Damn, but men are so spectacularly dense when it comes to women. I was pretty damned certain this granny had plotted Max’s demise with the help of her evil grandson not too many months ago. She’d certainly condoned my kidnapping from her backyard.
The stooges behind Gloria wore black suit jackets, probably covering an assortment of weaponry. Dammit, Andre, did you come looking to get killed?
I clenched a fist in fear. Andre and I didn’t always approve of each other, but the man had saved my life and given me a job when I’d needed it, and I’d occasionally caught glimpses of decency behind his cynicism. I was growing attached to the devil. I didn’t want him killed.
Besides, I feared I’d have to do something ugly, like give the devil his due, if the guards started shooting. For now, the men kept their hands at their sides, so I couldn’t justify wishing them to perdition. And I wasn’t angry enough to visualize.
Like a Hollywood star from the twenties, Gloria was wearing something silky long and flowing. Sheesh. And she wore her age well. Slender, her golden hair artfully coiffed, she stood regally stiff, as if Andre were no more than a beggar at her feet, although he stood half a foot taller. I’d have liked to shoot her just for that.
This was Paddy’s mother. I swear, she appeared young enough to be his wife. Or he looked too old for his age. Whatever. I was betting Granny Themis didn’t look this good.
A fantasy about old witches running the world formed in my irrepressible imagination before Gloria brought me abruptly back to the moment.
“The laboratory is working on a product that can revolutionize the world,” she replied with just the right amount of self-righteous, flag-waving disdain. “America can be strong again. It will return us to our superpower days. You cannot expect me to stop experimentation because of a small accident that even the EPA says caused no harm.”
She sounded convincing, but I’d been there when her vans dispatched all evidence of what the gas had actually done. I’d seen the comatose victims she’d hidden from the cops. I was not the blind, deaf, and dumb EPA. Or the bribed and threatened Tweedledee and Dum. Take your pick.
Besides—pardon my bragging—I had some experience with superpowers. They were scary and prone to boosting the arrogant stupidity of the people wielding them—witness my standing here now thinking I could actually save the day. Superpowerdom required intelligence and rationality, and the human race—while not actually lacking in both—prefers emotional meltdowns to thinking.
Superpowerdom in the hands of lying villains was not a place I wanted to go.
“The gas caused no harm?” Andre asked mildly.
I recognized that ominous tone of nonchalance. Mr. Cool was back.
Even from down here, Andre looked laid-back, like he’d just stepped off a yacht, with his thick black hair slightly windblown from the convertible, his naturally bronzed, aristocratic features, and his nose a perfect patrician beak. He wasn’t wearing an ascot, but I’d have bet that billowing shirt was silk. He’d hooked his suit coat over his shoulder, and I swear the man was wearing a vest. Some dark, satin embroidered thing, straight out of a Maverick episode where the Jim Garner character pulls a derringer and shoots the boots out from under the bad guy.
“No harm at all, Andre,” Gloria said grandly. “If you’re concerned for your family, why don’t you move them out? We’ll campaign for industrial zoning and clear out the neighborhoods, and you can enjoy life instead of fretting about a lot of lazy bums who will never amount to anything.”
I dug my fingers into Tim’s arm and he grunted. If she was referring to the entire area around the Zone, I was not a lazy bum. Neither were my friends. We’re weird maybe, but not lazy. Not by a long shot. She talked about us as if we were cockroaches. That’s the mentality generated by power, the arrogance of the privileged elite who sincerely believe they know best, though they never descend to the streets to meet or know us.
I’d have liked to shoot her right then, but I’d have had to justify offing just about every rich, powerful bitch in the country. Not good for my eternal health. Maybe I could visualize them scrubbing floors on an empty stomach so they would know what it felt like down here.
“You would tear down a community, throw people out of their homes, for what, Gloria? Magic gas?” Andre’s tone remained cool, but his words were edgy enough to make the goons straighten and pat their coat pockets. Definitely holstered guns.
“It’s not magic,” Gloria said irritably. “My son spreads those ridiculous rumors for his own purposes. It’s a new element, and Acme is the only company in the world to have it. I should think you of all people, Andre, would understand the importance of research.”
Yeah, because it had certainly helped Katerina Montoya. Comatose, the new fountain of youth. I rolled my eyes and almost missed the most important part of the action. The boss man was fast and way too clever. From this distance, I couldn’t see what Andre held, but it looked more like a tiny aerosol can than a weapon.
“Then if green gas causes no harm, you won’t mind if I use it in here?” he asked conversationally. “It creates a splendid rainbow effect when applied properly.”
Before anyone could jump him, he sprayed a pink and green cloud into Gloria’s face.
Tim was muttering, “Shit, shit, shit,” and I was thinking pretty much the same.
Beautiful, charming Gloria erupted like a Fury. She came out swinging and punching, no different from the bums back home when the first gas attack hit the streets. Man, I’d never seen an old lady box like a pro. That had to hurt. She had Andre by the shirtfront and was pounding his face as hard she could with her tiny little fist.
A chemical weapon that caused violence, sweet. Not.
Apparently unfazed and a hundred times stronger, Andre pried Granny loose and stepped out of reach before she could grab his hair and launch him over the railing. I swear, she was that mad.
Now what the hell should I do? Andre had started this. I couldn’t punish Gloria for what he’d done. Justice was a real bitch.
The goons swarmed closer, trying to work around our raging virago to grab Andre. Gloria swung at them, too, calling them names that would make a sailor blush and smacking them around like punching bags.
“Geez,” Tim whispered in awe. “She’s a berserker.”
Viking warriors notwithstanding, I dragged Tim across the impressive foyer in some idiot hope that I could persuade Andre to move his ass. Gloria was doing such a good job of keeping her guards occupied that he could have sprinted out of there, but it seemed as if the boss was doing the gentlemanly thing and trying to prevent the mad old bat from flying over the railing.
That was some powerful gas. Superpowerdom, my ass. Drop a canister of that in the Mideast and I’d save myself the trouble of blowing up the planet.
Before we could reach the bottom of the stairs, a shot rang out. I froze and jerked my gaze back to the third floor.
Gloria had grabbed a gun from one of the goons and was shooting wildly.
This was seriously not good. Andre had his back to us. I couldn’t see what he meant to do, but he was wisely not tackling her. She was aiming at her own guards because they were wrestling with her, trying to prevent her from knocking them into next week.
The shot was apparently the final straw. One thug swung a blow to her jaw, in some dim hope of putting her out, maybe. Just like Nancy Rose after being bashed in the head with a chair, Gloria didn’t go down. Instead, she backed out of reach, shrieked in fury, flung her arm up in the air, and discharged the weapon. The force of the discharge unbalanced her, and she fell backward . . .