The She-Hulk Diaries (14 page)

“Happy to help! Gotta run.” He waved by holding up his hand and moving his forearm from side to side, the way a kid or a parade princess waves.

Shulky said, “Not so fast, stranger. Introduce yourself. My friends call
me Shulky.” She reached out to shake his hand, but he stepped back toward the door.

“Oh, I know who you are! I heard people talking about the moonbeam raygun and everyone said you’d show up to stop the criminal. I really wanted to meet you. You’re awesome!” He ducked his head shyly. “And so beautiful.”

“Thanks, sugar. I think you’re pretty swell, too. You’ll have to come with me to meet Sergeant Patty and then we’re going to the Avengers Mansion. I have a lot of questions for you, and not fun questions like leather or lace—and, for the record, the answer is always leather with me. Reports have to be made.” She thought for a second and said, “You can fill them out.”

He shifted from foot to foot. She thought she could hear him breathing harder.

“It’s too dangerous for me,” he blurted. “Sorry, ma’am.” And then he sprinted out of the room.

Shulky followed, but she lost a fraction of a second when her heel caught on the reel of fire hose in the doorway. Then she tore off after him. She ran so fast down the hall that she skidded into the wall. She yanked on the door to the staircase, but it didn’t open, so she wrenched it back, ripping it off its hinges.

She catapulted herself over the stair railing and landed so hard that the landing collapsed under her feet and cement dust flew up. “Brand-new boots,” she bitched. She kicked the rubble away and raced down the stairs.

When she reached the ground level, the door to the street was ajar. She yanked it open and stepped out. Her new friend was nowhere to be seen. “Ma’am!” she said, laughing, and made her way to Patty at the bisected squad car.

Patty saw her, shrugged, and reported, “The aforementioned asshole disappeared. My guys are searching for him.”

“I don’t think they’ll find him. He’s the same brat who trashed Broadway. I take it personal when someone endangers
Wicked
.”

“Did you get any clues on who he is? And who threw out the rope to you?”

“It was a fire hose, necessity being the whatever of invention. They both wore masks and didn’t identify themselves, but they must be superhuman,” Shulky said. “The power in the creep’s moonbeam blaster would have ripped the arm off a normal dude, and the other guy lifted me up easily and ran off with super speed.”

Patty chewed her lower lip and said, “It bothers me when new ones show up on the radar without any warning.”

“Tell me about it. The paperwork is horrible. I’ll check in at the Mansion and see if anyone’s heard anything.”

“Didn’t you think there was a Dr. Doom style to the moonbeam raygun?”

“There’s a Doomish influence, but Victor von Doom’s work is precise. There’s an artistry to his madness and there’s always a clear agenda. It could be a copycat.”

Patty shook her head. “Tonight’s bad enough without talking about goddamn von Doom. Oh, I almost forgot. One of my officers found this in the alley.” She pulled a Swiss Army knife from her pocket. “It looks like the brat hacked the attachments. If you make anything of it, tell me.”

One of the officers gave Shulky a lift to the Mansion, and they both laughed about Thor’s complicated family before she went in through a side entrance.

She was about to shift back to make me do the paperwork, but then she realized that I wouldn’t let her out to go dancing later. So she sat down and completed the superhuman incident forms.

[She scribbled a fairly accurate cartoon of the criminal, added giant ears poking out through the ski mask and wiggly “stink” lines, and titled it “Artist’s Rendition.”]

She-Hulk examined the knife, which seemed to have been taken apart and reassembled but not obviously altered. It had handy tools, though, so she slid it into her boot.

Shulky checked her aPhone and saw a message from Lindsay, who
was in town hanging with Perez and Tweeted a direct message: “Shulky—Mtg Madge after her tour rehearsal tonight. Partay w/us?”

Which is how Shulky found herself doing the samba with a Brazilian footballer at 3:00 a.m. even though I was screaming, “Take me home!” On the plus side, he was an amazing dancer and his body was as muscled and sinuous as, well, a Brazilian footballer.

I woke up feeling okay since Shulky was the one who’d gone to bed—by herself amazingly—which is a relief since Azzan is doing me a special with an early morning session. As I was going to the bathroom, I almost tripped on the silver boots Shulky had tossed on the floor. Then I saw this journal open on my desk.

She’s responsible for all the additions to this entry: the picture of a dancing penis in the margin; the hammerhead shark in a suit; the obscenities. She’s a remarkably good cartoonist, but her handwriting is so loopy and childlike. That’s her note to “Send Pattycakes Joocey Jooce coupons,” which is thoughtful of her, and “Tony is a such a DICK!!!” which is not, but she still resents him from the time he stole her powers. Okay, Tony
is
a dick.

She left something else between these pages. An ivory three-by-five card that read:

Condoms and now this. Even Shulky feels like I need matchmaking help. I put the card in the frame of my dresser mirror. I can go this evening and, who knows, maybe I’ll have an actual date for Valentine’s Day! Or I could be on my way for my legitimately postponed VD.

Fritz leaned into my doorway and asked if I was settled in. Since our uncomfortable lunch, he’s become friendlier and given me recommendations for the closest and best sushi, the closest and best Russian bath, and the closest and best pharmacist. In return, I told him funny (though not confidential) details of my work at GLKH.

He grinned and said, “Feel free to use me as a sounding board for any questions about maritime law—don’t laugh, because you never know when you’ll have a case that deals with pirates.”

If he wasn’t a coworker and wasn’t married, I’d practice my flirting with him.

Had a break so I called Dahlia.

Called Nelson and asked where he went to college. He got his DDS from UCSF—score! Invited him to come with me tonight. He agreed to meet me in the lobby of the hotel near Times Square so we could strategize before going up to the penthouse bar. Yay! I told him not to wear any “provocative” shirts.

Nelson waited for me at a table in an alcove off the lobby. He was sipping a drink through a straw. When I came in, he smiled and half-stood, bumping the table a bit.

“Want a ginger ale? It doesn’t stain your teeth, but it’s always best to drink through straws.”

He wore a pale blue shirt, navy blazer, and khaki slacks. I noticed the bulky gold class ring on his neat hands, and I said, “You look nice. I should have worn some UCLA thing, I guess, but all I have is workout gear.”

“I think it will be okay. It’s different for girls. Short guys have to do more to look acceptable.” He rubbed his head nervously and mussed his hair.

I reached over and smoothed it for him. “Nelson, just smile. You have a great smile.”

“You, too. Do we have a strategy besides smiling?”

“I think we’ll have to take turns being wingmen. I don’t really know how to do it.”

“Meeting girls makes me feel as if I’m shopping for a vintage car,” he said. “The dealers are always so slick, and I walk away because I’m intimidated. I thought I’d learn something from Numinous’s class, but he treats everything like a hostile takeover. I’m more interested in an amicable transaction?”

A lightbulb went off in my head. “Nelson, that’s exactly it! What if we approached meeting people like a romantic mediation? I always advise my clients, ‘When you go into a negotiation, be the first one to offer a number and psychologically set a value on the transaction. This will establish a starting point that favors you.’ ”

Nelson seemed interested and asked how that would work, and I told him, “We have to each present the other as valuable, worthwhile dates in clear, direct statements, and we need to repeat that information. It’s a tactic for an item that is otherwise difficult to appraise. We establish an association with ‘amazing date material’ and that will stay in their minds.”

“So I could say, this is Jennifer Walters, who graduated summa cum laude from UCLA, has practiced superhuman law with the universe’s preeminent law firm, ran varsity cross-country track, et cetera. It’s in your public bio. I hope that’s not too stalkery.”

I felt bad that I hadn’t looked him up. “No, it’s normal. What do you want me to say about you?”

His hand went to his head again, scrubbing at his hair. “I was the consultant for a cannibal movie once? To get the bite marks accurately?”

It took me ten minutes to pry more information out of him. I couldn’t think of any way to tell him not to phrase everything as a question.