A New Day (StrikeForce #1) (18 page)

“I’m heading up there, too.”

“You’re not on my floor,” I said. I tried to remember whether the elevators were to the left of right, and ended up following Caine’s lead. To the right. He hit the “up” button, and we waited.

“No. I’m on nine. You’re supposed to have an escort as often as possible. I figured I’d volunteer before Nightbane did. Unless you wanted to hang out with him?”

I gave a mock shudder, and he laughed.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and he gestured for me to go on. Once we were on, Caine hit the button for nine, and I hit the one for ten.

“Nightbane seems to like you almost as much as he likes me,” I said after the doors closed.

“He’s a prick.”

I laughed. Then I glanced at his neck. “What’s with the jewelry?” I asked.

He took a breath. “Alpha’s not big on trust. And Nightbane would have us all dampened if he could. Insecure little shit.”

“Who else is dampened?”

He gave me a look. “Toxxin. You, me, Toxxin. The rest of them don’t have to wear them.”

“Let me guess. The rest of them are Alpha or Nightbane’s friends.”

“Bingo. They’re also no threat as far as overpowering anybody. I’m strong and fast. Toxxin could cause a hell of a lot of trouble if she decided to. And neither of us is especially happy to be here, but we kind of have to be.”

He looked uncomfortable.

“Are you criminals, too?”

“Not exactly.”

I could tell I wasn’t getting any more details on that, so I filed it away for later. “Well, you seem like a lot less of an asshole than Alpha or Nightbane. So thanks for escorting me.”

“Sure, but you’re wrong.”

“I am?”

“Yep. I’m an asshole. Ask anyone.”

“And you don’t hate Killjoy.” I wanted to know about that. I tried to tell myself I was trying to figure out all the angles, but I kew better. I wanted to know more about the man my mind kept straying to. I couldn’t trust him, but I wanted to. I didn’t like it.

“That seems to be part of my asshole persona,” he said in agreement. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I don’t know any more about Killjoy than they do, but I know what I’ve seen, and what I’ve seen, he’s not the maniac they say he is. Don’t get me wrong: dude’s got a death wish. Charges into situations our team would be running from, which isn’t something I’m proud to admit, by the way. But the reason they hate him is all based on pride, not on what’s actually happening.”

“Is he trying to make StrikeForce look stupid?” I asked.

He grinned again. “Oh, without a doubt.”

I let out a small laugh and shook my head.

“That not believing everything you hear extends to you, too,” he added.

“No, you should totally believe that. I’m a thief, and a villain, and I have absolutely no desire to be here. I hate it.”

“Duly noted. Except that we’ve all read the dossier on you, now that we know who you actually are. Turns out you’re not nearly the villain we thought you were.”

I didn’t want to talk about it.

The elevator dinged again, and the doors opened. “Looking forward to working with you,” Caine said as he stepped off of the elevator.

“Likewise. I’ll see you around.”

He nodded and walked away, and I finished the ride up to my floor.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped off. I was met with the sight of a Jenson overseeing moving men, who were carrying boxes and furniture into my apartment.

“Uh. I said not to do that,” I said.

“Yes. Well. Alpha decided otherwise. Especially since you won’t be returning there.”

My stomach sank.

“Nothing has been touched. Nothing has been taken. We did scan it for weapons of any kind, but you didn’t have any.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Intriguing, for someone so villainous.”

“I am the weapon,” I said.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said with a nod. I went back to watching the movers, hating the helpless feeling inside me. My stuff. My home, and they’d been in it.

Payback was a bitch.

“Well, you move fast,” I said to her, and she nodded.

“Efficiency is my job. And we want you to get settled in as quickly as possible.”

I watched the stream of movers for a few more moments.

“Jarvis says your uniform should be ready within the hour. If it all works out right, you should be able to patrol this evening,” she said.

I didn’t respond. It would be good to actually get to work so I could get working on a plan to get the hell out of there. I should probably also call my mother and tell her what was going on.

The last of the movers left, and then it was just Jenson and me.

“Do you need any help unpacking?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Very well. Just set any empty boxes out in the hallway, and custodial will take them away. Call me if you require assistance.”

“Thanks,” I said. She nodded, then got on the elevator. I stepped into my suite and closed the door behind me. I was met with a wall of identical cardboard boxes, helpfully labeled with the name of the rooms they’d taken them from in my tiny apartment. My furniture was strewn around wherever it would fit, drawers and cabinets sealed with clear cling wrap, I guess to keep the contents inside.

I grabbed two of the boxes labeled “bedroom” and moved them aside, so I could get to the dresser. I started peeling off the cello wrap, and when I finally had it clear, I opened the bottom drawer with my breath held.

I removed the false bottom.

Still there. I felt like I could breathe again. The money was there. I could send it to Mama. Tell her to keep it, pay for her medicine. She might not want it, not when I told her how I came by it all. She would probably be worried that I hadn’t called her the day before. We talked almost every day on the phone, usually just going over our day. Mostly, I made up whatever it was I told her I was doing. I’d expected her to ask for help with things, or to tell me how much she hated having an empty house. Instead, Mama had done what Mama has always done: made the best of it. From what she’d said in a few of our conversations, I got the sense that she was actually thinking about going on a date. That was a huge step for my Mama, and I wondered, somewhat guiltily, if the fact that I’d lived there so long, “helping” her, had kept her from doing so sooner.

I saw that my phone had been placed on the kitchen table, and I went over to it, picked it up and hit my mother’s number. She should be off today, I thought. Friday.

I stared at the number for a while. This so was not a conversation I wanted to have.

I set the phone down. I couldn’t deal with it yet.

I spied a couple more bedroom boxes and carried them into the small room with its view of downtown. An entire wall looked out on the city. I noted that there was a small touchpad on the bedside table, and I picked it up. Controls for raising and lowering window shades, climate control, television controls, lighting. There was also a stereo button. I hit it, and, after a few moments of scrolling, found the 90s rock station. I hit it, turned the volume up, and then got busy unpacking boxes. I bobbed my head to the music.

After my clothes were in my dresser and my sterile bed was made with my bed linens from home, including the blue coverlet I’d had since I was about twelve, it felt a little less sterile. I turned the stereo off when I went into the living room and turned the news on. CNN had been all over the super-powered people thing from the very beginning, and they’d pretty much become the primary source for news about powered people. They had people all over the country, just waiting for a glimpse of super activity. They’d reported on my own heists more than a few times. I half listened as I went through a box of photos and other little decorative crap from my apartment. It was only when I heard “Detroit” that I glanced up.

“Our top story is from Detroit this morning, where StrikeForce officials have confirmed that they have captured the super villain known simply as ‘the burglar.’ The burglar is responsible for dozens of heists over the past four plus years, and most recently worked with the villain known as Virus on a series of bank heists. Reports that Virus was in custody have proven to be false. StrikeForce leader Alpha explained that earlier.”

They went to video of Alpha, standing in front of StrikeForce Command. “It was a ploy to draw our target in, and it worked.”

“Of the two, wouldn’t you consider Virus to be the bigger threat? We know that he’s the ringleader of the super villain team Mayhem. He seems like the more important target—“

“The burglar has more dangerous powers,” Alpha said in an irritated tone.

“But we have no reports of him having injured anyone, when, in fact, three members of Mayhem are accused of assault and possibly murder.”

“Just because we have no reports doesn’t mean something didn’t happen,” Alpha said shortly.

There was a pause.

“Is it true that perhaps you are afraid to go after Mayhem, Alpha?” the reporter asked, and I laughed as Alpha turned and walked back into Command.

The story went on for a few minutes longer, going over my known history, and I was kind of glad that they were still calling me a guy. It went over my partnership with Damian, theories about our split, and, finally, a panel in the studio discussing whether StrikeForce was doing enough against the super villain threats. The consensus seemed to be “no.”

I pondered that for a bit. They had powerful people on this team. Caine. Toxxin. Nightbane. Even Alpha himself wasn’t exactly a lightweight. They should have been able to take down Mayhem without many problems. But, of course, Caine and Toxxin were dampened, and Alpha didn’t especially seem like he liked actually doing any crime fighting.

And then, here I was. I didn’t understand any of it. The best guess I had was that Portia was stubborn about trying to do what StrikeForce was meant to do, but it wasn’t her team, so things didn’t happen the way she wanted. Maybe.

It was like living in a soap opera or something.

There was a light knock at my door, and I got up and opened it. A small woman wearing a work apron and a baseball hat held a package out to me.

“Uniform, Daystar,” she said. “If there are any issues, call for Jarvis.”

I took the package from her, and she walked away.

“Thanks,” I called after her, and then closed the door.

I carried the package into my room and set it on the bed, unwrapping the brown paper. On top was my mask, a full one that covered my entire head, with small mesh areas for the eyes. It would make my eyes impossible to see, but I could still see out. I noted that the mesh was reinforced, some type of thin metal. I set the mask aside, and the next thing was the uniform itself. All one piece, a weird stretchy body armor. It was so stretchable that it didn't even have or need a zipper; I could pull the neckline open wide, and it sprung back to its original shape. It felt like leather, but with the stretch of nylon, maybe. Dark gray and black, with my requested insignia on the chest. Dark gray gloves. At the bottom of the package was a pair of dark gray boots. They were soft and pliable, and looked like they’d go up to just below my knees. The bottoms were well textured, like good running shoes. No stupid spike heels here, I thought with relief. I’d been imagining the worst from every comic book I’d ever read.

I blew out a breath, then pulled off my top and pants. I put a pair of socks on, along with some simple cotton underclothes they’d included in the package, and pulled on the uniform. It was surprisingly comfortable. I could move freely, and, while it was form fitting, I didn't feel exposed. I slid my feet into the boots, then fitted the cowl over my face and head. Finally, I pulled the gloves on and faced the large mirror in the corner my room.

Well. I definitely didn’t look like the girl who robbed houses. There was nothing left of me, when I looked at the person in the mirror. It was like playing dress up. Playing a part, until I figured out something better. Wouldn’t be the first time.

I shook my head and glanced at the bed. There was a tiny black thing I’d missed at the bottom of the package. I picked it up and noted that it was some kind of ear bud. My comm, I realized. I worked it under my cowl and into my right ear.

“Testing,” I said, not knowing if there was something else to do.

“Jenson to Daystar. If you want to speak, lightly press the comm, and it will pick up your voice.”

I pressed my ear. “Hey. Do you hear me?” I said.

“Loud and clear. Do you require any changes to the uniform?” Jenson asked, her voice crystal clear in my ear.

I pressed the comm again. “No, it’s fine.”

“Lovely. Then you are on patrol in precisely twenty-two minutes. Meet with the rest of your squad in the team meeting room on five.”

“Right,” I said, feeling like I was in one of those nightmares where you’re running, but you don’t know from what, and you keep running slower despite knowing that whatever it is you’re running from is catching up… yeah. It was just like that, and for the first time in a long time, I was reminded of what it was to be at the mercy of anyone other than myself. Not that I didn’t cause a fair bit of damage on my own, but at least it was of my own choosing. This? I shook my head, glanced at myself in the mirror again, and then pulled the mask off.

I picked up my phone from where I’d set it on the dresser, and hit Mama’s number.

She answered after the second ring.

“Jolene Marie Faraday! I called you three times last night and this morning after I didn’t hear from you yesterday,” she said in greeting, and I winced. “Are you sick? Do you need me?”

My stomach twisted. I wasn’t the daughter she thought I was.

“Mama, there is something I need to tell you,” I said.

“Okay. What is it? Are you knocked up? Because if you are, you know I’ll help—“

“No! Definitely not that,” I said, though I wished, hilariously, that it was something so run of the mill. “I just… I took this new job, and it’s long hours, and yesterday was my first day and it really tired me out,” I said. Lying was so much easier than telling her everything, and I hated myself a little more for it, even though I also knew it would make her life easier. Happier.