Part 5 (1/2)
”What?” Lulu asked in a defensive tone. ”I know how things work down in the South. I've seen Deliverance. ”
I dug a piece of paper out of my purse and scribbled down Henry's work number. ”Give this guy a call. I think you two would really hit it off. You're both computer nerds.”
”I prefer the term information engineer,” Lulu retorted. ”You're worse than my mom trying to fix me up.”
”Just give him a call. Tell him I gave you his number. This guy works with me. He writes a computer column. I'm sure you'll like him.”
And I was sure. The two of them had so much in common. They could talk about data bytes and hard drives for days and days and never come up for air, before getting around to the good stuff like networks and wireless connections and firewalls.
I gave Lulu the paper. The Asian girl reluctantly took it and slid it into her computer bag.
”Thanks for the info, Lulu. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a superhero to stalk.”
KarmaGirl.
6.
I spent most of the next day at the Bigtime Public Library, tracking down every newspaper story, magazine article, and research paper ever written on the Fearless Five. I roamed through the stacks of books, and a strange feeling of deja vu swept over me. The last time I'd done this, I'd been hot on the trail of Tornado, aka Travis Teague. He committed suicide as a result. What would Striker do when I discovered his true ident.i.ty?
I pushed away my guilty thoughts. I wasn't here by choice. Malefica and her vats of radioactive goo were making me do this. But I'd turn the tables on her. I'd track down Striker, then use him to lead me to her. The Fearless Five would take care of the rest. It would all work out right this time. It had to. For the sake of my conscience, heart, and general well-being.
Truth be told, wandering through the library was a pleasant way to pa.s.s the day. It was one of my favorite places in all of Bigtime. The library took up its own square city block in the middle of the downtown district. The stone building housed hundreds of thousands of books, magazines, newspapers, and more. Overstuffed chairs and sofas sat throughout the library's many floors, inviting people to relax and read the day away in some cozy, secluded corner. Floor-to-ceiling gla.s.s windows overlooked an open-air garden that crouched in the center of the library's block.
I made copies of every story I found, no matter how inconsequential or trivial it seemed. Of course, I'd done this same thing when I'd first arrived in town, but I'd thrown most of the papers away after Travis's death. By the time I finished, I had several reams of paper to go through, the Bigtime Public Library was a couple hundred dollars richer, and another thousand acres of the Brazilian rain forest had been decimated. All in a day's work.
I stuffed the papers in a large trash bag and ignored the strange, suspicious looks from the library's older patrons. When everything was sacked away, I checked my e-mail from one of the library's computers. A note from Lulu waited in my inbox.
Delivery and show set for midnight. Address is 1313 Good Intentions Lane. Suggested viewing from top of adjacent building. Doorman/escort expecting you. Code word is Striker. Be careful. L.
I sent back a brief reply. Thanks for the info. See you at the benefit. Carmen.
I logged off. Then, I hoisted the heavy sack of papers over my shoulder like Santa Claus carrying a bag full of Christmas toys and left the library.
Six blocks down the street, I hit a wall of people. Up ahead, flames and smoke boiled out of a high-rise office building. Soot and ash floated like confetti in the breeze. Policemen had the area cordoned off.
They directed traffic down side streets, blew silver whistles, and shouted garbled information at the crowd through bullhorns. Firemen perched on ladders and hosed the building with powerful jets of water, but the liquid streams didn't have any effect on the hungry flames. An explosion roared out. Gla.s.s zipped through the air like shotgun pellets. People screamed and shouted and ducked for cover.
”There go the last of the windows,” an old man said. He sat on a nearby stoop staring at the commotion.
”The fire just started about ten minutes ago, but half the building's already gone.”
His companion, a woman with a tight, white bun and wrinkled face, tapped her chin. ”So who do you think will show this time?”
”I'd put even money on the Fearless Five.”
”Nah,” she replied. ”Swifte works this part of downtown. Besides, he's faster.”
”Care to make a little friendly wager?”
KarmaGirl.
She smiled. ”Of course.”
”I'll take that action,” a college kid with a bulging backpack chimed in.
”Me too.”
”Count me in.”
Other bystanders fished out their wallets. Soon, the stoop had blossomed into a mini-betting parlor, and the man had a stack of cash three inches thick.
I gave the old guy five bucks on the Fearless Five. Who knew? If they showed up, maybe I could just follow them back to their supersecret lair and abandon all my boring research. Yeah right. My karma could never be that good.
I stood there with the rest of the crowd, gawking. A woman darted past one of the policemen.
”My baby! My baby!” the woman screamed, pointing at the burning building.
”Baby?” the old man asked. ”In that big high-rise?”
The old woman nodded. ”Yep. There's a day-care center inside for all the moms who work in the building. Everyone else got out already. I guess the kid got overlooked in the rush.”
A policeman struggled with the woman, trying to shove her back behind the barricade. Suddenly, a multicolored blur zipped by. Swifte stopped. I blinked. One minute he wasn't there, the next he was.
Swifte was a lean man dressed in an iridescent white spandex suit. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. All the colors of the rainbow flashed in his opalesque costume. Swifte claimed he could travel faster than the speed of light. I rather doubted it, but he was quicker than anyone else in Bigtime.
”Told you,” the old woman said, elbowing the man.
Groans and grumbles went up from the losers, including me. Five bucks down the superhero drain.
Swifte zoomed over to the frantic woman and grabbed her hand. ”Have no fear, good lady. I'll save your baby.”
He turned his good side to the Superhero News Network and other TV news cameras set up on the street and let them get some footage before das.h.i.+ng into the building. Seven seconds later, Swifte sped back out, cradling a small infant in his arms. Once he got clear of the blazing building, the superhero slowed down to normal walking speed to make sure the cameras caught every single moment of his daring rescue. Swifte was one of the superheroes who loved the attention. He was never too busy to stop to chat with fans or pose for a photo. He even kept a daily blog on his Web site of his latest victories. He worked the press like a pro.
Swifte handed the tiny tot over to the grateful mother. People cheered and clapped and stomped their feet. Swifte put his hands on his hips, sucked in his chest, and stuck out his chin. Behind him, the building continued to burn. It was the perfect superhero pose.
Superheroes. Always so dramatic.
I trudged home with my heavy cargo and spent the rest of the day sorting through and organizing the papers. The number of articles written about the Fearless Five amazed me, as did the sorts of things published in so-called respectable, scholarly journals. I found stories on everything from the superheroes' powers to their hobbies to their favorite sports teams. A couple of professors with way too much time on their hands had written journal articles about the superheroes' costumes and what the colors signified about each person's inner child. Academics. Sheesh.
Fiera was the most frequently mentioned member of the Fearless Five, and her impressive attributes were the most frequently mentioned thing about her. I flipped through glossy photo after glossy photo of Fiera in all her flaming glory. Long legs, small waist, huge b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a fiery cascade of silken hair, KarmaGirl.
smoldering eyes. She looked like a Barbie doll somebody had poured gasoline on and lit up. She was smokin' hot. Literally. It was no wonder I couldn't get a date to save my life. Every male in Bigtime from fanboys to professional journalists sang Fiera's praises in their stories. Drool practically dripped off the pages. She even had her own pinup calendar, with the proceeds going to a charity to help burn victims. Naturally.
Tornado was second on the most-written-about list, with the articles being of two different sorts-before and after death. Before his death, Tornado had been a whirl-wind of energy and exuberance. Most of the articles dealt with his work with charities for victims of natural disasters and appearances as a guest meteorologist on various weather channels. However, in the last six months the articles almost exclusively dealt with Tornado's real ident.i.ty as Travis Teague and his sudden, unexpected suicide. I stared at a picture of Travis taken a month before his death. He looked straight into the camera, his brown eyes boring into mine. A smile curved his lips. He looked so happy, so carefree. Now, he was dead because of me. A giant fist of guilt squeezed my heart. I put the article aside. I couldn't bear to look at it.
Mr. Sage came in third in the popularity contest. He dispensed wise, moderate advice to the down-and-out and lovelorn in a number of self-help and humor columns in various publications. He also appeared at several events, reading people's futures to raise money for various Bigtime charities.