Xenofreak Nation (11 page)

“They will look for us here,” Padme said. They were standing on an intact section of the boardwalk south of the stadium, looking out at the ocean.

Scott made a scoffing sound. “Probably won’t have to. As soon as they offer a reward, we’re done.”

“I know a place we can stay. For now.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “We?”

She shrugged. “You can accompany me or not.”

“Why don’t you stay with Lupus?”

“He would not allow me to endanger him. When he deems it safe, he will find me.”

It was cooler along the shore, so their hoods weren’t so out of place. Despite the island’s deservedly bad reputation, people were safe enough in broad daylight and still came to the beach. Four teenagers were playing volleyball and a family of six was building a sand castle nearby. Scott walked with Padme quite a ways before she turned toward an unprepossessing burger joint. The words ‘Bluto’s Last Stand’ were spray-painted in graffiti urban-art on the weatherworn exterior. A wooden sign with a grimacing, bearded cartoon character holding a blackboard stood near the door. The special of the day, a Bluto Burger and fries, was printed on the blackboard in white chalk.

Despite the laws prohibiting smoking in public establishments, the dark interior reeked of tobacco. The place was nearly empty; the only customers sat at the bar drinking even though it was just past mid-day. He suspected the two rough-looking men were xeno and probably XBestia, but didn’t spot any obvious alterations. The only waitress hollered out to them to take a seat. Padme chose a booth along the west wall. Scott expected the table to be sticky and wasn’t disappointed.

The waitress scurried over and wiped the table down with a rag that looked and smelled like she’d found it wrapped around a garbage truck axle. She was a tiny thing with streaked blonde hair and a pointy nose. Her nametag read, ‘Mouse.’

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, pulling two menus out from under her arm. Before she set them down, she took a closer look at their faces and said quietly, “You folks look a little out of place. There’s a café a few blocks down that’s probably more your style.”

Padme lowered her hood and asked, “Is Phaco cooking today?”

Mouse didn’t miss a beat. “Yep. He’s got a pot of chili on. Hot stuff.”

“I will take the special. No onions. Will you tell him Pad is here?”

“Sure thing.” Mouse lifted her eyebrows at Scott.

“Chili sounds good,” he said. “And a Coke, please.”

Mouse spun on her heel and disappeared behind a swinging door next to the bar.

Less than a minute later, the door swung open again and a black man with a huge belly trotted out. “Padme! I heard you was in jail. Dey let you out?”

Padme put a finger to her lips. When the man reached their table, she said, “I need a place to stay, Phaco.”

Scott studied the big man’s xenoalteration with interest. His lower jaw jutted forward naturally, placing his bottom teeth in front of the top. He’d had his lower canines and probably the tooth next to them replaced with thick, protruding tooth-like objects that pointed up and slightly outward, ending at just beyond his wide nostrils.

“Da back room is all yours. Won’t be quiet, but it’s safe. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Cougar. He helped me escape. In the spirit of full disclosure, we’re wanted.”

“Well, dat makes more sense den da judge givin’ an XBestia bail.” His eyebrows dropped into a frown. “Lupus okay wif you and Cougar…” he jerked his thumb, presumably toward the back room.

“Lupus knows I would never cheat. Avoiding torture and death is a good incentive for faithfulness.”

Phaco laughed. “Dat true.”

He wiped a hand on his filthy apron and held it out to Scott. It was a perfunctory shake, like Phaco was putting him on notice that he was tolerated for Padme’s sake and no other. He was talkative, though, even if his alteration made diction a challenge.

“I was born wif dis underbite. Coulda got it fixed, but it just wouldn’t be me, ya know? Dese here,” he ran a forefinger up and down one of the protrusions, “are the bottom tusks off a warthog, phacochoerus africanus. Dat why dey call me Phaco.”

“Very intimidating,” Scott said sincerely.

“Dat what I was goin’ for,” Phaco replied. Then he winked. “But I’m really a big softie. Ask Padme.”

“It’s true,” Padme confirmed.

“I din’t hear no mention of claws on da news,” Phaco said. “Dey functional?”

Scott didn’t like to, but he felt obligated to demonstrate. He curved his fingers inward and extended his claws. Phaco set his tongue against his upper lip between the tusks and let loose with a low whistle.

“Doc do good work.” He reached out and tweaked one of Padme’s ears. “Now I gonna go make you da best damn burger you ever had, you little cannibal.”

It was the first time Scott ever heard Padme laugh.

Phaco disappeared behind the swinging door and soon after, Mouse reappeared at their table. Without a word, she set a glass of water in front of Padme and gave Scott his chili and Coke. After she left, Scott commented, “Not so friendly anymore.”

Padme quirked one side of her mouth and sipped her water.

Surreptitiously, he watched Mouse. She went behind the bar and generously topped off her customers’ drinks. Scott heard the phrase ‘on the house,’ but couldn’t pick up the rest of what she was saying. She leaned her skinny elbows on the bar and seemed to be earnestly explaining something to the two xenos. One of them turned and stared in Scott and Padme’s direction.

Phaco delivered Padme’s hamburger himself and chatted for a few more minutes before going back into his kitchen. At that point, the two xenos at the bar stood up. Instead of heading for the exit, they sauntered over to the booth.

Before they could say or do anything, Padme spoke. “Do either of you gentlemen happen to know who I am?”

The taller of the two, with shaved head and a spiderweb tattoo on his throat, cracked his knuckles. “We hear you two like to mess with little girls.” His breath was fetid with whiskey and something sour. Scott leaned away from the odor and let Padme handle the situation.

She held up her arm and pulled back the sleeve. A roundish patch of scars, both raised and dimpled, marred her forearm. Scott recognized it as a healed bite-mark; one that would have been a vicious injury to produce such a scar. He’d seen photographs of the very same mark—on a series of corpses allegedly dispatched by the top XBestia enforcer.

“This was a gift from Lupus,” Padme said coldly. “When you see his brand on a person who is not dead, my advice is to run, not walk, in the opposite direction.”

“Lupus?” The shorter of the two asked. He shot a look over his shoulder at Mouse, who began wiping down the bar as if she hadn’t been avidly watching to see what would happen.

“And,” Padme continued. “It would be best if you forgot you ever met such a person.”

Both men began nodding, quite agreeable now. They backed away, and when they left, they were walking, but it looked to Scott like they wanted to take Padme’s advice and run.

Scott took a bite of his chili. It was delicious, but as Mouse had warned, very spicy. He took a long sip of his Coke and spluttered, “Hot!”

Chapter Twenty-one

It was a good thing her father slept like a hibernating bear every night. As long as Bryn avoided the squeaky floorboards scattered throughout the old house, it was no problem packing her car. The little Hamster didn’t hold much, but she took only what she needed, plus her mother’s photo album and a few other keepsakes. Tucked at the back of the album, she found the Christmas cards from Carla she’d stashed away each year. After her mother passed, Carla tried to stay in touch, but her father discouraged it. Bryn accidently discovered that first Christmas card unopened in the trash, so she made a point of sorting through the holiday mail each year before her father got to it.

The address on the envelope changed every couple of years and it seemed to Bryn that the handwriting got sloppier, too. The message had over time remained the same, however. “You will always have a place to stay if you need it.”

Bryn needed it.

Technically, and ironically, she’d turned eighteen that day, so she wasn’t running away. After what he’d done, her father didn’t deserve any sort of goodbye other than a terse note letting him know she hadn’t been kidnapped again. But then, he’d know that already, given his role in her first abduction.

Bryn had finally peeked out the window. The news vans had gone for the night, but the XIA agents were parked right out front. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking she could run for it—this wasn’t holovision—she wouldn’t be able to shake them no matter what she did, and pitting her compact car against their souped-up sedan would make for one ridiculous chase.

She’d found a lightweight beige cashmere scarf among those of her mother’s things she’d been allowed to keep. It covered her head pretty well, except for the odd quill poking through. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she flashed on Padme the first time she’d seen her. She, too, had worn a scarf to hide her alteration. Bryn had assumed from her appearance that Padme was a modest Middle Eastern young woman. At one point in the Pakistani girl’s life, that had probably been true.

Bryn’s father slept on the opposite side of the house from the garage. She pressed the garage door button, wincing as it went through its rumbling, grinding process. After the door was fully up, she listened for a moment. Her father’s snores reverberated down the hall. She flipped on the light, went past her car and down the dark driveway to the agent’s car. The woman in the driver’s seat rolled down the window.

“Hi, Agent Yang,” Bryn said.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really. Today was my eighteenth birthday.”

Yang’s left eyebrow lifted slightly. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. So…I’m an adult now. Legally, I can do whatever I want.” Bryn didn’t phrase it as a question. She was determined not to sound like she was asking for permission.

Yang tilted her head, but said nothing.

Bryn licked her lips and wished she hadn’t. It gave her nervousness away. She stood up straight and spoke firmly to counteract it. “I’m going to leave my father’s house. I’m not going to tell him I’m leaving. I don’t want you to tell him I’m leaving and I no longer want your protection. Is that clear?”

Yang looked over to the passenger seat at an agent Bryn had never met. They exchanged a few hushed words before she turned back.

“It’s not that simple, Bryn. Why do you want to leave?”

Bryn sighed. “That’s between me and my father. I’m going to get into my car now and drive away. I’d prefer it if you didn’t follow me, but obviously I can’t stop you. I mean it, though, about my dad. Don’t tell him where I am. If you do, I’ll just take off again.”

She didn’t wait for Yang to summon up an argument or pepper her with more questions. She stalked back up the driveway and got into her car. Halfway down the lane, she caught sight of headlights in her rearview mirror. They stayed there all the way to Brooklyn.

Bryn wasn’t familiar with the demographics of Brooklyn’s neighborhoods, so she wasn’t prepared for Carla’s home to be located on a rundown block of three story apartment buildings. She drove around for twenty minutes looking for a parking space, which, at two in the morning, were nonexistent. Finally, Agent Yang pulled up alongside and motioned for her to roll down her window.

“There’s a pay-to-park structure six blocks away,” Yang said. “We’ll give you a ride back from there. Even if you find a spot on the street, a sweet little car like that all packed with stuff is going to be stripped by morning or flat-out gone. I assume your dad was handling the car insurance?”

Bryn was upset enough without Yang dealing that last low blow. There were a lot of things her dad had paid for. Her salary had been adequate for her needs; make the car payment, buy electri-gas for the car and purchase a few luxuries now and then. In point of fact, her holophone had already been shut off and this month’s car payment was due and she had no idea how she would pay it.

There was nothing else to do. She was tired, emotionally wrung out, and had a headache from crying. She didn’t know if Carla even lived here anymore and she didn’t have a plan B. With a defeated wave of her hand, she indicated to Yang that she would follow.

Once the Hamster was parked safely, Bryn got into the back of the sedan and resignedly gave Yang Carla’s address. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t find it out anyway. To her immense relief, the agents didn’t cross-examine her during the ride. They double-parked to drop her off and as she walked away through the dimly lit, narrow lanes, the sedan inched forward to keep her in sight. Despite her determination to make this fledgling attempt at independence her only attempt, it was reassuring to know they were there.

She located Carla’s building, but when she pressed the buzzer to her apartment, there was no response. Bryn depressed the button every thirty seconds for about five minutes before sitting on the steps in utter dejection. Carla either wasn’t home, was a heavier sleeper than even her father, or the buzzer wasn’t working.

It was a warm enough night to sit outside and wallow in miserable reflection, especially since she was wearing her leather jacket and the scarf covered her head and shoulders. While she waited, every word her father said this afternoon paraded across her consciousness. She tried to find some error of judgment on her part; some redeeming word or phrase that her abhorrence had obscured. Instead, her anger reignited.