Hero Types

Chapter 9

He poked her shoulder and she lurched awake. His breath smelled like barbecue sauce. "D'you want to play I-spy?"
She slapped his hand away and curled back up. She yawned, rubbed her eyes, and squinted at the clock.
"Almost there," Lucas said. "Just a few more minutes."
She sat up and stretched up. It was dark outside, and the stars were visible outside of the inner city fog. They were on a highway, headlights racing past. The moon was halfway full.
Jersey yawned and took out his headphones. Kit put her shoes back on.
"What're they trading?"
"Guns."
"Where?"
"Little roadside motel."
"Motel 6?"
"Worse."
They pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a two-story trailer. The balcony was duct-taped in places, and one of the doors was boarded up. Kit started to get out, but Lucas stopped her.
"Hold on."
They waited fifteen minutes. He turned off the engine and, one by one, all the lights went off in the cabin. Blue light leaked softly through Mickey's mechanical throat.
"Cover that up." Lucas tossed him his bag, which he rested his chin on.
Almost all of the lights in the motel were off, except for the ones over by the entrance. A low, black corvette pulled up next to them.  A door opened, and a dark figure descended down the steps, casting furtive glances over the balcony. There was a bag thrown over his shoulder.
A man stepped out of the car, peering over the top of the cab. The bag, apparently heavy, changed hands, as well as a stack of cash. The man stepped back in his car, and the other one hurried away. They waited, heads ducked, till the motel door closed and the car pulled away. Lucas clicked it into gear.
"Where's he going?"
"That," he said, "is what we're going to find out."
He was going to an old airport hanger, abandoned in a field. There were several trucks parked out front, and not a plane in sight. They waited till the man vanished inside to pull into the tall grass and get out.
Kit warmed up her hands. Lucas kept his sword in its sheath. Jersey fixed his coat. Mickey pulled his sweatshirt up, but light still leaked between his metal slats. At least it wasn't too bright.
"Try not to talk if you don't have to," Lucas muttered. They crept along in a crouch, poking their heads out of the grass to spy on the clearing up ahead. "I don't know how many of them there are."
A lot, as it turned out.
The door wasn't electric, and they didn't know how else to get in. Mickey blasted it down.
They ducked behind a truck, he fired, and half the wall collapsed in flames. He winced.
"So much," Lucas sighed, "for being subtle."
Gunfire rained down a second later. Mickey dove for cover and Kit rolled out and threw up her shield. Bullets pounded and flattened into tin bottle caps in the dirt.
"Good, Kit!" Lucas ducked behind her, sword in hand. "Keep doing that!"
Jersey had vanished. Kit saw his shadow creeping along the ground, but she lost track of him when she had to throw herself out of the way of a rocket launcher. A nearby truck combusted.
"I'll distract them," Lucas panted. "You two get in there and knock 'em out."
Mickey glanced at her. "I'll be right behind you."
She put her shield up again, and they tried to skirt around the edges while Lucas ducked and hid and shot small bolts of lightning into the building. A man toppled off the opening in the top story, and his companions looked around confusedly as their guns were wrenched from their hands. She hurried while Jersey had them distracted.
Mickey ducked out from behind her and fired another blast at the ones in the doorway. Another from upstairs regained a weapon and opened fire, and she leapt in front of him just before the bullets hit. She staggered under their force, and they ran the rest of the way.
"Watch it—" She ducked as a grenade soared over their heads. It rolled and exploded far away. Mickey swatted a falling plank out of the way, and as he did so she reflected a flamethrower, effectively blowing her attacker through the side of the building. They listened, and there was no more gunfire. Mickey glanced at her, panting, and grinned.
"Cool."
She sighed.
"Hate to break it to you," he said, "but we make a pretty good team."
    She turned in horror. "No—"
But she didn't have time to argue, because she heard the shot from the stairs and she threw up her hands. "Look out!"
She was losing energy fast. Her shield was smaller. Mickey had to duck behind her. The golden edges flickered, and the color was thin. Her knees shook and she stumbled back. He caught her around the stomach, but her shield flickered, and in a moment of panic her heart stopped and she raised her head and—
The man toppled forward. His gun skidded across the ground. He started to get up, and Jersey materialized on top of him. He kept his foot grounded between his shoulder blades.
"You guys okay?"
"Dandy," Mickey called over her shoulder. She pushed on his arm.
"Let go of me."
He released her. She fell on her butt. He giggled and she blew her hair out of her eyes to glare at him.
"After all that," he chortled, "and your grace just abandons you." But he gave her his hand, and though she grimaced, she took it.
"Great job everybody!" Lucas sauntered in, hair blowing in a nonexistent wind, sword still rippling with sparks. He looked around the smoking hanger. "Excellent. Fatalities..." A man stirred in the corner. "Good, good. I'll call the police, if you want to head back to the car."
Three hours out, ten minutes of fighting, and three hours back.
Again: superhero work was mostly just a whole lot of waiting.
Kit's sweatshirt smelled singed on the way back. Or maybe it was just Lucas. He brushed her forearm, and she got a little shock of static electricity.
After blowing up a hangar and throwing a dozen armed dealers into the air, they quickly fell back into the same sleepy state with which they had driven out. Or, she tried to.
She'd close her eyes and lean back, and she'd just start to empty her mind, when Mickey would lean across and mutter something obnoxious in her ear, like, "Is that mask uncomfortable?" or "Mind putting your shoes back on, you're stinking up the whole car thanks."
She would grumble and pull her hood over her ears and try to go back to sleep. He wasn't so bad when he wasn't talking. She didn't understand why he needed to keep talking.
But there he was again. He tugged at her hood. "You really should wash your feet every now and then, I hear it's good for you."
"Leave me alone!" she snapped, pushing on his head. He sat back, giggling again. She had a water bottle and she wanted to throw it at him. But Lucas was shooting her warning glances, and she didn't want to face the embarrassment of being reprimanded.
But he did leave her alone.
They got back to the CAA at almost ten. Lucas said he'd drive her home, so she waited while the others got out.
"Do you need me tomorrow?" Jersey asked, grabbing his bag.
"No, but Wednesday, probably, if nothing else comes up."
"Weasel?"
"The Weasel."
Mickey had opened his door, but had been waiting for Jersey to leave. Now he nodded to Lucas and raised an eyebrow at Kit. "I'll be seeing you, then?"
She glared. He grinned.
"Right. Take care." He slid out and shut the door, but as they were pulling away he ran back over and rapped on the window till Lucas put it down. "Kit—wash your bloody feet."
"Go away!" she yelled, and she heard him cackling as they drove off. She slumped in her seat and glared out the window. Lucas had said nothing, so now she turned to him for help. "Please, replace him. I don't want to work with him anymore, I can't do it."
Lucas said nothing, but his mouth was twisted, which always meant he was thinking. They turned a corner past a department store lit up already for the holidays. It looked like it might rain again.
"You know he's flirting with you, right?"
She accidentally smacked her hand on the safety bar. "What?"
"Mickey. He's doing it on purpose. He just likes you."
    She gave him a look. "Ew. Don't joke about that."
"Really."
She rested her head against the window and considered this. She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so."
Lucas shook his head, but his eyes remained glued to the road. There was a muscle flexing in his jaw. "He's pushing your buttons. He wants to get a reaction out of you."
She brought her knees up to her chest, unsure of how to face this. She didn't believe him. Lucas could be a little paranoid. Mickey acted like a little shit around everyone.
"So just ignore it," Lucas advised. "He'll lose interest."
She looked over. "Or you could just stop making me work with him?"
"No." He grimaced. She thought he looked borderline pissed, and she wasn't sure how to interpret that. "Not with Mardie...we need someone to get us in and out of tight spots, and to fire another gun."
"Mardie can still fire a gun," she muttered.
"Mardie's...Mardie's recovering. She'll be back. In a bit, she's just taking a break."
Kit couldn't figure out whom Lucas was trying to reassure.