The Charade checked her watch in a darkened apartment. It was 1:42 AM. She sat with her legs crossed on the edge of a bed, the end of her trench coat tucked to one side. She bunched up the fabric and took deep breaths that swirled around in her white bauta mask. The door to the living room opened. She heard a sigh from the doorway. Pittsburgh Councilor William Kohl was arriving home. The Charade put her hair up in a ponytail with curly bangs cascading down her mask. She stood in the doorway of the lavish, yet empty living room and watched the councilor. He pulled a Miller High Life out of the fridge. He was skinny, mid-fifties. The light from the fridge cast a shine off his balding head. His designer suit was disheveled. He poured a day-old pot of coffee down the drain before going to the recliner and turning on the TV. He placed a briefcase down beside him.
“Awfully late to be coming home, eh, councilor?” She said.
Kohl let out a gasp. “Look,” he said “I’ve had a very long day. So whatever you want, just take it and please leave.”
“Ah, yes.” The Charade replied. “A very long day of serving the public, right Bill? But, more to the point. I’m not here to steal anything. However, I do want something from you.” She went over to the briefcase Kohl set down. She opened it to find a few stacks of hundred dollar bills. Kohl got up from his chair and started towards her.
“Hey!” He shouted. “Don’t touch that.”
“$25,000? How does a public servant come into that much?” She closed the briefcase and stood up, pulling something from her coat’s breast pocket. “I think I can answer that.” The Charade handed Cole a stack of photos printed on copy paper. He flipped through them. They showed what he had been doing that night. Selling a trunk full of guns to an eccentric, glowing guy. A full crate of rifles and ammunition from the police armory. “Being a city councilor can get you an awful lot of firepower. A perk I was unaware of. The Neon Man, friend of yours?” The last photo showed Kohl shaking hands with said Neon Man. His fluorescent tattoos sent a pattern of bright green and orange all around his body. From the zoomed in pictures, the tattoos glowed vaguely from beneath his thin, white shirt. “Nobody knows who he is, but the police and Siren and Cobalt know that he’s heavily involved in providing weapons to Pittsburgh’s gangs. It would be unfortunate if your constituents were to see these photos. Hell, maybe even your lobbyists would quit on you.”
Defeated, the city councilor walked back over to his chair, sipping on the now almost empty beer. “Alright, I’ll bite.” He plopped down and reclined his chair as far as it could go. “What do you want?”
“You’re putting a bill through that would quietly give massive tax cuts to new housing developments.” She leaned down and pierced through his being with her stare. “Kill the bill. And anything else that would hurt the people you actually work for, the citizens of Pittsburgh. Do that, and these pictures will never see the light of day. It’ll be our little secret.”
Kohl rubbed his hand across his face and pinched at his eyes before finishing his beer. “Fine. Please, just leave.”
The Charade stood up, arms outstretched in celebration. “Ah! We have a deal then.” Quickly, the vigilante swooped down and picked up the briefcase from the floor. “I will be taking this, though.”
“But I thought you said you didn’t want to steal anything.”
“I need to keep something as leverage.” Before leaving the apartment, she turned around and talked over her shoulder. “Word of advice, stop selling guns to weirdos in parking garages. Have a good night, councilor.” She slammed the door, leaving a remorseful, if slightly buzzed councilman in the lavish apartment. The Charade took the elevator down to the street and began the rest of her evening as planned.
She walked up a couple blocks and turned onto Penn Avenue, a bustling street lit up with neon signs and the red of taillights. Traffic cones lined a good portion of the street. A few passersby gave her strange looks. She was still wearing her mask, after all. Most quickly everted their eyes as soon as they made contact with hers. She saw one man, early twenties, wearing a shirt with Siren’s insignia on it.
After a few blocks, she saw a chain-link fence along a massive section of the city. It surrounded a concrete foundation covered with various amounts of debris. This used to be the David Lawrence Convention Center. The teams had cleared off most of the rubble, but the plan was to just keep the area blocked off until the city had something to do with it. The Charade looked down at her watch. It was 2 o’clock exactly. She took a deep breath and stood before the scene of the carnage, providing her own moment of silence among the busy noise of downtown. She took a few slow steps to her right before picking up the pace, keeping a steady speed-walk for about ten blocks. It was during a much needed breath that she heard a commotion coming from a dimly lit parking lot across the street. She crossed to listen more closely to the sound of one man yelling at another. It only took her a few moments to realize there was no one there. The sound of the two men was coming from behind a dumpster at the end of the lot. It was a bluetooth speaker in the shape of the USS Enterprise. She threw her briefcase in the dumpster and turned around. “You know, you really have to get better at sneaking up on people.”
Before the Charade finished her sentence, Siren, Pittsburgh’s resident superhero, walked out from the shadows. Her purple cape swayed back and forth as she went to meet her contemporary. “You’re the only person that’s ever told me that.” Siren said, arms crossed. “So, you’re stealing briefcases from city councilors now?” The yellow-clad crimefighter opened the dumpster and looked inside, only to close it. She leaped up onto the dumpster and sat down, her purple boots dangling off the end of it. “What’s in it? The annual budget?”
“It’s $25,000. Kohl is selling guns to the Neon Man.” The Charade said in her usual, cold tone. “Using fake police IDs and-”
Siren put up a hand. “I know, I was joking.”
“Where’s Cobalt?” The Charade turned around and walked towards her inspiration.
“He’s patrolling in Oakland. Pretty quiet with all the Pitt kids gone, but we like to remind people we’re around.”
“How’s your back?”
“Still hurts a bit, but only when I think about it.”
“How’s the King of Hearts case coming along? Are you going to testify?”
“It’s gonna be a while before the whole thing even gets to a courtroom, but even if I wanted to testify, I’m not sure I could without outing my identity to the entire world. Cobalt and I will be providing the footage our masks took during the whole ordeal, though. That should be enough to put him away for a long while. Could I get to the real reason I’m here?”
“Go ahead. Just making small talk. Told it’s something people do.”
“That it is. I found out what your ‘sources’ were for the convention center bombs. You put Walter Jefferson in the hospital. He got wheeled in barely conscious with glass and chemicals all over his body. He could’ve died.”
“He deserved it. He makes bombs for a living. His dry cleaning is shoddy.”
“Not the point.” Siren jumped down from the dumpster and faced Charade directly. “If I’m going to trust you, I’m going to need to know that you’re willing to follow some guidelines.”
“Such as?”
“Do no harm unless you absolutely have to. We don’t rule through intimidation.”
“Being intimidating is all I have going for me.”
“That is not true. As far as I’m aware, you’re the only one to find out my identity through their own volition. You broke into Turing’s system. You’re clearly brilliant.”
“You’re right. I’m smart, but I’m also strong. I don’t see anything wrong with using that to my advantage.”
“You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with it, but you can’t just deal out damage whenever you feel like it, you have to have a strategy. Use your brain and your brawn.”
“Could you teach me? I’ve taken a few boxing classes. I lift weights. But I want to be at your level.”
Siren chuckled. “Alright, then hit me.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. Gimme the best you got.” Siren stood there with her arms crossed patiently. The Charade swung as hard as she could, only to be taken off her feet when Siren grabbed the oncoming fist with her left hand. Her right came up to strike the Charade in the face with an open palm, stopping only inches before her chin. “You see what I did? I took the force you put into your strike and I used it against you. Now you’re off your feet and I have the upper hand.” Siren let go of her. The Charade dusted off her jacket and rubbed her wrist. “Never strike first. And when you do, focus on where it’s going, not how much force you’re putting into it.” Siren walked away, pulling out her grapple gun. She shot it at the roof of the building next to them.
“Is that it?” The Charade asked. “Any other lessons?”
“Turn your hips, follow through, keep your distance. If you need any more lessons than that, maybe you should think about what you’re doing a little more.” The purple crime-fighter zipped up into the skyline. The Charade’s eyebrows turned up thoughtfully before she walked away. She went down the darkest alleys she could find.
————————————————
Cobalt skipped through the rooftops of Squirrel Hill at 3:07 AM. He was clad in a different costume. The blue was darker with pouches along the straps of his quiver. Dante Knowles’ blood never really washed out of the old one. Nobody would notice, but he did. He was taking a leisurely pace, admiring the usual city sights. A nail salon here, a hairdresser there, a Korean place he’s been meaning to try for years, but might next week. He was coming up on the Yorba Public Library. He could hear music playing from the basement. It was faint, but it was there. The Beatles. “All Together Now” from the Yellow Submarine. He zipped down to the basement door. He put his hand on it and waited. The archer burst in at the last “Look at me!”, screaming along. Siren was sitting at Turing’s battlestation, typing and clicking away. Occasionally, she would free her hand to pet Crystal. The heroine’s mask was down. Liz Moto’s black hair had been cut to a light bob. She didn’t even turn to face her partner.
“Hello to you, too.” She said dryly.
“Really deadpan. Nice work.” He closed the door before taking down his goggles and bandana. Eric Petersen smiled his dumb smile. He walked over and gave Liz a kiss on the cheek. “In a Beatles mood tonight?” Liz smiled and watched him walk away, taking the arrows out of his quiver.
“Sometimes you have to appreciate the simple things. How was your patrol?”
“It was quiet, only came across some dudes trying to break into an empty house. Guess they thought it was good sport.” He deposited the arrows and arrowheads into a few large trash cans and a tacklebox respectively. Everything at his station was blue and black. “Broke a few arrows, though. Sucks when you’re a superhero making a public servant’s salary.”
“You read my mind. I was just thinking, when will we be privatized?”
“Well, you don’t wanna work in the private sector. They expect results. How was your night? Any major status quo changers?”
“Not really.” Liz brought up a series of security videos, quickly scanning through each of them. “Ran into our old friend Charade.”
“Did you see her at the drugstore or something?”
“Not exactly, she was blackmailing Councilor Kohl.”
“Fuckin’ A.” A silence fell between the two as Liz glared at Eric. “I mean… fuckin’ nay? Have any leads as to who she is yet?” He walked up behind her, glancing at each monitor.
“At first I thought it was Kohl’s daughter, Kate. It would make sense. She’s capable enough. Top of the honor roll. She’s vandalized a few things, so I know she’s not opposed to breaking the law. Plus, who else would have access to his apartment? But look at this.” Liz pointed to the bottom left monitor. On it was a video of the Charade walking down the hallway at River Vue Apartments, picking a lock, and walking in. “She broke into his apartment. And she didn’t come from Kate’s mother’s house. I staked Kate out. She fell asleep a half hour before our friend here got in.”
“Well, there goes that train. Unless she’s doing a Mystery of the Batwoman.”
“As far as I’m aware, the day to day operations of the Charade are a little few to be distributed among multiple people. No, I think this is one person. One very skilled person.”
Eric took his gloves off and hung them up in their secret closet. “Any other leads as to who that person is?” He slowly put the rest of his costume up before changing into his civvies.
“I have a hunch or two.” Siren brought up Katie Kohl’s high school yearbook. She was scanning through the G’s. “Maybe more.”
————————————————
The Charade paced quickly up the hallway of her apartment building at 3:24 AM. She frantically unlocked her door, breathing heavily and slamming it shut as she walked inside. She took off her mask and wig to reveal a walnut complexion and bright red, wavy hair. It was Izzy Guevara-Robinson. Her eyes bounced across the living room. She put her mask in her coat and quietly bolted to her bedroom. The walls were covered in xeroxed show flyers, stickers, and random doodlings. There was a desk in the corner with a slightly older desktop and an X-Acto knife matt. In the corner were plushies and Funko Pop!’s of various characters. She locked the door and took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. She reached under the bed and pulled out a small leather suitcase. Izzy methodically took off her costume and put it into the case, covering it with a beach towel. She closed the case and put it back under the bed. Then, after a long moment of silence, she walked over to her laundry basket. The Germs hoodie she pulled out was about two sizes two big. She put it on, sat on her bed, and rocked slowly back and forth.
“It’sokayIt’sokayIt’sokay.” She whispered to herself. Her fingers dug into the sleeves of the hoodie, bunching up as she rubbed her fingers together. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She chanted it softly until she fell asleep.
————————————————
The next morning, Detective Dani Guevara and her daughter Izzy went to mass. Dani was wearing her most church appropriate work suit. Izzy wore a plain black shirt with a red flannel. Izzy stood up and sat down when she was told to, looking at the people around her whenever she got the chance. She held a pen in her hand, quietly taking it apart and putting it back together again. She wasn’t even looking at it, but it she never made a mistake. She didn’t listen for the entire hour. Dani talked to a few friends outside the church afterwards. Izzy stood next to her and looked at the ground until they started walking back to their apartment. The teenager had her headphones in. She played the Minutemen through a walkman in her hand. Her mother tapped her shoulder. She was holding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
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“Mind if I smoke?” Dani asked.
“It doesn’t violate our deal.” Izzy said. Her vision started to wander. “We are outside.”
“My thoughts exactly.” The detective lit one up, making sure to exhale away from her daughter. “Something bothering you, bud?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Izzy paused. “Not with you anyway.” Dani stopped dead in her tracks. A look of disbelief on her face quickly turned to anger.
“What did you just say?!” She yelled. Izzy took a step back. Dani took a drag off her cigarette and a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. If you don’t want to tell me, you can tell Dr. Garner about it, okay?”
Izzy nodded, “Okay.”
“Do you think you could tell me in, like, a vague way?”
Izzy perked her eyebrows up and paused. “I don’t think so.”
“Alright.” They kept walking. Before Izzy could put her headphones back in, Dani broke the silence by bumping their hips together. “What do you want for lunch, girl?”
“Um, could we get pizza?”
“Sure! I think there’s a place around here.” They walked a few blocks, took a left, and came into a hole in the wall pizza joint with about two tables and a booth. Izzy ordered two slices of plain cheese. Her mother got one slice, sausage and green pepper. The place was covered wall to wall in red checkerboard tiles. It was right next to a Megan’s Coffee. Big chain on the East Coast. Dani loved to complain about them. She did for about fifteen minutes at this particular visit. How their CEO is a trust fund girl. How their decor is snobby and pretentious. She talked for five minutes about how their beans are overroasted and cheap before Izzy spoke up.
She asked, “Have you heard from Siren and Cobalt recently?”
“Yeah, Big Bird met up with me a few nights ago.” Dani replied “Talking about this new name, Masquerade. Connected to a case from a few months back. I guess the freaks really are flooding in.”
“Do you think that Siren and Cobalt are freaks?”
“Wow. I don’t really know how to answer that. What they do isn’t normal. Especially since they haven’t been hit by cosmic rays or shoot lightning from their hands. But I think their intentions are good.”
“But what they do is against the law. That’s not right. Why should they meddle in other people’s business? They don’t answer to anybody.”
“Listen, I just think that if you see that something’s wrong, you should do everything in your power to fix it. Even if it means bending the rules. Lord knows I wouldn’t still be working in the police department if they hadn’t shown up. Sometimes the law is unjust, and enforcing it feels unjust. Siren and Cobalt make it so that my job seems like it has even a little bit of purpose, so no. They’re not freaks.” Dani took a sip from her soda, turning a brow. “And anybody that associates with them isn’t a freak either.” Izzy stared into the middle distance for a second. “Do you understand?”
Izzy smiled and nodded. They finished their pizza and walked back to their apartment. On the way, Dani smoked another cigarette. Izzy listened to the rest of her tape. Bad Religion’s Nothing to Dismay faded out as they arrived back to their apartment. The tape ended with her father’s voice: “Izzy, I just wanted to let you know I love you.--”
Izzy pulled her headphones out. Dani’s cell phone rang. “I gotta go.” she said. “Somebody stole a body from the morgue.”
“Who would need a body from the morgue?” Izzy asked. “What purpose would it serve?”
“Go look up some statistics and tell me when I get home.”
“When do you think you’ll get home?”
“Lateish. But not too late. ‘Cause God knows I’m not working a double on a fucking Sunday.” Dani walked out, ducking her head back in. “Sorry for swearing. Love you. See you tonight.”
“Wait!” Izzy yelped abruptly. “Can I ask you something?”
“What’s up?”
“Can I go to a show tonight?”
“What show? Where?”
“Apes of the State at the Mr. Roboto Project.”
“Can you bring me home some Spak?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Alright, you go have fun.” Dani pointed a finger at her daughter. “Meatball calzone. Love you.” With that, she finally closed the door. Izzy listened for her mother’s footsteps to fade out into the distance. She could hear Dani start her car and drive off. When there was nothing in earshot, she walked into her room and pulled out her Charade case. She took out only the mask, the wig, and the gloves. She pulled some clothes out of a large cardboard box in her closet. A salmon, short sleeve button up and some skinny cut, black slacks. She put on the wig, then the gloves, then the mask. Izzy Guevara-Robinson took a deep breath. The Charade exhaled.
The young vigilante grabbed a small backpack at the end of the room and left the apartment. She started on her usual patrol route. That is to say, she went through the same neighborhood, across the same streets, but was particularly careful to spend as much time in alleyways as possible. Though she kept a watchful eye on the crowded streets, she didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. Then she came across two men in fluorescent landscaping uniforms selling another man an assault rifle. They were standing by a pickup truck in the middle of an alley. The Charade just happened to step in front of the truck, so she was able to duck down and approach without being noticed.
“Let me tell you, this stuff is really nice. Police grade.” One of the landscapers was talking to his customer. The other landscaper leaned on the truck with his arms crossed.
“Where do two lawnmowers get the cops’ gear anyway?” The customer asked, feeling the weight of the rifle in his hand.
“We’re not really supposed to talk about it.” The salesman was pudgy, a visible sweat stain on his orange shirt. His friend was scrappier, his aviator sunglasses glowing in the afternoon light.
The Charade popped into view. She declared,“I know where they got these.” The one with the sunglasses swung at her. She grabbed his arm and pulled him off his feet, placing him on the ground. “The Neon Man, right?” The big one stepped towards her. “Don’t move! I’ll break his arm.” The Charade had her assailant in a tight grip, his arm twisted above his shoulder. He screamed. The two men left standing took a step back. “Who are you? Names.”
“I’m Rupert Bowman.” The salesman said frantically, putting his hands above his head. “You’re holding Ed, and that’s Corey.”
“Man, what the hell?” Corey asked.
“I know Corey.” The Charade said. “He works at an Italian place around the block. What I’m really interested in is you, Rupert and Ed. I’ve never seen you around. And I’ve been around. Was I right? Did you get these guns from the Neon Man?”
“Yes.” Rupert said. “Well, we got it from our boss who gets it from the Neon Man.”
“So there’s a middleman, how corporate. Who’s our guy?”
“I can’t tell you that. If you turn him in, I’ll lose my job.” Just then, the Charade yanked Ed’s arm back live a lever. He collapsed to the ground, screaming.
“Give me a name.” The Charade said. “I’m done asking nicely.” She approached him, staring down at him.
“Okay, okay.” Rupert pleaded, sweat dripping down his brow. “My boss is Mike Garrick.”
The Charade put her hands into her pockets. She said “Thank you for your cooperation.” before walking off. Once she got to the end of the block, she darted left and took off down the street. After a few blocks, she passed the pizza place she ate at earlier and stopped. There it was: Giacchino’s. She turned to look at it and crouched down in the alley behind her. The vigilante pulled her walkman and headphones out, putting them in and starting the tape. She rewound the tape frantically until it played the song she was listening to in the pizza joint. A slow, fuzzy rock song started playing: Feels Blind by Bikini Kill. She took a series of deep, rattley breaths. Her eyes were locked on the booth she sat in earlier.
“If you see that something’s wrong, you should do everything in your power to fix it. Even if it means bending the rules.” She whispered. “If you see that something’s wrong, you should do everything in your power to fix it. Even if it means bending the rules.” The Charade silently repeated the saying until the last distorted chord of the song, tears rolling out of her eyes. She frantically paused the tape and pulled her headphones out. “If you need anymore lessons than that, maybe you should think about what you’re doing a little more.” Her head darted back and forth. She quickly stood up and bolted across the street.
After going behind a dumpster in the alleyway next to her, she pulled her mask off. Then her gloves. Then her wig. Izzy stored her disguise in her backpack before standing up. She took a deep breath and walked to the other end of the alley. She stopped at a bus heading to the North Side. During the ride, she listened to the rest of her tape. She got off at the corner of Penn and Millvale, got a coffee from a convenient store, and headed toward the Mr. Roboto Project. In a sea of grey bricks was a white door decorated with a practical collage of stickers. “ROBOTO” was pasted above a small window to the left in bright red letters. Izzy checked her watch. It was 6:24 PM. Doors opened at 7. She went across the street to Spak Brothers Pizza. Izzy walked past two pinball machines to the front counter, which lacked a line surprisingly. She ordered her mother’s meatball calzone and two slices of plain cheese for herself. The teenager ate her dinner alone on a wooden bench in front of the building, listening over to her tape again. Scratchy, distorted guitars opened the tape, followed shortly by a smooth bass section and Jello Biafra’s signature vibrato. Let’s Lynch the Landlord by Dead Kennedy’s played on as she waited.
When 7 o’clock came around, Izzy crossed the street and tugged at the door. It flung open and the sounds of guitars tuning could be heard more clearly. The smell of old drywall and dried sweat filled the room. She walked in. Aside from the people running the show and the bands, she was the first one there. People slowly started to come in a few minutes after Izzy took a perch in the corner. She recognized most of the people here. Then, one person she recognized made her jump a little bit. It was Eric Petersen. He was paying to get in, wearing an “I’m Not Daredevil” shirt. He moved his eye line right at Izzy. Her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the room. She avoided looking at him for the entire minute after he sat down next to her. He played on his phone for a while before slapping her knee playfully.
“How’s it goin, Party Poison?” He asked.
Izzy’s eyebrows turned up. “What?”
“Oh, how quickly we forget.” Eric took a pack of nicotine gum out of his cargo shorts. “Listen, kid. Our ‘mutual friend’ would like to meet you outside. Now, you can sit here and play dumb, or you can accept your fate and come with me to your recruitment into superhero camp.” He stood up and put a piece into his mouth. “Your choice.” Izzy eventually left, just as the first band was starting. Eric leaned against the wall, chewing away.
“Your full name is Isabella Grace Guevara-Robinson.” Liz Moto said from the corner of the building next to them. Izzy hadn’t even noticed she was there. She was wearing a Siren shirt with a thin hoodie and sweatpants. “Your parents are both police officers. Your father, Royce Robinson, was killed in the field around two years ago. Around the same time you were diagnosed with ASD. He wasn’t perfect, but few dads are. Your mother, Dani Guevara, disagreed with him about us. About whether or not the police should work with superheroes. You’ve loved superheroes your entire life, even before they actually started showing up. You love the idea of justice, and you want to pursue that with your life. You mourned your father when he died. You still do. But, you figured with him gone, you could finally go out and punch bad guys.” She zipped up her hoodie and walked towards them with her hands in the pockets. “At least, that’s my best guess. How does it feel, Charade?” Izzy started breathing heavily at the question, staring at Liz. “Are you okay?”
“Liz, I’m so sorry.” Izzy blurted out.
“Elaborate.” Eric said.
“I was looking into the Neon Man case.” The teenager explained. “And I came across some people selling guns for him. I think I dislocated one of their shoulders. I broke the guidelines you set out for me, and I’m so sorry.”
Liz put her hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “Look, I saw what happened. He swung at you first and you didn’t do any lethal damage. I would’ve preferred no damage, but it’s an improvement from Jefferson. If you were really a threat to anyone, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you right now. You have a lot of potential. That’s why I came to you in the first place. I just needed to find out who you are. If I could trust you or not.” She took her hand off Izzy. “And believe you me, there’s no one I would trust more than the daughter of Dani Guevara.”
“Okay.” Izzy took out her walkman. “How did you see what happened? Were you watching me?”
Eric and Liz started walking away from her. “She watches everybody.” Eric said, holding Charade’s mask in one hand. “We’re heading back to HQ if you’d like to join us. Consider it a cordial invitation.” He tossed it back to her.
“Where did you get this?” Izzy asked.
“Don’t watch the mouth, watch the hands. You comin’ or not?”
Izzy Guevara-Robinson smiled her widest smile before taking off after her idols. Tanner Bishop pulled up in his ‘93 Volvo, irish drinking songs blasting from the radio. He stuck his head out with a ridiculously joyous expression on his face.
“Get in losers, we’re going crime fighting!” He yelled. After the party boarded the vehicle, Tanner took a loop around the block and went back onto Penn. They passed a few blocks before Izzy broke the lull. No one could hear it due to the incredibly loud volume of Drink ‘til I Die by the Poxy Boggards.
“What did you say?” Liz turned to face Izzy and turned down the music in the same movement.
“How did you find out who I am?” Izzy asked. “I thought I covered my tracks pretty well.”
Liz giggled. “You still have a lot to learn. I’ve been observing you since the Hearts Attack.”
“People are calling it that?”
“I’m calling it that. Luckily for me, your patrol route was easy to learn. You do take the same one every night. The only difference is where it starts and where it stops. I had a general location of where you lived, but nothing definite. Then you started going after William Kohl. I had to find someone who could easily find out where the man lives. He keeps it pretty covered. I started in the easiest place, with people who have been there before. That lead me to your classmate, Katie Kohl, and that lead me to you.”
“Katie is just a friend.”
“From what I understand, that friendship is close. You’ve known each other for years.”
“How do you know that?”
“Lesson one.” Eric interjected. “You’re gonna have to stop asking that.”
“After that,” Liz continued, “I just had to lock you down as the only possible option. That was when you were muscling information out of that arms deal. The others were looking at your right hand. It was holding their friend, after all, but your left hand caught my interest. You tapped each finger to your thumb in rapid succession as you spoke. You were counting syllables. It’s a speech therapy technique for stuttering, so I knew you had a stutter. Then it was really obvious who you were when you took off your disguise a few blocks over.” Liz turned to face Izzy, grinning wildly. “And you said I need to be better at sneaking up on people. Any questions?” Izzy shook her head.
“Now I have a question for you, Isabella.” Eric interjected. “You said you were a student of pop-culture. What do you like?”
“Adventure Time has a special place in my heart. I play a lot of RPGs like Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts. I like the Marvel movies. My favorites are probably Thor: Ragnarok and Infinity War.”
“Oh, we’re not gonna get along.” Tanner guffawed before the group sat in relative silence for the rest of the trip back to Yorba Public Library. Izzy had one headphone in, listening over to her tape again. The Volvo pulled up to the basement staircase behind the library. Liz lead the group into the book-cave. The place was spotless, aside from a few Coke cans on Turing’s desk. Izzy looked at Cobalt’s colorful station to her right, then Siren’s to her left. Two purple utility belts were hanging on the wall. There was a yellow tackle box containing various little gadgets. It rested on a purple table. A forensic DNA kit and a microscope were lined up neatly beside it.
“You’ve gotten an upgrade.” Izzy observed.
“We took a month and a half off.” Liz explained. “We save all our paychecks, so we splurged a little. Don’t expect new equipment every month. But consider it your equipment too.” She outstretched a hand to Izzy, smirking. “Welcome to the team.” Izzy rushed in and hugged her. Liz eventually returned the gesture. “Wasn’t what I was expecting, but I’ll accept it.” Eric and Tanner nodded in agreement. Izzy let go after a long moment and looked at Liz.
“I’ll try to do the best I can.”
“I know.” Liz lead her over to Turing’s battlestation. He sat down and cracked open a Coke before pulling up records of different landscaping companies in the North Hills. “Any updates on the Neon Man?”
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Izzy arrived back at her apartment at 9:46 PM. Tanner beeped the horn of the Volvo rapidly as he pulled away. She locked the door behind her and took a deep breath. After she put her mom’s calzone in the fridge, she calmly walked to her room. She turned the lights on and sat in her chair in one quick movement. Scooting her chair up, the teenager dropped her tape into a small karaoke machine on her desk and pressed play. Dead Kennedys enveloped the room as Izzy changed into a baggy Against Me! T-shirt and a pair of pants that were considered joggers at one point. She sat down at her desk and pulled a large plastic bin from beneath it. It was full of magazines. She took a stack out and started flipping through them, ripping out pages with imagery that sparked her fancy. Holding her references very gently, she carefully cut out the images and glued them onto a sheet of printer paper at the center of the desk. Slowly she put the collage together to make something surreal and intriguing: a man with a pistol for a head waving at a sinking ship. Flames and fast food came rolling out of the horizon next to a sunset made of TV static. She was just finishing putting a Coke bottle in the background when a knock came to her door. Izzy checked her watch. It was 11 o’clock. She got up and opened the door. Her mother was standing in the doorway, hitting her vape. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, leaving bangs in her face as she stared down at her phone.
“There is still a demand for corpses for transplantation surgery in the form of allografts.” Dani read, vapor billowing out of her nose. “Modern body snatchers feed this demand. That’s from Wikipedia. How was the show?”
“It was fine. Did you find the missing body? Who did it?”
Dani walked over and leaned on the desk as Izzy sat back down. “No, we didn’t. But I wanna talk about your night.” She leaned in close. “Have you heard anything from Siren and Cobalt recently?”
“W-w-what do you m-m-mean?”
“Use your strategies, please.” Dani spoke in a soft and polite tone as Izzy breathed heavily. “I know that you sneak out and punch people in a renaissance mask, Izzy. Or should I call you the Puzzle?”
“It’s the Charade.”
“Right.” She pinched between her eyes. “Sorry, the real name was up there. I just haven’t had a night off in three weeks. But yeah, they tell me you’re gonna join their team.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mad?” Dani came down to Izzy’s level and held her face. “Isabella, I couldn’t be more proud of you. You’re being trained by Siren and Cobalt. That’s amazing. They’ll teach you some good things. More than I ever could. And with the way things are going, they’re gonna need some support. I think you’re just the person to do it.” The detective quickly stood up and crossed her arms. “I do have one condition, though.”
“What is it?”
“I think you should get a job. If you’re ready to go fight people in the streets, you’re ready to flip burgers. Plus, I’m sick of paying for Spak for the both of us.”
“Actually, there’s this library that’s hiring.”
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The Neon Man was on the phone in his study. It was clearly a room for an older man than him. The decor was very tacky 70’s. Hell, the phone was still on a cord. Veins popped out of his skin as he yelled
“That’s it? One crate of rifles?!” The Neon Man stood up and throw his chair on the floor. His voice was young and wailing. “I could be on my knees in a back alley for one crate of rifles, but instead I give the guy 25 grand and he doesn’t follow through!” Two muscular men in landscaping uniforms came into the study, scared to say anything. “You better find me another connection into the police armory or you’re fired, got it?” He slammed the phone down and looked at the landscapers.
“What’s happening?” One of them asked.
“The heroes got Kohl to quit selling to us.” The Neon Man explained. “So we’re gonna flood the streets with guns.”