soon as a drone spotted them. No one seemed to notice that Peter walked unmolested, and for that he was grateful. All he needed now was people to think he was on the villains' side.
The heroes - the ones who were free, anyway -were already sure of it.
And whom were they fighting, anyway?
The pain - the physical pain - was not overwhelming, but it did stop her from focusing on her friend. People had wanted her dead, and had tried very hard to make it happen. It felt so good to just shut down.
Relief.
"There, that's the worst of it." A familiar voice.
"Can't you do more? She's still got some burns." More familiar. Peter.
Loyal Peter.
"Look, I can heal one inch at a time. And it takes a lot out of me. If you want me to work on those holes of yours, I'm going to need a break. She'll be fine. Let her sleep."
"All right. We could all use some sleep, I guess."
"Go ahead and sleep, man. I'll start working on you when I can. You won't even know it." Healing guy. Didn’t visit the bar often.
"You should stay here till we wake up. I don't know what will happen if we let you head home alone."
"I’ll be here."
"Good. Thanks, Alex." Peter sounded so tired.
Silence. Relaxation.
Memories.
Keepsie's eyes flew open. The burns no longer chewed at her scalp and hands. The ache in her neck where the katana had hit her was gone. The jittery buzz she’d felt since the lightning incident was gone.
She sat up. Peter lay close by on the floor cushioned on a rolled-up kitchen towel. Blood seeped onto the towel. What had he gotten himself into?
He was asleep already, exhaustion bringing out lines in his face. Blood had seeped through his bandages to dot the shirt she'd loaned him. Her other friends were in various states of repose around the bar, most resting in the secluded booths.
The Elvis clock on the bar wall said ten forty-five.
Keepsie took a few deep breaths and swung her legs to the floor.
Tiptoeing, she stepped over Peter and through the bar where her friends all dozed. Alex didn't open his eyes as she quietly opened the door and slipped out into the morning sunlight.
Peter cracked open his eyes. From very far away, he was aware of someone shaking him. He briefly considered the idea of trying to sleep through the intrusion, but it was insistent, and getting increasingly violent. He opened his eyes fully and saw Michelle kneeling over him.
"Where the hell did she go?" she said.
Peter looked around the room. Alex stared at him, stricken. Keepsie’s bar stool was empty.
"I don't -you mean she's gone? Are you sure?"
Michelle gave him a scathing look and let him go. "You were sleeping four feet away from her and you didn't hear her leave?"
"No, I didn't hear anything," he said. "I must have been tired after staying awake for thirty hours, getting tortured and then betrayed by my friend. Not to mention a concussion. Terribly sorry."
"Don't try to sound like Ian," Michelle said. "You can't pull it off."
"What time is it?" he asked, ignoring her barb.
"Noon. You've been asleep for about an hour," Alex said. Dark circles were under his eyes.
"You didn't hear anything?" Peter asked him.
Alex looked down at the floor. "After healing someone I sort of black out for a while. I told you it took a lot out of me. Healing you and Keepsie was more than I've ever done before."
Peter realized that his wounds were no longer throbbing. He took an exploratory poke at his chest and shoulder and found them scabbed but much better. He flexed his hand; it was stiff and he wouldn’t feel comfortable using it for some time, but the hole was gone.
"What are we going to do now?" Michelle asked.
Peter’s mind was still fuzzy from sleep. "I don't know."
"Can't you do that bloodhound thing and track her?" she asked.
Bloodhound thing. Right. He'd forgotten that he had an extremely useless superpower. Only it helped him find Ian -twice, in fact.
"Ian had left a rather… strong smell behind. I don't know if I can smell Keepsie."
"So what are you waiting for, dumb ass, at least try!"
Try. OK. He would try. If only he could make his brain work a little faster.
He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it.
His body felt as if it were made of lead. He struggled to his feet and went to the bar where Keepsie had slept. He put his head close to the bar and inhaled.
After a moment, he stood. "She's feeling guilty, consumed by it. She feels alone, like this is her problem to fix. She left and just went to wander the city.
I don't think she knew where she was going. But I think she's at the Academy."
The others were aghast. "The Academy? Why?" Michelle asked.
"I don't know. Maybe that's where the answers are." “What answers?” Jason asked.
“Whatever she’s looking for.”
Alex went to the window and peeked up to the street. "Nothing out there. It's dead."
"We have to go find her!" Michelle said. “The Academy’s a wreck! It’s not safe!”
The words took a long time to reach Peter's brain. "You're right. Let's go."
Michelle insisted they raid the kitchen before going, as they hadn't eaten in almost a day. Armed with little more than sandwiches, they left Keepsie's Bar.
"Peter, why were we able to take Keepsie's food?" Alex asked.
Peter swallowed a bite of ham sandwich. "She wants us to take it. If we didn't have her permission, we'd be stuck in her kitchen. It's a subtle distinction with fascinating -" he stopped when he heard a familiar clockwork clanging nearby.
"Doodad," Michelle said. They ran back into the stairwell and hid until the walker clanked by.
Something drifted down to the street. Michelle darted out and grabbed it: a bright red silk scarf.
"Hey, wait a minute. I've seen that before," Michelle said. "It was on that hero in the Academy -the Librarian. She was with Doodad?"
She handed the scarf to Peter. He took it and belatedly realized what he was supposed to do with it.
"Well?" Michelle asked.
"Look, I've spent my life trying not to use this power. It takes some getting used to," Peter said. He smelled the scarf.
Peter closed his eyes against the fear radiating off of it. "It is the Librarian. Doodad and Clever Jack have her."
"Why would they want to kidnap her?" Alex asked.
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