Hero Worship (4 page)

SIX

After drying and putting all the dishes away, I take out the garbage, put the crates of food into the walk-in refrigerator, and sweep and mop the floor.

The two cooks sit on barstools and play a game of cards.

I head out to the dining area and find the waitress sitting at the counter working a crossword puzzle. Gus sits next to her with his nose buried in a newspaper. There are a couple of customers scattered through the restaurant, but it's definitely not a busy night. I grab a wet towel and go about wiping down the tables.

“Did you hear about that family, saved a few blocks from here?” Gus asks, looking at me.

I nod my head yes, not trusting my voice.

“Do you know anything about it?”

I shake my head no.

Gus studies me for a moment, then turns his attention back to the newspaper. “The cops came by here this morning and asked if I saw anything last night.” He digs into his shirt pocket and pulls out a business card. “One of them gave me his card and told me to call if I thought of anything.”

The waitress scribbles on the puzzle and says, “The guy who saved the family said his name was Marvin.”

“It wasn't you, was it?” Gus asks, looking at me.

“I wish,” I say, my smile forced and wide.

The waitress nudges Gus in the ribs with her elbow. “Why would someone with powers work here?”

Gus's eyes linger on me for a moment. I can't help but feel he's trying to read me like the newspaper open in front of him.

I wonder what Gus would do if I told him it
was
me who saved the family. If I had to tell a normie, I'd probably choose him. There have been several occasions when I nearly told him the truth, but then I never do because of something I overheard him say once. I'd only been working at Midtown Café a couple of weeks. Gus was standing behind the counter, refilling the coffee cups of the crusty old-timers. A man with a nose ravaged by gin blossoms poured a stream of sugar into his coffee. “Clean or dirty, got no stomach for their kind. Bunch a freaks, all of 'em.”

I was used to this type of sentiment. I did my best to ignore it and not take it too personally. It wasn't hard to dismiss bigotry from strangers. The difficulty arose when it was someone you knew and liked.

Then Gus said, “You know the difference between the members of the Core and God? God doesn't think he's a member of the Core.”

The old-timers slapped the countertop as they roared with laughter. Gus's smile faded when he spotted me staring at him. It's that one lingering memory that makes me keep him at arm's length.

Gus tells the waitress she can leave for the night, and she hurries off, evidently on her way to something more fun. As she leaves, a woman passes her in the doorway.
She's dressed like she's stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Are you still open?” she asks.

“Sit anywhere,” I say. She sits down at a booth and I approach her with a menu. “We're going to be closing soon, so you might want to decide quickly.”

Getting a closer look, I realize that she's young—probably my age, maybe a little younger. She's attractive. Her long blond hair looks like every strand is meticulously placed. She has thick, full lips and olive skin that radiates a healthy glow. She looks familiar, but I can't place her. I find myself staring at her, and it takes me a moment to realize she's staring back at me with her big brown eyes. While her expression doesn't betray any emotion, her eyes seem to smile. I get a whiff of the heady aroma of a bed of roses after a summer rain shower.

“I'm not going to order anything,” she says. “But could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

I gather up the menu and say, “You got it.”

As I fill a glass with water, I steal peeks at the girl. I know I've seen her before. Maybe she's an actress or something. I wish I could place her. All I know is that she's stunning. It makes we wonder what on earth she's doing in a restaurant located in this part of town after sundown. I set the glass of water down on the table.

“What's your name?” she asks.

“Marvin.”

“Of course it is. Silly me,” she says. “I'm Eliza. Eliza Todd. I'm hoping we can have a little chat, Marvin.”

“Really? What about?”

“About last night,” Eliza says.

“Last night?”

“When you saved that family.”

Time slows way down. I can feel my heart beating like a bass drum in my chest. The noise echoes in my ears. Her words smack me and take my breath away. I don't know how long I stand there and stare at her. My mind scrambles to make sense of what just happened. How does she know this?

My brain is like a blank sheet of paper, and the glaring emptiness is too harsh a sight to maintain, so I turn and hurry away, disappearing through the kitchen door. I rest my back against the wall, trying to calm myself. It feels like I'm going to hyperventilate.

Peeking through the window in the door, I see her across the restaurant, smiling at me. I duck out of sight.

When I finally muster up the courage to steal another peek, I see Gus locking up for the night. There's no sign of the girl.

Before Gus leaves, he asks if I'll tidy up his office. I don't mind because I need the money. The job takes longer than I expected, though, because Gus is a slob. There are empty candy wrappers, soda cans, and garbage strewn about like it's a landfill. While I'm on the floor crawling around on my hands and knees, I see that Gus has made a habit of parking his used gum under his desk. There's so much of it that it looks like a mural under there. Retrieving a butter knife, I chisel away at the dried gum.

Finally finished, I stroll out of the office and head back to the kitchen to wash the butter knife before I lock up. As I round the corner, heading back behind the counter, I hear someone speak.

“Hey,” the soft voice says. Eliza sits in the same booth as before. It's like she's been there the whole time.

“What're you doing?” I ask.

“Our conversation was cut short,” she says. “We need to discuss last night.”

“You're not supposed to be here,” I say.

She motions to my hand. “Are you going to stab me?”

I'm still holding the butter knife, and I clutch it like I'm planning on using it against her. “How'd you get in?” I ask.

“I hid in the women's bathroom.”

“You've got to go.”

She motions to the seat across from her. “Let's talk, then I'll leave.”

I stand there a moment and weigh my options. I can grab her and force her out, call the cops, or listen to what she has to say. But I don't like the idea of getting rough with her. And if I call the cops, she might blab about me saving the family. Even if she can't prove it, I don't need any unnecessary attention. I slide into the booth across from her. “Two minutes,” I say. “That's it.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hands in hers. “The Core has decided to let you try out for the team.”

I rip my hands out of hers as if she's contagious, and, who knows, maybe she is. “Who are you?!” I say, my voice going up two octaves.

She leans back in her seat and says, “I'm Roisin.”

A revelation of this magnitude would normally be earth-shattering. But the way she flippantly offers this tidbit of information—as if she were commenting on something inconsequential like the weather—leaves me feeling like I just received the “answer” but didn't know the question. She's just claimed to be Roisin, the youngest hero to ever join the Core.

After a moment of me just staring at her, she laughs and asks, “You heard me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I don't say anything.

“You're strange. I like strange. And it helps you're kinda cute too,” she says.

I tend to trust people until they give me reason not to, but this, I don't know. It's a whole lot to take on face value. “Prove it,” I say.

“How?”

“Change into your costume.”

“I didn't bring it.”

“Why not?”

“Wasn't planning on wearing it tonight.”

“Um, okay,” I mumble. “So, why all white?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why an all-white costume?”

She extends a hand and inspects her fingernails, which are painted with a sparkly silver polish. Tilting her head to the side, she says, “I like that people see me coming.”

“Do that light-from-the-eyes thingy.”

“In here? That's not a good idea. This place'll get torched. It's hot enough to burn concrete.”

“Okay, then walk on air. You do that, right?”

She shakes her head and says, “I can walk on anything that's denser than air, like water or something like that.”

“Then how're you gonna prove you're Roisin? Isn't that all you can do?”

Leaning across the table, she whispers, “Can you keep a secret?” I nod my head. “I can boil water with the touch of my finger.”

“You can?”

“As sure as I'm sitting here.”

“I've never heard that about Roisin,” I say.

“It's a secret.”

“Why?”

“Our PR people worried that it was too insignificant.”

“PR people?”

“Public relations,” she says. “Go get me a cup of water.”

I slide out of the booth, go behind the counter, and grab a coffee cup, which I fill with tap water. I spill a little as I walk back to the table. “Is this enough?”

“This'll do,” she says, sticking her finger into the water and twirling it around like she's mixing creamer into coffee. “Ta-da!”

Steam rises from the cup. I stick my finger in the liquid and it burns. “Yep. It's hot.”

“Do you believe me now?” she asks.

“You've got powers. That's for sure.”

“So how about it? You wanna try out for the Core?”

SEVEN

As we stand outside Midtown Café, Eliza says, “You can't tell anyone about this.”

“Why?”

“The members of the Core live under constant scrutiny. We can't go out for ice cream without everyone talking about it. We need to know that you can be trusted to keep this quiet,” she says. “If it leaks, we'll know it was you, so don't risk it by telling anyone. Not a peep.”

She gets into her shiny orange sports car and rides the gas hard. Her speedster spins out as she maneuvers out of the parking lot. I wonder if she's actually old enough to drive. But I figure being a member of the Core has its benefits.

A yellow cab rumbles past, and I wave my hand and whistle. The car crosses two lanes and pulls up to me. I open the door and climb in back. “Where to?” the cabbie asks.

I tell him, and he raises an eyebrow. Pulling out the wad of cash Gus left me tonight, I hold it up to show him I have money. He flips on the meter and merges into traffic. I don't blame the guy for being leery of heading into the belly of the beast—the old downtown. Gangs, pimps, and your garden-variety lowlifes overrun this area like weeds. I'd clean it up if I were a member of the Core. (Just thinking this sends a shiver through my body. It's just too perfect a thought for me to consider.)

We ride through the Loganstin business district. Buildings that reach for the sky house the titans of industry. These movers and shakers trade in commodities I can't even pronounce, much less understand. This part of town is all that's left to remind us of what Loganstin used to be. This is where the businessmen, lawyers, and politicians hold court. The streets are clean, the glass on the buildings shimmers under the sun, and hope springs eternal.

People like me aren't welcome in this part of town—at least not during the day. A few years back, two degenerate terrorists, Monger and Gunner, locked horns here. The dirties leveled the place. After that, the city tried to pass an ordinance banning the use of powers in the business district, but the Core was vocal in its opposition. The measure died, but the sentiment remains, along with an empty lot where the Grinde Investment Building used to stand. The structure had to be demolished after the battle due to extensive damage. The area is an ugly reminder of the destructive force of dirties.

The taxi takes a turn and it's like we enter another country. It's amazing how quickly the landscape can change in this city. The buildings are abandoned, run down, and covered in graffiti. Prostitutes mill about on street corners. Drug dealers hide in the shadows, ready to disappear if something bad goes down. The police stay away as much as possible. It has its own laws, and they're well outside of what the men and women in blue are supposed to enforce.

The taxi pulls to a stop in front of Broadway Liquor. “That'll be twenty bucks,” the cabbie says. I peel off a couple of bills and hand them to him. Before I even have time to shut the door, the cabbie jams his car into gear and races down the street.

I find Yvonne in the alley next to the liquor store. Three junkies mill around her, offering her various things in exchange for a fix. One pulls out a ten-dollar bill and hands it over. She quickly pockets the money. The man wipes his runny nose with his sleeve. He twitches with anticipation as he waits for her to work her magic. Yvonne lays a hand on his shoulder, like she's greeting an old friend. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she conjures her power. The effects of getting zapped make the junkie look like a marionette getting its strings cut. His legs wobble as he sways back and forth. It's as if he's moving to music only he can hear. He turns around and slowly slinks out of the alley toward me.

He's walking in a daze, and I don't even think he sees me as he staggers around the corner. He steps into the street, apparently unconcerned when a car blares its horn and swerves to avoid hitting him. Once he reaches the other side of the street, the junkie disappears into the dark crowd.

Another addict plops down on the cold concrete and slides off his dirty sneakers. Kneeling on the ground, he offers up the shoes. Yvonne turns her head away in disgust at the horrible stench coming out of them and says, “What am I gonna do with your crummy shoes? Come back when you have ten bucks.” The guy doesn't even bother putting on his shoes as he sulks past me, mumbling under his breath about how unfair life is.

Yvonne's last customer pulls out a handful of crumpled bills and coins, holding them up like a child in a candy store asking how much he can buy with his allowance. Yvonne begrudgingly uses her finger to dig through the coins, seeing if he has enough. Apparently he does, because she takes the money and stuffs it into her pocket. She lays her hand on the junkie's head. Just before she closes her eyes, a small girl clutching a teddy bear steps out of the shadows and into the alley.

“Daddy, I'm hungry,” the little girl says.

Startled, Yvonne opens her eyes, her hand recoiling from the man.

“Not now!” the man hisses. “Daddy's gettin' his medicine.”

Yvonne is rattled. She can't take her eyes off the girl's filthy face and ragged dress. The stuffing of the bear is coming out of holes in its seams.

“Come on, Yvonne,” the junkie pleads. “Do it.”

“Is that your daughter?” Yvonne asks.

“Yeah.”

Yvonne must see what I do—the junkie has no love for the girl. The only love this man has in his heart is for getting high. There just isn't enough room left over for his daughter.

I saw this same expression on my father's face when he used to look at me.

“What's her name?” Yvonne asks.

“Harriet,” the junkie spits. “Now gimme my fix.”

Yvonne takes a couple of steps toward the girl and says, “Hi, Harriet. My name is Yvonne.”

“Everyone calls me Harry,” the girl says.

“Okay. Hi, Harry.”

“Gimme my fix!” the junkie yells. “Leave my daughter alone!”

Yvonne ignores the man. She kneels down next to the girl. “That sure is a nice teddy bear,” she says. “What's its name?”

Harry looks from Yvonne to her father and back again. “Mr. Bear,” she says, in not much more than a whisper.

“Nice name.” Yvonne licks her thumb and tries to wipe away the grime from the girl's face. “Are you hungry, Harry?”

The little girl nods her head yes.

This scene is just too much for the junkie, and he rushes over and grabs his daughter by the arm, lifting her up and away from Yvonne. “I said to leave my daughter alone,” he snaps. “I paid for my fix, so give it to me!”

I run into the alley, stopping Yvonne before she lunges at the man. “Yvonne, no!”

“I want my fix, bitch!” the junkie screams, gripping Harry by the arm.

Yvonne takes a couple of deep breaths, calming herself. “Okay, I'll give it to you,” she says, “but only if you give me your daughter.”

“What?!” both the junkie and I say at the same time.

“That's the deal,” Yvonne says. “Take it or leave it.”

The junkie lets go of Harry. “You want my daughter?”

“Because obviously you don't,” Yvonne snaps.

The little girl begins to cry. “Daddy, don't,” she sobs.

The junkie actually considers it.

“Yvonne, don't do this,” I say.

“Why not?” Yvonne asks. “He doesn't deserve her.”

Harry grabs her father's hand, pulling him away from Yvonne and me. “Let's go, Daddy. Please, let's go.”

“Gimme my money back,” the man says. “I'll score some dope off Filthy Mike.”

Yvonne pulls his money from her pocket. The junkie reaches for it, but Yvonne drops the bills and coins on the ground. The coins clank on the concrete and scatter like ice from a spoon.

“You stupid bitch,” he says, letting go of Harry's hand to retrieve his money.

Yvonne takes a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and steps over to the little girl. As the junkie scurries on his dirty hands and knees, trying to gather his coins, she stuffs the bill into a rip in the teddy bear. “Don't tell your father about the money,” she whispers. “Use it to get something to eat.”

Harry looks at where the money is lodged inside Mr. Bear, then smiles at Yvonne. Before anything else can be uttered, the junkie storms over and grabs his daughter, pulling her out of the alley behind him.

Yvonne and I watch as the father and daughter walk away. She quickly wipes a tear from her eye, doing her best to conceal it from me.

“Tough day at the office?” I say.

She laughs, even though I realize she doesn't think it's particularly funny. And neither do I.

We get home and find Kent stretched out on the sofa with his eyes glued to a celebrity magazine. Yvonne sinks down next to him. Holding up the magazine for her to see, Kent says, “Dude, Roisin's claimin' she's a virgin.”

Yvonne rips the magazine out of Kent's hands. “Shut up,” she says.

Kent kneads his flesh like a baker shaping dough. “It's right there. Check it.”

Yvonne says, “There's no way that tramp is a virgin.”

“God, I hope not,” Kent says. “That'll ruin all my fantasies about her.”

“Oh my,” Yvonne says, laughing. “Get a load of this photo.” She turns the magazine around. The six members of the Core pose outside their mansion.

I focus on Roisin. After meeting her tonight, I can totally see it's the same person. If she was concerned about protecting her identity, you'd think she'd wear a more concealing mask.

Yvonne holds up a page that has a photo of Rocket. “I wonder if Rocket is ever bummed that he's the only nonwhite on the team?”

“Why the hell would he care?” Kent asks.

“I don't know,” Yvonne says. “It would probably be nice to have someone else of color in your workplace.”

“Nobody cares anymore what you look like,” Kent says. “It's what's on the inside that matters: whether or not you have powers. That's the only currency that counts in this world. The color of your skin is as meaningless as your favorite number. Hell, it doesn't even matter if you're dumb as a sack of rocks. Which they have on the team.”

“Since we're talking about the Core, you've got to narrow down the stupid list,” Yvonne says.

“Your favorite. The leader.”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “Show some respect.”

“I heard Mercury actually salutes his refrigerator because it's General Electric,” Kent says.

“Oh yeah, well, I heard that when he was at a party at the White House, he flew up to the roof because he heard drinks were on the house.” Yvonne snorts.

Kent is laughing so hard he's wiping tears from his drooping eyes. “He went to the lumber yard to meet the Board of Education,” he says.

Yvonne and Kent are having a hard time catching their breath. “After Mystic walked by him on the sidewalk, he put his chin on the curb to get his mind outta the gutter,” she says.

“And I heard he ate pennies and then asked the Core if they'd seen any change in him,” Kent says.

When they get into a riff, Yvonne and Kent can go for hours. Dueling jokesters. Shaking my head, I get up and walk out of the living room.

Yvonne says, “He's so dumb he flew into a gun fight and got stabbed.”

Heading into the darkness on the way to my room, I hear the echo of my friends' laughter behind me. I've endured their taunts before about my collection of Core memorabilia, and I good-naturedly laugh it off. Haters are going to hate. But now their joking about the Core really irritates me. It feels personal.