Curse of Arachnaman (20 page)

We talked shop for a while, with Peter filling me in on superhero work, at least those details that weren't confidential.

"The bastard's a ticking time bomb,” he said. “He really laid things out pretty well."

"Yeah. It's, like, he's got specific methods for each group of businesses he's targeting. I don't know if there's a reason for that, but I'm guessing that he's doing that to throw you and the cops off his scent. You know, catch you by surprise, anyway, by switching tactics every time."

"He's clever, yeah. I hate him."

I smiled grimly as I glanced out my open window and took in the gray, overcast landscape outside. “I suppose you can channel all that negativity into some serious ass-kicking when the time comes."

"Trust me, I will. Even the others are pissed enough to want to destroy him the second we see him."

That was pretty unsettling, hearing him talk that way. I guess the incredible stress of being superheroes, especially when Peter had to see the wreckage and the victims every time, would have this kind of really scary effect on him. I thought about the others and realized that, while Wade was the mellowest and sweetest of the group, I shouldn't underestimate her ability to get as affected as Peter and possibly feeding her powers that way.

"Hey,” I said after I got over the initial surprise. “No murders allowed. You're not the bad guy here."

Peter merely laughed, and I couldn't tell whether or not he meant it. I sure didn't sense any humor in that.

"Just be careful,” I added. My voice sounded kind of weak and pleading, but I didn't care. I just wanted him to listen to me. “Please. I don't want any of you to get hurt."

He sighed. “I will. I promise,” he said, his voice dropping. Like several other conversations I'd had with him, he once again sounded so tired and beaten. I wanted to reach out and hug him and file a vacation request with Magnfiman, so Calais could vanish for a little while and rest himself. Man, I could think of a thousand and one possible destinations for that. The stratosphere would be the common denominator, of course, and that wouldn't happen till
after
we reached those destinations. Hoo, boy.

"The businesses that've been attacked are closing, but there's a lot of talk about getting Mr. Bryant and the others back on their feet. I'm hoping that their insurance would help, but you know how screwed up insurance companies are."

I thought about things for a moment. “I wonder if people would help them out. You know, like put together some kind of fundraiser for them."

"It would be nice, but the real world doesn't always work that way, Eric."

"You're too young to be cynical,” I chided. “Come on. Maybe I can look into that some more."

He laughed again. “Now look who's being the superhero.” Ah, gosh. It'd be something worth doing, anyway. By the time I got off the phone with him, I was actually thinking more seriously about that, though I really didn't have a clue where to start. How did one go around, putting together a fundraiser for victims of attacks?

I wanted to raise the question over dinner, but Scanlon was there, so I decided not to encourage him. Besides, he was in a pretty rare mood, all stern and anxious.

"If I had my way,” he said, “I'd keep you all from stepping out-of-doors. Who knows what can happen out there, the way this city's falling apart? I say that we'll be doing the superheroes a big favor by taking care not to put ourselves in harm's way.” He actually emphasized his point by pounding a fist on the table, making Dad choke on his soup.

Liz looked alarmingly starry-eyed as she listened. “You're absolutely right,” she said. Or, rather, sighed. Dreamily. It was also a long, drawn-out one. My sister was gone, gone, gone.

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It was sort of like Minimum Day at my “school” because Dr. Dibbs said something came up in Freddie's undercover work, so I got booted out of Brenda's shop around lunchtime with a crazy pile of homework to occupy me for a couple of days or so. I'd had a few minimum days now, and on one hand, I wondered about the state of my education; on the other hand, who was I to complain? It was just too bad that I had to take the bitter with the sweet.

"It's your first set of take-home exams, Mr. Eric,” Dr. Dibbs had said as he handed me about half a dozen stapled questionnaires that also ran about ten million pages long for each subject. “You need to stock up on those blue books, so you can use them for the essays."

"Essays?” I echoed helplessly, staring at each stapled test and feeling the blood drain away from me. “Seriously? Do I have to wait for college to do oral exams or something?” Boy, that was going to be a real pain in the ass to do.

He shook his head. “Essays, young man. Essays. You can't go through life without developing communication and critical thinking skills. Oh, and buy the large blue books, not the small ones. Your sister should be able to help. In the meantime, I won't be available, but you're welcome to contact Ms. Whitaker should you have any questions about your tests.” He took a deep breath when he paused, as he'd been talking non-stop while stuffing my arms with that nightmare pile of his. “Do you have any question to ask me, by the way, before I let you go for the next two days?"

I scowled at the stack. “Am I eighteen yet?” Yeah, yeah, I know. I'd been going on and on about being eighteen, but what else was there to look forward to? Of course, if everything I'd heard about being eighteen turned out to be a total lie, there'd be some blood that'd be spilled.

"Last time I checked, no. Any more questions?"

"Can I come? I promise I won't get in the way. Can we just turn these essays into something like P.E. or hands-on stuff? I don't mind being graded for helping out in superhero work."

"Nope. Have a good day, Mr. Eric. And be sure to make good use of the dictionary. I assume that you know how."

I stared at him. “Of course I do! What's all
that
about?"

Dr. Dibbs didn't look ruffled at all. He merely cocked an eyebrow. “You'd be surprised, young man, at how many adults don't know jack about using the dictionary."

"Whoa. You said ‘jack.’ That's cool.” I grinned. I couldn't help it. Dr. Dibbs said “jack."

He booted me out.

First contact with Mrs. Zhang made! With police activity spreading all over Vintage City, I figured it was safe for me to saunter on over to Uncle Chung's after “class,” and sure enough, they were open. There are no words to describe the relief I felt at seeing the familiar neon sign and foggy interior through the windows.

"Hey, Mrs. Zhang!” I called out, and I saw her silhouette wave at me from behind the steam counter. “Good to see you again!"

"Yeah? Well, it's not good seeing you still skinny. What the hell's wrong with you? You not bulimic, are you?"

I just shrugged, totally relieved, and sat on a weathered stool while waiting for her to finish swapping a couple of empty food pans with new ones that were packed with freshly cooked stuff. Mrs. Zhang recently put the stools there, saying that they were for customers who had to wait for their food to be cooked. To be more competitive, she expanded their menu and added special dishes that her husband could whip up for anyone who might not care for the usual ready-to-go offerings, especially if they had health-related limitations. When Dad found out about it, he said it felt like he'd just died and gone to stir-fry heaven. Since Scanlon Frankie Avalon'd into our lives, we had to make good use of her new policy as well.

"So what happened to you guys?” I demanded. I slid off my stool when she waved at me to come close, and to my train wreck delight, she gave me a small bowl of hot and sour soup. “Wow, thanks!” Oh, I could feel my arteries constrict from all the grease I was set to ingest, but I loved her soup and its turn-your-ass-into-an-organic-flamethrower-when-you-fart spice levels.

"All trouble around here!” she cried, waving both hands above her. She scowled under her massive hairnet. “Innocent families attacked, and all buildings around them searched inch by inch! I'm glad they didn't rip up my kitchen, but they were close! I have pepper spray. I can use it on cops."

She'd've done it, too. I nodded, happily sipping my soup. “Any leads, though? Have they found anything yet?"

"If they did, they don't say anything. Not to me or other businesses around here.” She paused and looked thoughtful. Sad and thoughtful, really, which I was never used to seeing from her. “Don't understand. Innocent families attacked. Why? They were minding their own business. Like hot dog restaurant. Good owner, I know him. Very nice and honest. Hard-working. Why make his life hell?"

I could only listen in sympathy. “You know, Mrs. Zhang, I'm gay. I've put up with so much crap from other kids before and after I came out. I've never done anything to piss them off. I guess simply existing is enough to offend some people, but my mom and dad have always told me that they're the ones with the problem. Not me. Sucks to be them, Dad used to say, with their heads stuck up their asses."

"Your dad said that? Cool dad!"

"Well, he made sure that Mom wasn't around when he made that point.” My dad had his moments, yeah.

She grinned, nodding. “You're a good boy. Difficult sometimes, but good boy.” She took my bowl when I was done and promptly filled it with rice and black bean chicken. “Now eat. Hunky boyfriend won't be too happy if you don't take care."

I went home all full and happy. I actually looked forward to doing my homework, which was kind of a sick sort of situation, but that was the magic of free Chinese food. Too bad that magic lasted as long as the food lasted in my digestive system. Eventually the charm wore off, and I was Cinderella, sleeping in soot. I actually took a nap and woke up in my bed, but the feeling of the remainder of the day being spent in academic drudgery latched on to me like brain-sucking leeches. I managed to do a little work before giving up and getting online for some Asteroids action.

Staying home and doing my homework bit hard. It was boring, and there were too many distractions. Yeah, Mom and Dad were all excited and tickled to see that Dr. Dibbs trusted me enough with a stack of take-home tests that required blue books, but once I was left alone the next day, I couldn't get myself to make some kind of dent. I was only able to work on one-and-a-half tests before I gave up, dug around for loose change hidden in the dustiest, grossest pockets under our sofa cushions, and ran off for some ice cream. I figured that I might have to go elsewhere to make sure that I'd be able to concentrate. Somewhere quiet and closed in, sort of, with nothing anywhere to distract me.

So I went to the public library after scarfing down my treat. And then promptly fell asleep on my notes. I must've drooled up Lake Loch Ness by the time a librarian shook me awake to let me know that it was time for me to go home.

"Your parents will be worried about you,” she said while handing me a box of tissues. That was embarrassing. I had to wait till after she left before using the handful I pulled out. I went to the men's room before leaving to check out how I looked in the mirror.

Lopsided hair aside, my face looked as though someone just stamped a road map on it. Creases from my shirt- sleeves, my pens, and a crumpled ball of paper that happened to be in the way when I conked out, all made a pretty strong impression—literally.

"Damn,” I groaned, running my fingers over the marks. Good thing I didn't have a date planned later that day.

It took me a few minutes to wash up, comb my hair, and restore my dignity before leaving the library. I still had a lot of time left before everyone came home from work. I was also not at all interested in catching up with schoolwork. Wandering on to the downtown area was more of an act of desperation than anything else. I hated having unfinished work hanging over me, and I hated feeling unmotivated.

I wandered kind of aimlessly for a while. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the downtown area. Then again, any Vintage City resident wouldn't think twice about all the construction work that now littered the area.

A visitor might ask, “Hey, what's with all the crappy traffic jams and the screwed-up buildings around here?” To which a resident would say, “Oh, those? They're nothing. Just good and evil going head to head. Same old, same old in Vintage City. You get used to living in a battleground between superheroes and supervillains after a while. Here, have a truffle."

In short, I totally ignored the damaged areas and wove my way through the crowd, sidestepping stray debris without even looking at it. Yeah, I was that used to the carnage. It wasn't unusual for me to stand in front of a store, ogling the merchandise, while swiping at bits of brick or plaster or even broken glass falling from a nearby casualty of a recent battle. Hell, I wasn't even surprised to see a number of folks, mostly seniors, walking around with umbrellas, rain or shine. There was a little group of old-timers, too, who wore hard hats, though I saw that one of them wore a brainsaver skateboard helmet. He must've borrowed it from his grandkid or something.

I just wandered around the main square, completely zoned out, I guess. Nothing registered in my mind, though I was pretty much aware that I stopped in front of a bunch of store windows, checking out stuff. I even stood in front of the founder's statue, which finally got itself a replacement head.

"Dude, that's lame,” I muttered, frowning at the thing. Seriously, whoever the artist was, he didn't do a good job with keeping proportions consistent. His replacement head matched the rest of the statue in terms of color, texture, and amount of weathering, but size-wise? Yikes. Looking at the statue seriously made me think of the
Powerpuff Girls,
vintage-style, and in male drag. From where I stood, I figured that the new head was about three sizes too big. I didn't know how they'd managed to secure it to the statue, but I sure hoped that whatever stuff they'd used to glue the two separate parts together would hold for a long, long time unless the city was prepared for one lawsuit after another.

Imagine getting brained by the founder's new head in the middle of your lunch break. What a sad way to go.