Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (38 page)

“What’s going to happen to Harlan?”

“NYPD has arrested him and charged him with murder, criminal vandalism, arson, aiding and abetting, and pretty much everything else they can think of to keep him locked down. Irlene’s legally of age to be his guardian. I think we can count on her to keep him within the penal system as long as possible. The DA will certainly try to prosecute him as an adult. If they can prove he killed his mother, they might just manage it too. Most likely he’ll go to juvenile hall.” He leaned against the wall. “I think we’ll see him again someday. That frightens me.”

“God, I hope not.” Faith moved to embrace Bobby.

He pulled away.

“I’m disappointed in you, Faith.”

“What?”

He sighed. “I can hear through walls. Nor am I blind. I know what’s going on.” He turned to look at her. His face was a study in pain and dismay. “I can smell him on you.”

Bobby turned and walked away, leaving Faith behind. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. If she’d had anything in her stomach, she’d have thrown it up as a wave of nausea overcame her. She only hoped that somehow, someday, Bobby might forgive her. She promised herself to do whatever it took to regain his trust and love again.

She hoped he would give her that chance.

#

Irlene looked at Harlan with a mixture of sadness and contempt in her eyes. He stared back at her, feeling nothing but revulsion for the bitch unworthy of sharing his genes. He sat at a table in an interrogation room at a police station. A uniformed officer stood watch outside the locked door. Harlan knew others probably sat behind the one-way glass so they could smart off about him.

Someday, they would pay.

“You’ve made a mess of everything, Harlan. I can forgive a lot of things, but not this.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” He yawned. The lengthy day had caught up with him at last and he was ready to sleep and didn’t care whether it was in a cell or on the street. “I just want to sleep.”

“Goddammit, Harlan! Momma is dead! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

He didn’t feel that deserved a reply.

Irlene stormed around the room. He could tell he’d hit her buttons and that gave him a surge of pleasure. She didn’t know how to deal with a brick wall. If he answered, she’d try to play mind games with him.

Harlan could play mind games too.

“I’m taking custody of Reggie. I’ll see to it she’s raised properly, safely, and far away from people like you.”

“She’s my sister too. You can’t change that.”

Irlene raised her head high. “Actually, I can. After I walk out of here, I’m signing a form to make you a ward of the state. You are no longer part of my family, Harlan. From now on, it’s just me and Reggie. You don’t belong with us. I won’t look back.”

Again, Harlan replied with only his silence. Deep inside, he seethed at her. He didn’t care if he ever saw her again, but she was taking away Reggie, for whom he felt something besides distaste and hate. He couldn’t allow that. It might not be something he could change at the moment, but in the future he would take Reggie back. And then he’d take his revenge. He’d take down the team that had ruined his life.

Irlene sighed and went to the door. “Let me out. I’m done here.”

Harlan waited until she was almost out of the room, and then called after her. “In five years at the most I’ll be out. Five years, Irlene. That’s your head start. You and the rest of Just Cause. Mark it on your calendars.”

Irlene didn’t reply to him, and Harlan knew with glee that he’d delivered the worst blow of all.

#

Tommy lay in the post-op recovery room, pumped full of drugs and plasma and who-knows-what. His body hurt all over, centered around a dull ache in his side. He had a vague memory of being shot. He wondered if he still had all his parts more or less intact. He stirred a little and discovered a whole new world of pain that had been waiting for him.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. “Are you awake?”

Tommy struggled to open his eyes. The lights were dimmed. Only one of every three was lit. A grayish blur beside him resolved into John Stone. Tommy tried to smile and discovered that even his lips hurt. “Hey,” he managed.

“If you weren’t lying there fresh out of surgery, I’d kick your ass,” said John. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Hurts to be alive,” mumbled Tommy.

“Well, it would hurt me if you were dead,” said John. “Dammit, Tommy, you’re my best friend. I hate seeing you in pain.” His sigh sounded like steam escaping from a radiator. “I also hate knowing I’m part of the cause.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” John said. He reached out and touched Tommy’s hand, careful not to bruise it with his great stone fingers. “I’m sorry about today, and I’m sorry about your friend.”

Tommy shut his eyes. “Miranda. Her name was Miranda. I saved her life yesterday.”

“You saved mine too, puto.”

That unexpected voice made Tommy open his eyes once more. Javier stood at the foot of his bed. He looked tired but cheerful. A large, colorful bruise decorated one cheekbone. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, and I’m fine, thanks for asking. That asshole kid did something to my armor and then that Fed introduced me to the butt of his pistol.” He held out a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you. Queers are into frilly shit like this, right?”

Tommy smiled. His face hurt all over again, but he didn’t mind it so much. “Yes, we dig the frilly shit.”

Javier set the bouquet on a side table. “Good, because I ain’t going to return them.”

“Thank you, Javi.”

“Hey, only my girlfriends get to call me that,” he said.

John’s fingers tapping gently on his arm made a sound like river ice breaking up.

“All right, I guess you can call me Javi too. Just don’t let it get around, okay? People are going to think I’ve gone all soft and shit.”

“I’m done being soft,” said Tommy. “Tornado died today. From now on, I’ll be Stormcloud.”

“So what, you’re gonna change your name? Change your costume? It don’t change who you are underneath it. You’re still one of the good guys. You’re a hero, you asshole, whether you like it or not.”

“I could say the same about you… asshole.” Tommy managed a ghost of a smile and closed his eyes. He was very tired.

As he drifted back under once more, he heard Javier’s voice say, “I’m glad you’re going to be okay,
amigo
.”

###

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Ian Thomas Healy dabbles in many different genres. He’s a nine-time participant and winner of National Novel Writing Month and is also the creator of the
Writing Better Action Through Cinematic Techniques
workshop, which helps writers to improve their action scenes.

When not writing, which is rare, he enjoys watching hockey, reading comic books (and serious books, too), and living in the great state of Colorado, which he shares with his wife, children, house-pets, and approximately five million other people.

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