Project Northwoods (36 page)

She stood and walked over to behind the couch. “Don’t worry about it. Although…” She pulled back a lapel and gestured to an embroidered ‘D’ suffering from an aborted removal attempt. “I am worried that you stole this.”

“Dante,” he said spitefully. “It was my father’s.”

“Ah, the elusive Mr. Lovelass.” She pointed to the computer. “I’ve gone so long just thinking of him as Dark Saint that I didn’t realize he was your dad until today.”

“That’s fine. I try to forget he’s my dad most days.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “About that: how did one of the foremost super heroes of the Silver Age end up producing someone so intent on becoming a super villain?”

“A lot of stuff,” Arthur said evenly. He put his hand to his temple. “I wasn’t the most agreeable kid out there, which didn’t sit well with him.” He winced subtly at a memory. “One day at school, some kid was being a dick about my mother and sister. My mom was… dead… at that point. Didn’t feel it was right for him to say anything and I cracked him right in the face.”

The pause afterwards went on longer than Talia had expected. She prodded him. “And?”

“And I got the crap kicked out of me. Dad got called in, and I got kicked out of the house that night.”

“For fighting?” Talia asked, mixed between stunned and skeptical. “A schoolyard brawl is hardly a crime. Push any child enough…”

Arthur threw his hand up to stop her thought. “You’re forgetting I’m the son of Dark Saint, the ‘Mimic of a Thousand Men’.” He looked at her. “His children do not start fights. They only end them.” Then he went back to looking at one of the pictures that faded on the screen, one where Dante smiled alongside Julia.

She pointed at his sister. “Your sibling?”

“Yup. Julia ‘Gunslinger’ Lovelass.” He announced her hero name with an audible sneer.

“You aren’t close, then?” Talia asked, no doubt anticipating the answer.

He thought about the question. “I tried to be. But I went one way, she went the other,” he explained with a touch of sadness. “If it came down to it, I’d do anything she asked. I just don’t think she’d do the same.” Arthur stared angrily at the image on the screen. “Just look at that smug bastard.”

“You shouldn’t talk about him like that,” Talia said softly. “He died Friday night.” She walked around to the front of the sofa.

Arthur fought to not roll his eyes. Instead, he flicked at the top of the sofa cushion. “Good riddance. If someone didn’t beat me to it, I would have tried to kill him.”

Talia sat down, her back against the furniture’s arm, facing Arthur. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“Why not? Because he’s dead?” He let out a gasp of bitter laughter. “Apparently all you have to do is die and then everyone loves you.” His hands went up as though framing a slogan. “‘Death, the ultimate cure-all for low popularity’.” The two sat in silence for a while, Arthur not really noticing that Talia was drumming her fingers impatiently.

“Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” she began, breaking the uneasy silence. “… Do you remember what you said about my father?”

Arthur nodded his head as he thought. “Soviet super hero?”

“That’s it,” Talia said, with a smile.

“Red Hammer was, and will always be, probably the greatest hero Russia will ever know.” Talia started to say something, but he cut her off. “With the exception of your grandmother, that is.”

“Ah, yes, the mysterious Ilyana,” she said with a degree of mistiness in her voice as she imitated his earlier death-slogan hand motion. “Came from Siberia to the people’s cry in World War One, to wrest them from the yoke of the Czar.” She cocked an eye in his direction. “That’s from a poem we were required to memorize.”

“No fooling?” Arthur said, trying not to laugh.

“Not at all.” Talia scratched absently at her hair. “Adored by Lenin, beloved by Trotsky, feared by Stalin…”

“The way she ended up beating his ass, he did well to fear her.” Arthur leaned back, pleased with the new direction the conversation was heading. “History and science were always my strong suits. Even if I always failed the Cold War units because people were required to paint Russia as absolutely vile.”

Talia laughed a little. “Communism, bad!” she grunted with a wave of her hand.

“Pretty much.” He looked at her, smiling a bit. “Whenever there was talk of Russian history, it was always drilled into our heads how wonderful the Czars were, how inhuman Trotsky was, and how the USSR had an armada of super villains waiting to pounce on us at any moment.” He forced himself to look away so as not to be rude. “People tend to forget that one country’s heroes are another’s villains.”

“It’s so refreshing to hear that,” she said, eyeing him curiously. “Even so-called ‘liberals’ deride anyone they don’t agree with.”

Arthur nodded with an arched eyebrow. “Politics. Ya can’t beat it, can you?”

Talia gave a dismissive puff of air. “It’s human nature.” She craned her neck to the side, trying to get a pop that didn’t come. “Do you know who People’s Voice is?”

“He’s the High Consul of the Moscow Super Heroes’ Guild, right?” Arthur asked with a fair degree of certainty.

Talia nodded. “Before the Soviet collapse, he was better known as the villain who killed 358 civilians before being brought down.”

“By your father, right?” Talia nodded. “How is life like this?”

She gave an indignant snort. “All I know is one day my father was alive and discussing the future ahead of us in the awaiting government. And then…” Talia trailed off and looked back toward the kitchen. Arthur didn’t know quite what to say, and was saved by her clearing her throat. “He only killed once.”

“Capital Punishment,” Arthur filled in the blank with a knowing nod. “One of our heroes.”

She puffed again. “It was an accident. No matter what they say.” Talia bit her lip, recalling the details. “He drank constantly when he was forced to retire. And then, with the collapse…” she trailed off again. A tear rolled down her cheek, which she immediately wiped away. “He told me to run when he heard them coming. Seven of them for one man. One drunken man.” She swallowed, hard. “He gave them a fight… but then People’s Voice…”

The pause felt enormous, uncomfortable, and growing. “I’m sorry,” he said.

From the way she spoke, it was clear she was only half there with him in the living room. “They left the house… like they were leaving for a damn smoke break. I went to my father’s body and tried to wake him up…” Talia shook her head at the memory. “Stupid.” Arthur was inclined to disagree, but said nothing. “Then, I smelled his cigarette burning on the floor.” She took a cigarette out of the robe pocket. “No time for my clothes, for my pictures, for anything. They were returning and started talking about waiting for me to come home. So…” Holding it in front of her, she rolled it back and forth between her thumb and index finger. “This… is the only thing I have of my father’s.”

Arthur looked at it like it was an artifact from another era. But something nagged at the back of his brain. “I thought you said you smelled it burning.”

“I did,” she said, placing it back into her pocket.

He didn’t really feel like pressing the issue. Instead, he shifted his weight before changing the topic. “I did a report on your father’s confrontation with Capital Punishment. ‘East versus West or Hero versus Hero?’ was the title.” Arthur placed his hands on his head and nodded at the memory. “Worked for months on the thing. Earned me an ‘F’ for disagreeing with the accepted world view.”

Talia gave a laugh of incredulousness. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Teacher probably feared for his job, lest it get out to the school board a teenager was having ‘troublesome thoughts’ in his class.”

“This was after you were kicked out, right?”

“Yup,” he said. “School was really the only place I could go. I don’t think my mother had any relatives. And my charming father was an only child.” Arthur gestured to an old photograph on the wall of a long-haired, youthful version of himself. Tim stood by his side, trying and failing to look like an angry teenage punk. “That’s where I met Tim. His family took me in. Best bunch of neutrals you’d ever meet.”

“That explains why you’re so defensive of him,” Talia said with a smile.

Arthur looked at her out the side of his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” The smile stayed. “It’s cute.”

“Cute means ignorant, doesn’t it?”

“In a way,” she said. “It’s nice to know you can be so faithful to someone. It’s just not something I’m used to.”

Arthur looked away before clearing his throat. “What about your father?”

Talia was caught off guard. She worked her jaw contemplatively. “He is a good man. And I love him…” Arthur noticed the use of the present tense, an odd choice given her father’s present physical condition of ‘dead’. She shook her head. “But he also taints my perception of how people should be.” She cast a look at him and gave a cockeyed grin. “I can’t forgive him for that.”

Arthur didn’t really grasp what she was trying to say. “He… made your expectations too high?” Talia nodded. “How is that bad?”

“He thought that everyone was good… just misguided.” She looked down and brushed something off the robe. “That kind of mindset is devastating for someone to have shattered on them.” Her eyes flicked upwards and caught Arthur’s. The two looked away, Talia’s gaze darting toward the computer. She sniffed, then gave a nod toward the image on the screen. “Is that Kirsten?”

Arthur checked. Sure enough, dishwater blond Kirsten seemed thoroughly upset on the screen and stared at him with her doe eyes. It didn’t help matters that her skin was, as per usual, over-tanned and a particularly angry shade of red. “Yup. That would be her.”

“You didn’t really hit her with a truck, did you?”

“No.” Arthur shifted, annoyed at the way Kirsten’s photo was eyeballing him. “I want to, but no.”

Talia laughed to herself. “She really does look like a lobster.” Arthur glared at her and squinted. She pointed at the evidence on the screen. “Just telling it like it is.”

“Wish someone had earlier.” His head snapped upward, as though something clicked in his head. “
That’s
why the aquarium has a restraining order.” Talia laughed, which gave him reason to smile. He hefted himself off the couch. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

She followed him into his bedroom. Arthur beelined to his closet and opened the door. Kneeling, he leaned forward and gingerly pulled out a fairly large lock box. He fiddled with the combination and opened it. He set it on the desk and turned on the lamp. A small collection of jewelry lay inside. “You wanted me to see your…” She took and held up an elaborate earring. “Feminine jewelry collection?”

“Well, my ear bucket is being cleaned,” Arthur said coolly. Talia cocked an eyebrow at him. “Kidding. I don’t have an ear bucket.” He paused. “Yet.” He returned his attention to the box. “This stuff was my mother’s.”

Talia sifted through the contents. It was all clean and well-kept, still sparkling despite the low light. She nodded. “She had good taste.”

“I guess,” he agreed half-hartedly. “Apart from the clothes on my back, these and the pictures were all I could really get my hands on before my rat-bastard father had the locks changed.”

“And the robe,” she said.

“Can’t forget the robe,” he acknowledged with a sweeping gesture. “From what I remember, my mom was… amazing.” Smiling, he lifted the false bottom out of the lockbox, taking the jewelry with it. “Over the years, it became apparent that my father never appreciated her… so I made sure to take it.” He nodded to himself. “Whenever Ari or Tim gets on my case about rent… I sell a piece so I can help.” He looked up at Talia when he removed the false bottom completely. “If I had to, I’d sell everything but this.”

Inside, a blood-red, smooth gem the size of a fist rested. The rim was ornate, intricately detailed with tiny golden spikes jutting toward the center. The sight of it made Talia’s heart skip. “Impossible…” she said, reaching for it. Carefully, she ran her fingers along the outside, the smooth surface giving her goose bumps.

“What?”

“My father’s hammer… the one stolen from his body by People’s Voice…” She looked up at him. “It had the same gem in the handle… from my grandmother.”

Arthur couldn’t think of anything to say. “Really?”

An enigmatic smile crossed her face. “It was cracked badly… but otherwise…”

He studied her for a moment. “Try it on,” he said.

Her head snapped toward him in shock. “No.”

“C’mon,” he gently goaded. “It won’t hurt anything.”

“It’s your mother’s, Arthur.”

“And I’m not asking you to keep it.” He took the gem out of the box and unfurled the chain. Arthur presented her with it. “It’ll look good on you.”

Talia took the gem gingerly. From the living room, the sound of the front door squeaking open drew their attention. Pulled by the noise, Tim sped down the hall, past Arthur’s open door. “Ariana?” he called out. “Damn it!”

Arthur and Talia left the room as Tim turned back to them, his fingers on his forehead. James was half out the front door, looking confused and groggy. “I’m just going to stretch my legs…”

“James, I don’t care,” Tim growled, exasperated.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, moving past Talia.

Tim turned toward him. “What’s going…” he started, then stopped. “Do you know what time it is, Art?”

Arthur wasn’t sure if this was a trick question. “Three-ish?”

Tim threw his hands into the air. “Three!” He moved toward Arthur, who instinctively took a step back. “And what’s unusual about that?” Arthur worked his mouth without a sound, before Tim darted forward and whacked him on the head with his palm. “Headcount, douchebag.”

“Ariana’s not back yet,” Talia said, probably without the sense of urgency Tim wanted her to feel.

“Did you try her cell phone?” Arthur asked, hot off the heels of Talia’s statement.

Tim shot him a nasty look. “Oh, thank you for that great idea. I clearly didn’t think of that.”

“Take it easy, Tim,” Arthur said. Quietly, James slipped out of the apartment, a second move in twenty-four hours Arthur wished he had copied. “She’s probably fine.”