Local Hero (2 page)

“Wallace?”

“Dempsey.”

“Shoot.”

Wallace, Mitch thought as the kid shifted from foot to foot. Wallace was taking over the Henley apartment, 604. He rubbed a hand over his chin and considered. If Wallace was that leggy brunette he'd seen hauling in boxes that morning, it might be worth investigating.

“I know the Wallaces,” he said, and pulled crumpled bills out of his pocket. “I'll take it on up to them.”

“I don't know. I shouldn't—”

“Worry about a thing,” Mitch finished, and added another bill. Pizza and the new neighbor might be just the distraction he needed.

The boy counted his tip. “Okay, thanks.” For all he knew, the Wallaces wouldn't be half as generous.

With the box balanced in his hand, Mitch started out. Then he remembered his keys. He took a moment to search through his worn jeans before he remembered he'd tossed them at the gateleg table when he'd come in the night before. He found them under it, stuck them in one pocket, found the hole in it and stuck them in the other. He hoped the pizza had some pepperoni.

“That should be the pizza,” Hester announced, but caught Radley before he could dash to the door. “Let me open it. Remember the rules?”

“Don't open the door unless you know who it is,” Radley recited, rolling his eyes behind his mother's back.

Hester put a hand on the knob but checked the peephole. She frowned a little at the face. She'd have sworn the man was looking straight back at her with amused and very clear blue eyes. His hair was dark and shaggy, as if it hadn't seen a barber or a comb in a little too long. But the face was fascinating, lean and bony and unshaven.

“Mom, are you going to open it?”

“What?” Hester stepped back when she realized she'd been staring at the delivery boy for a good deal longer than necessary.

“I'm starving,” Radley reminded her.

“Sorry.” Hester opened the door and discovered the fascinating face went with a long, athletic body. And bare feet.

“Did you order pizza?”

“Yes.” But it was snowing outside. What was he doing barefoot?

“Good.” Before Hester realized his intention, Mitch strolled inside.

“I'll take that,” Hester said quickly. “Take this into the kitchen, Radley.” She shielded her son with her body and wondered if she'd need a weapon.

“Nice place.” Mitch looked casually around at crates and open boxes.

“I'll get your money.”

“It's on the house.” Mitch smiled at her. Hester wondered if the self-defense course she'd taken two years before would come back to her.

“Radley, take that into the kitchen while I pay the delivery man.”

“Neighbor,” Mitch corrected. “I'm in 406—you know, two floors down. The pizza got delivered to my place by mistake.”

“I see.” But for some reason it didn't make her any less nervous. “I'm sorry for the trouble.” Hester reached for her purse.

“I took care of it.” He wasn't sure whether she looked more likely to lunge or to flee, but he'd been right about her being worth investigating. She was a tall one, he thought, model height, with that same kind of understated body. Her rich, warm brown hair was pulled back from a diamond-shaped face dominated by big gray eyes and a mouth just one size too large.

“Why don't you consider the pizza my version of the welcoming committee?”

“That's really very kind, but I couldn't—”

“Refuse such a neighborly offer?”

Because she was a bit too cool and reserved for his taste, Mitch looked past her to the boy. “Hi, I'm Mitch.” This time his smile was answered.

“I'm Rad. We just moved in.”

“So I see. From out of town?”

“Uh-uh. We just changed apartments because Mom got a new job and the other was too small. I can see the park from my window.”

“Me, too.”

“Excuse me, Mr.—?”

“It's Mitch,” he repeated with a glance at Hester.

“Yes, well, it's very kind of you to bring this up.” As well as being very odd, she thought. “But I don't want to impose on your time.”

“You can have a piece,” Radley invited. “We never finish it all.”

“Rad, I'm sure Mr.—Mitch has things to do.”

“Not a thing.” He knew his manners, had been taught them painstakingly. Another time, he might even have put them to use and bowed out, but something about the woman's reserve and the child's warmth made him obstinate. “Got a beer?”

“No, I'm sorry, I—”

“We've got soda,” Radley piped up. “Mom lets me have one sometimes.” There was nothing Radley liked more than company. He gave Mitch a totally ingenuous smile. “Want to see the kitchen?”

“Love to.” With something close to a smirk for Hester, Mitch followed the boy.

She stood in the center of the room for a moment, hands on her hips, unsure whether to be exasperated or furious. The last thing she wanted after a day of lugging boxes was company. Especially a stranger's. The only thing to do now was to give him a piece of the damn pizza and blot out her obligation to him.

“We've got a garbage disposal. It makes great noises.”

“I bet.” Obligingly Mitch leaned over the sink while Radley flipped the switch.

“Rad, don't run that with nothing in it. As you can see, we're a bit disorganized yet.” Hester went to the freshly lined cupboard for plates.

“I've been here for five years, and I'm still disorganized.”

“We're going to get a kitten.” Radley climbed up on a stool, then reached for the napkins his mother had already put in one of her little wicker baskets. “The other place wouldn't allow pets, but we can have one here, can't we, Mom?”

“As soon as we're settled, Rad. Diet or regular?” she asked Mitch.

“Regular's fine. Looks like you've gotten a lot accomplished in one day.” The kitchen was neat as a pin. A thriving asparagus fern hung in a macrame holder in the single window. She had less space than he did, which he thought was too bad. She would probably make better use of the kitchen than he. He took another glance around before settling at the counter. Stuck to the refrigerator was a large crayon drawing of a spaceship. “You do that?” Mitch asked Rad.

“Yeah.” He picked up the pizza his mother had set on his plate and bit in eagerly—peanut butter and jelly long since forgotten.

“It's good.”

“It's supposed to be the
Second Millennium
, that's Commander Zark's ship.”

“I know.” Mitch took a healthy bite of his own slice. “You did a good job.”

As he plowed through his pizza, Radley took it for granted that Mitch would recognize Zark's name and mode of transportation. As far as he was concerned, everybody did. “I've been trying to do the
Defiance
, Leilah's ship, but it's harder. Anyway, I think Commander Zark might blow it up in the next issue.”

“Think so?” Mitch gave Hester an easy smile as she joined them at the counter.

“I don't know, he's in a pretty tough spot right now.”

“He'll get out okay.”

“Do you read comic books?” Hester asked. It wasn't until she sat down that she noticed how large his hands were. He might have been dressed with disregard, but his hands were clean and had the look of easy competence.

“All the time.”

“I've got the biggest collection of all my friends. Mom got me the very first issue with Commander Zark in it for Christmas. It's ten years old. He was only a captain then. Want to see?”

The boy was a gem, Mitch thought, sweet, bright and unaffected. He'd have to reserve judgment on the mother. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Before Hester could tell him to finish his dinner, Radley was off and running. She sat in silence a moment, wondering what sort of man actually read comic books. Oh, she paged through them from time to time to keep a handle on what her son was consuming, but to actually read them? An adult?

“Terrific kid.”

“Yes, he is. It's nice of you to . . . listen to him talk about his comics.”

“Comics are my life,” Mitch said, straight-faced.

Her reserve broke down long enough for her to stare at him. Clearing her throat, Hester went back to her meal. “I see.”

Mitch put his tongue in his cheek. She was some piece of work, all right, he decided. First meeting or not, he saw no reason to resist egging her on. “I take it you don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Read comic books.”

“No, I, ah, don't have a lot of time for light reading.” She rolled her eyes, unaware that that was where Radley had picked up the habit. “Would you like another piece?”

“Yeah.” He helped himself before she could serve him. “You ought to take some time, you know. Comics can be very educational. What's the new job?”

“Oh, I'm in banking. I'm the loan officer for National Trust.”

Mitch gave an appreciative whistle. “Big job for someone your age.”

Hester stiffened automatically. “I've been in banking since I was sixteen.”

Touchy, too, he mused as he licked sauce from his thumb. “That was supposed to be a compliment. I have a feeling you don't take them well.” Tough lady, he decided, then thought perhaps she'd had to be. There was no ring on her finger, not even the faintest white mark to show there had been one recently. “I've done some business with banks myself. You know, deposits, withdrawals, returned checks.”

She shifted uncomfortably, wondering what was taking Radley so long. There was something unnerving about being alone with this man. Though she had always felt comfortable with eye contact, she was having a difficult time with Mitch. He never looked away for very long.

“I didn't mean to be abrupt.”

“No, I don't suppose you did. If I wanted a loan at National Trust, who would I ask for?”

“Mrs. Wallace.”

Definitely a tough one. “Mrs. is your first name?”

“Hester,” she said, not understanding why she resented giving him that much.

“Hester, then.” Mitch offered a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her lips curved a bit. It was a cautious smile, Mitch thought, but better than none at all. “I'm sorry if I've been rude, but it's been a long day. A long week, really.”

“I hate moving.” He waited until she'd unbent enough to put her hand in his. Hers was cool and as slender as the rest of her. “Got anyone to help you?”

“No.” She removed her hand, because his was as overwhelming as it looked. “We're doing fine.”

“I can see that.”
No Help Wanted
. The sign was up and posted in big letters. He'd known a few women like her, so fiercely independent, so suspicious of men in general that they had not only a defensive shield but an arsenal of poisonous darts behind it. A sensible man gave them a wide berth. Too bad, because she was a looker, and the kid was definitely a kick.

“I forgot where I'd packed it.” Radley came back in, flushed with the effort. “It's a classic, the dealer even told Mom.”

He'd also charged her an arm and a leg for it, Hester thought. But it had meant more to Radley than any of his other presents.

“Mint condition, too.” Mitch turned the first page with the care of a jeweler cutting a diamond.

“I always make sure my hands are clean before I read it.”

“Good idea.” It was amazing that after all this time the pride would still be there. An enormous feeling it was, too, a huge burst of satisfaction.

It was there on the first page. Story and drawings by Mitch Dempsey. Commander Zark was his baby, and in ten years they'd become very close friends.

“It's a great story. It really explains why Commander Zark devoted his life to defending the universe against evil and corruption.”

“Because his family had been wiped out by the evil Red Arrow in his search for power.”

“Yeah.” Radley's face lit up. “But he got even with Red Arrow.”

“In issue 73.”

Hester put her chin in her hand and stared at the two of them. The man was serious, she realized, not just humoring the child. He was as obsessed by comic books as her nine-year-old son.

Strange, he looked fairly normal; he even spoke well. In fact, sitting next to him had been uncomfortable largely because he was so blatantly masculine, with that tough body, angular face and large hands. Hester shook off her thoughts quickly. She certainly didn't want to lean in that direction toward a neighbor, particularly not one whose mental level seemed to have gotten stuck in adolescence.

Mitch turned a couple of pages. His drawing had improved over a decade. It helped to remind himself of that. But he'd managed to maintain the same purity, the same straightforward images that had come to him ten years ago when he'd been struggling unhappily in commercial art.

“Is he your favorite?” Mitch pointed a blunt fingertip toward a drawing of Zark.

“Oh, sure. I like Three Faces, and the Black Diamond's pretty neat, but Commander Zark's my favorite.”

“Mine, too.” Mitch ruffled the boy's hair. He hadn't realized when he'd delivered a pizza that he would find the inspiration he'd been struggling for all afternoon.

“You can read this sometime. I'd lend it to you, but—”

“I understand.” He closed the book carefully and handed it back. “You can't lend out a collector's item.”

“I'd better put it away.”

“Before you know it, you and Rad will be trading issues.” Hester stood up to clear the plates.

“That amuses the hell out of you, doesn't it?”

His tone had her glancing over quickly. There wasn't precisely an edge to it, and his eyes were still clear and mild, but . . . something warned her to take care.

“I didn't mean to insult you. I just find it unusual for a grown man to read comic books as a habit.” She stacked the plates in the dishwasher. “I've always thought it was something boys grew out of at a certain age, but I suppose one could consider it, what, a hobby?”