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Our Paranormal Chernobyl
Scene 29:  Wrap it Up, I'll Take It.
Tuesday, 1:35 pm, Jewel Foodstores

Sinatra would have to jump up from the ground and convince him in person. Chicago was not Crossfire’s kind of town. Maybe under different circumstances, but not today. Jonathan leaned out from the window ledge he stood on, fifteen stories up from the street below. The crowds that had gathered around the supermarket filtered as far back as here, around the corner and two blocks away. Radio and television stations, reporting the latest breaking news, had brought them all, gathered to witness something extraordinary from what they considered to be ordinary, lackluster lives.

Jonathan would have traded places with them in an instant. Many had noticed him swinging around the corner, the momentum forcing him to land feet first against the building then to somersault upwards to the landing. As they stood there pointing up at him, he realized that soon even his presence may be broadcast and he didn’t want the police or PRIMUS to discover he was still close at hand. They’d decided they were done with him and Crossfire hoped they wouldn’t change their minds anytime soon.

He rubbed at the shoulder muscles of his right arm, the hand still gripping the end of the swing line. Getting around like this wasn’t too much of a problem, but twice today he’d had to cart along human carry-ons. He winced at the slight pain and cramping that he knew would flare up later in the evening. The archer realized he’d be lucky to move it at all come morning.

The cable arrow had been his last. Crossfire cursed his pride that had allowed him to be so wasteful, but it’d been important to make an exit, to get away. He’d tried to do the right thing, but somehow it had all been gummed up. His anger over his own personal issues, his impotence to deal with them now, and his frustration with Ed had come to the surface all too easily. The simmering process had taken only two hours before the pot boiled over at the first sign of real trouble.

Jonathan sighed and looked down at the aviation cable in his gloved hand. Given time alone in the hotel room, he could rig up more than enough to fill the empty spots in the quiver. His bowcase held blanks and the extra cable heads were easy to carry. He’d ordered five thousand from the manufacturer, built from Blake’s own specs.

It had all been carried out through a number of blinds on the internet. Having a secret identity meant secrecy. Not a single arrow was handled without using latex gloves. Leaving arrows behind, whole or barely intact, was par for the course. But no one was going to threaten his private life if they ever got their hands on them.

Well, he thought to himself, the wind’s changed direction. What next? The reference was one out of a book he’d once read. The point was made that if you were flying a kite and the wind changed suddenly, dashing the kite groundwards, you had two choices. Stomp your feet and declare Mother Nature unfair, or ask yourself, "What do I do now?"

His stomach answered the question for him. Time to reflect made him realize it had been grumbling for a while now. Crossfire gripped the line in his hand and swung down to the street below, having spied a hot dog vendor. People cleared a wide space for his landing on the sidewalk. He walked to the wide-eyed vendor, pulling out his toolkit at the same time. In a pocket he kept ten tightly folded bills, split evenly between hundreds and twenties. They’d been handled with the same care as his arrows.

Crossfire ignored the man’s shock and surprise and ordered a dog with everything on it. The man paused, then seemed to snap to. He took a bun out of the steamer, dropped in a long Vienna hotdog, and covered it with an amazing number of condiments: yellow mustard, pickle relish, big chunks of white onion, half a dozen tiny hot peppers, a sliver of cucumber (tucked inside the bun), two hemispheres of sliced tomato, and a sprinkle of celery salt over everything. The guy rolled it up with a handful of fries and handed it over, the complete package the size of a kid’s football. Jonathan hadn’t even ordered fries.

The first bite was greedily welcomed by his stomach, while he scanned the streets for the big yellow Ford Taurus cabs. For a long minute no one stopped—and one cabby even switched on the "out of service" sign when he saw the uniformed hero—but finally a cab pulled to the curb and Jonathan hopped in.

"Where to, m’mon?" The driver looked like a rastafarian, with gigantic dreads blossoming from a rainbow knit cap. The license displayed above the meter gave his name as Eekamouse Johnston.

"Central Police Station," Crossfire said, giving him the building where the Evidence lab was located.

"Noo problem," Eekamouse said, as if he drove costumed vigilantes there every day. The car vaulted into traffic, and Crossfire took another bite of the best damned hotdog he’d ever eaten.

"Think we could talk for a minute or two?" Pender said to Jack.

"Why, you gonna shoot me some more?"

"As long as you don’t inhale anyone," she replied, "nobody’s going to hurt you."

"Just bring me some more food, okay? I need something big." His eyes went wide. "Like one of them roast pigs. Yeah! The whole pig!"

Pender glanced at Waters and bit her tongue. "We’ll see what we can do about the pigs, Jack, but first I want you to tell me what happened so we can help you. How and when did you get like this?"

"I woke up like this. Mostly. I keep getting bigger. And I know why—it’s because of them shots. Those medical people got me last night."

She noticed Ferreras approaching her, and held up an index finger to Jack. The PRIMUS agent muttered sotto voce in her ear, and what he had to say was a double-edged sword.

"Fine," she said back. "As long as it’s safe, and only if necessary. We’ll see what we can get without him first."

One of the shopping bags contained nothing but french fries, and Jack had lifted the bag to his mouth. He shook them into his mouth, and when the bag was empty he crumpled it and tossed it into his mouth as well. "This ain’t workin’" he said. "Nothin’ is workin’." He looked around, saw Ed twenty feet away by the PRIMUS van, and pointed to him. "I told him—showed ‘em exactly what it was like when he jumped in my head. Nobody was taking me serious, but I showed him. HE knows how bad this hurts. Doncha, kid. Tell ‘em I’m serious!"

Ed turned to face the mutant and slowly nodded. "Yeah, you showed me all right."

Shitheel, Ed thought bitterly.

"Why didn’t you just calm the fuck down, man. I told you to be cool, but you had to pull some sort of shit with Red and that started this whole mess. All you had to do was walk out and talk to these people."

Ed was glaring at the freak.

"You probably got one of those tracker things in you too, just like Iggy did. You need to get to a hospital and let them take it out, and see if they can give you something to make you stop eating."

"Tracker things?" Jack looked at Pender. "What tracker things?"

"I don’t know, Jack—I don’t know anything about any ‘tracker things,’" she replied flatly, rather surprised that Ed might know something about PRIMUS’ personal locators. Fortunately, it appeared he was referring to something else completely. "He’s right, though. We can make the hunger go away. We can help you, if you let us. Help us help you, Jack."

"No way!" Jack said. "No more shots!" He turned toward the grocery store, which put Pender, Waters, two cops, and a slightly crumpled squad car in the way. "I’m gonna go finish. I just gotta go faster, that’s all, an’ don’t get distracted."

Ed crossed his arms and regarded Pender with irritation. Tell you what, he sent to her mind. Why don’t you let me do what I came to do and put Godzilla here to sleep, then you can take him to the hospital and we can all go home..

These people were sooo lame. Ed just wanted it to be over.

Pender had long ago learned that telepathy tickled, but not pleasantly so. It was something akin to an unreachable allergic irritation at the back of the throat, and every bit as annoying. Ed’s tone of "voice" wasn’t helping, either.

"No more shots," she said. "Just give me two minutes, Jack. Tell me about the medical people and their shots, then you can go eat. Deal?"

Jack eyed the open window of the Jewel store hungrily, then looked around at the array of armament surrounding him. "Deal. But just one minute, then I gotta go."

"Alright. Let me just make sure the police know what’s happening." She turned and motioned for Waters to approach.

"We’re going to let Jack go eat in one minute," she said, loudly enough for Jack to hear, then dropped her voice to a mutter. "Tell Ferreras to tell the kid that after I’m done questioning Jack, he can have at him. After." Her tone rose to something just above a conversational level again, with a hint of severity about it. "You’re to let him eat—understand?"

Waters nodded. His expression was grave, but there was some minute shift in his face that suggested the possibility of a smile, given a few more centuries of weathering and continental drift. "I understand, ma’am."

Returning her attention to the perpetually-famished giant, Pender said, "Okay, Jack, it’s set. Now tell me all about it."

"Last night," Jack said, "these people gave me shots. They was dressed like a doctor and nurse, but I don’t think they were. Somethin’ wrong with ‘em. Like their skin. It was made outta plastic or somethin’. Shiny."

It was all Laura could do to stop her mouth from dropping open, not because it was such a strange, fantastic story—she’d heard a million of them—but because she’d heard it before, four years ago. The pieces were starting to jiggle themselves together, and she didn’t like the picture they were making.

"They were robots or something." Ed said, heaving a great sigh. "Look, I can show you what Iggy saw, if you want. There’s two of em, and they look like dolls. They gave Iggy two shots, one of ‘em had some sort of radio thing or something that connects to the internet, and the other fucks em up. Turns ‘em into, well…" He waved his hands aimlessly. "…into all sorts of things."

He pointed at Jack. "He’s probably got one of ‘em inside him now."

Pender whipped around and glared daggers at Ed. You’re not making this any easier, she thought, not caring whether or not he was still tapped into her mind. Jack’s jumpy enough as it is without horror stories.

"Sorry about that, Jack," she said. "Where and exactly when did this happen?"

"Oh for Christ’s sake!" Ed exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. He wanted a cigarette so bad he could taste it. He slumped back against the side of the cop car and crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at the ground.

Waters had moved behind Jack and was walking up to Ferraras. The detective made eye contact with the agent, then looked at Ed.

Ed looked up and frowned at the cop. What? he sent telepathically. The PRIMUS bitch had ignored him, and it was pissing him off.

Well, now, my young well-dressed telepathic rebel, Waters sent back, fast as a mirror-bounced laser. Despite the fact that you and our now-thankfully-vanished archer ignored my orders and succeeded in flushing our Freakishly Famished quarry from an enclosed, controllable space into a parking lot full of innocent bystanders, somehow enraging him in the process, all while finding the time to fight with each other, that woman back there, Acting Silver Avenger Laura Pender, she of the big PRIMUS guns and goons, owner of a van full of Van Vogtian weaponry, hunter and tagger of all things Meta, now wants your help in taking down Bulimia Boy in the form of a psionic attack with extreme sanction as soon as—but not a moment, not a nanosecond before—she has finished talking with said massive-mouthed meta, an action which I think you would be well advised to silently advertise to the other PRIMUS agents, in case they decide that you’re acting without orders and must be subsequently trussed, bagged, and sent home for dinner.

"Are we clear?" Waters said aloud, face impassive.

Sometimes it happened like this. People’s mental personalities were nothing like their physical ones, and when he had first encountered it as a kid, it had freaked him out.

There was this teacher that everybody loved, Miss Buchannon. She taught third grade at Ed’s elementary school, and she never said anything but nice things to people. Always complimenting them, telling the girls they were pretty, the boys they were handsome, shit like that.

She talked real sweet, but once, when Ed got pissed off at her for not letting him go to the bathroom he got into her head, and told her he had to go!. She’d twitched like she’d been stuck with a needle, but then she’d stared right at him and told him that he could tie it in a knot and die for all she cared, and that if he ever got in her head again, she’d beat him till he bled.

Nothing nice about her at all. Uh uh.

First off, you invited me. Second, you knew what we was doin’, and just ‘cause you didn’t say not to, don’t mean you didn’t want it over short and fast. Third, that fucker Red should have let me finish what I started, and then we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we? Fourth, Red shot me, I didn’t do fuck-all to him, and if you ask me, he’s psycho. First time I ran into him he was threatening to kill some old guy in a museum. Fifth, I’m getting sick and tired of being everybody’s goddamned scapegoat, and if these bastards so much as twitch in my direction, I’m outta here.

Ed’s mental voice was calm, his face blank.

Now, I agree with you that I ain’t doing shit till everybody knows that broad asked me too. I do not want to be tied up again. So thanks for the advice.

Ed looked back at the cop. "Crystal," he said. "And you think real pretty."

Waters’ eyes narrowed slightly, then he turned his attention back to Jack.

Ed looked at the PRIMUS goon closest to him, Festus, or whatever his name was. Look man, your boss just asked me to put Jack down if he don’t play nice, so don’t go crazy and shoot me, all right?

Ferraras looked at Ed, then at Pender. All right.

Jack was still talking to Pender. "When? Last night, ‘round eleven," he said. "I live on the streets. All I wanted was a sandwich! They came up to me, shot me once in the arm and once in the back. Hurt like hell. Said it was a flu shot."

"Can you tell me exactly where you were when the ‘medical people’ injected you?"

"I dunno. Monroe and Clark." The big man looked around at the SWAT officers, regular cops, and PRIMUS agents, all if them with their guns aimed at him. At the edge of the parking lot, the crowd of bystanders had grown, and now people were spilling into the streets and blocking traffic. Car horns blared, and people in the crowd were hooting and calling like they were at some kind of rock concert. "I’m gonna go eat now. Got it?"

"Alright, Jack. Go ahead," Pender said, turning her head just enough to make eye contact with Ed, then added, "And thanks."

For a moment, Ed considered just walking. Just saying "fuck you" to the PRIMUS woman and letting her deal with this maniac herself. The way she was setting it up, Ed was gonna be the one that Jack remembered as screwing him over, not PRIMUS. It was a pretty sweet way to shift the blame, really, and Ed had to admire her for the ruthlessness that she was showing.

Here she was, a nat, and she was mixing it up with people who could turn her into hamburger. Of course, she had about thirty guys with all kinds of fucking guns on her side, but still— it took balls.

So he sighed, then focused his esper talent on the walking mouth, letting Jack have a full dose of neuron-scramble, with headache on the side.

Jack bellowed in pain and clapped his hands to the sides of his head. "DAMMIT ED!" He didn’t spin around to face the boy, though; he was too distracted by the pain.

Clearly, it was hitting the fan. Pender backpedaled away from Jack before the big guy managed to connect the dots. If there were anyone who could put two and two together and come up with pi, she was betting it’d be Jack… but it was best not to take any chances.

Ed said nothing, he simply looked at the behemouth and let him have it again.

Jack’s roar abruptly cut off. The big man felt to his knees, then pitched forward into the pavement, unconscious.

Ed poured another jolt of mentic power into Jack, just to be sure. He absolutely did not want this fucker getting up and pounding him again. That would be bad. He contemplated running around in Jacks head, just to see who the poor sucker had been before Barbie and Ken had gotten ahold of him, but decided against it.

Pender tried not to look too impressed as she ordered Grodenko and Mehldau to see what they could do about slapping a few pairs of cuffs on Jack. Truth was, Ed had far exceeded her expectations, and she was grateful they were on the same side—assuming they stayed on the same side, that is. From what Ferraras had been able to briefly whisper to her, the kid was in a bit of a bind: new in town, beset by sudden troubles… the works. Perhaps, she hoped, they could work out a mutually beneficial arrangement.

"Well," he said, looking at Pender. "There he is. I did your dirty work. Can I go, or are you gonna shoot me again?" He glanced at Waters, wondering what, if anything, the cop had to say about this.

And he wanted a cheeseburger.

Waters had moved over to the captain of the SWAT team, and they were conferring about something. All of the cops still had their weapons trained on Jack as the PRIMUS men worked to secure him. The cuffs they put around Jack’s wrists were looked like elephant manacles.

Pender took a moment to observe the MCTs’ progress on Jack before responding to Ed. "No," she said, still looking at the manacles and wondering if they’d hold. "To both your questions."

Now she turned her gaze up to meet his, took a good look at his copper eyes. "Nice work. Can you maintain that?"

"Yeah, nice, whatever…" Ed muttered as he watched the agent supervise Jack being tied up like a turkey.

"I can keep him out, yes. But it ain’t good for him for me to do it. Better if you can trank him or something. I don’t like playing around in people’s heads unless I have to."

Ed shaded his eyes and peered out over the crowd, his eyes scanning the tops of buildings. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for good old Red to be hiding up there somewhere, watching. Probably got his jollies doing that kind of shit.

Pender glanced at Ferreras, caught his eye, and gave a meaningful nod towards the prone giant, which the PRIMUS agent returned. She took a couple steps away from the commotion; Ed got the definite vibe that she had just left the situation in someone else’s hands for the time being.

"Ed, let’s talk."

"What?" Ed said. He couldn’t believe this broad. "What the hell do we have to talk about, other than my suing your ass for, for…" he waved his hands "… assault or something. Jesus H Christ! There’s like, a million fucking people watching this, bleeding into the air and drowning me, and you people don’t listen to a word I say, you just shoot me, then you expect me to do your dirty work and everything’s all nice and sweet?"

Ed’s eyes were blazing. "Why do I even fucking try to help, huh? I really want to know why I constantly think that someday, somebody’s gonna pay attention to me and listen instead of just getting scared shitless. That gets real old, real fast, you know?"His arms were folded across his chest, and he was hugging himself so tightly in his anger that his ribs hurt. He realized he was yelling, and his face was probably as red as a monkeys ass. For somebody who was so into control, he knew nobody lost it as big as himself.

Shit.

He squinted at the agent and sighed. "What? What do you want. I’m tired man, and I want to go home."

"Home?" Pender repeated. She’d waited patiently for him to get through his tirade, wondering—just out of curiosity—whether the esper had picked up her mental responses to his various statements and queries. If he had, it certainly hadn’t slowed him down. "I didn’t know you had a home around here, Ed. Thought you were new in town, just off the bus, no place to stay."

She didn’t wait for his response.

"As for what happened earlier… well, I could apologize, but that wouldn’t mean anything to you, I’m sure. This was—still is—a nasty situation, and nasty things happen in nasty situations. My officer didn’t act under my direct orders, but he did what he thought he had to. Frankly, I can’t say I regret it, either. If he hadn’t, you’d be gone by now, and then we—and by that I mean Chicago, Ed—we would be up a certain creek. So Jack was tricked, and you were tied up. Now you’re free, Jack’s out cold, and we’re no better off than we were when this began. Now that all that negotiating and tactical nonsense is over, I can chuck it and just be straight with you. We’re waist-deep in it, Ed, all of us, even you, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

"I don’t know about you, but Jack scares me. A lot. And you know something about what happened to him. A lot. And I need your help. A lot. What do you need, Ed? Money? A place to stay? Employment? Help us out on this one, and they’re yours. I’m serious." He could see that, indeed, she was.

"You want me to listen? I’m listening. I’d just rather listen in my office instead of on the street in front of this mob."

Ed wasn’t sure what to say. Pender's words had sliced through his anger like a hot knife through butter—and he was rapidly becoming embarrassed at the way he’d shouted at her. And at the other guy, Ferrari or whatever. Let out of her mental cage, Grams voice was ‘tch-ing’ at him from the nether regions of his mind: You listen to this woman, Edward. You listen and you act like a man, not like a boy. Been enough of that, you ask me.

Ed glanced over at the bound Jack and shook his head.

"Shit." he muttered softly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching against one of the patrol cars. He locked eyes with Pender, aware he was flushing again.

"Look lady. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it all out on you. You say you didn’t give the orders, I’ll believe you till I see otherwise. I know this ain’t all your fault."

He glanced at Ferrari again, then back at the crowd of people the police were only barely able to keep back. Waters was running back and forth, ordering the beat cops around. They were trying to open a wide path through the crowd—but whether it was to let some vehicles in or out, Ed couldn’t tell. The gawkers, though, were something else. Everybody wanted a look at Jack. One kid who looked younger than himself was even waving a video camera around.

Out beyond the throng in the parking lot, the media had arrived. A van with big antennas on it jerked to a stop, and another van like it was coming down the street. In the distance he could hear choppers. Next thing you know he’d be on "Most Amazing Meta Videos" like that narc he’d met back at the police station.

Ed really wanted a cigarette.

"Yeah," he said to Pender. "I ain’t got a place here yet. Was about to go lookin’ for stuff when all this happened." He nodded at the bound Meta.

"I know what injected him, at least, I seen it, and can show it to you if you want. And I think there’s another one like Jack, ‘cept this ones been turned into a statue outside a stop-and-rob. I told the cops about it, but I don’t know if they had time to deal with it yet."

"I doubt it. Even without a disaster, they’re lucky to arrest a jaywalker, let alone a meta."

Luck, Pender decided, worked in mysterious ways. Ed was a walking lead, and an esper to boot, and here he was, fresh off the bus and caught in a metabrawl into the middle of which she’d been brought to officiate—dropped into her lap, as it were, as if by Providence, or Serendipity, or one of those other paranormals who had a knack for making things work out right.

"But that’s what PRIMUS is for," she continued, still internally grateful. "I’ll get someone on it."

Ed shrugged. "And yeah, I could use a job, but I ain’t gonna just walk blindly into something. I don’t know you from di—uh, from Adam, so if you wanna talk, ok. But just you and me—none of these damn guns. They make me nervous."

The SWAT captain approached the two of them and spoke up before Pender could answer. "I’m sending my men in to clear the building," he said. He waited to see if she’d object. His visor was flipped up, and the face beneath the helmet was deeply tanned, as if he spent 20 days in an open boat.

"All right then. I have a feeling we’ll run into each other again before the day is out, Agent."

"I’ll keep my fingers crossed."

He turned and walked briskly toward the line of black-clad SWAT members. There were twelve of them. At his command, four of them headed for the front of the building, and another four started jogging across the parking lot, heading for the corner of the building that would take them to the rear entrance. The other four stayed with the captain.

"C’mon," Pender said. "Let’s get a ride back to HQ."

She turned and strode back to Waters, who was still doing his thing.

Ed shambled along after her, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched beneath his suitcoat. Emotions were still running extremely high, and he figured if he kept his mouth shut, and just concentrated on what was going on in his immediate vicinity, things would be ok.

Pender eventually she got his attention, although judging by the look on his face, she was almost sorry she had.

"Can one of your boys give Ed and I a lift to PRIMUS? I’ll need Agent Ferreras and the MCTs to stay with Jack, so they’ll need the van."

PRIMUS, Ed thought. Whatever the hell that was. Ed watched Waters’ face as the cop and Pender exchanged words, and tried to figure out what made him tick. Futile, of course, but hey, what the hell…

Waters’ stare slowly moved from Pender to Ed and back again. "Sure," he said. "A word, Agent?" He took several steps toward the grocery store, then paused to see if Pender was following.

"Sorry, Ed," she said. "Give me a minute here."

"Alright, a word," Pender began when she’d reached Waters. "Which one did you have in mind?"

"Pirhu," he said. "SA Raj Pirhu. My boss has been trying to reach him all morning. Keep getting the run-around from some bootlicker named Teddy something. What’s the deal?"

"Teddy Amidon. Public Liaison." It sounded like he’d been doing his job; who was she to contradict him? "SA Pirhu is currently ill and consequently off-duty. I can’t tell you any more than that."

"Fine. Long as I know that you’re the Queen for a Day." He took a card from his wallet and handed it to her. "That’s Detective Hammersmith’s number. He’s in charge of the investigation, reporting to the mayor. Call him."

Waters waved over one of the regular cops. "Please drive Acting Silver Avenger Pender and her suspect to PRIMUS headquarters."

Ed’s eyes narrowed. "Suspect? What do you mean, suspect? Sounds like she’s arresting me or something. She can’t do that, can she?"

"Thanks, Waters…," she murmured.

His frown deepened as his gaze shifted to Pender. "You ain’t trying to play me for a chump, are you? ‘Cause that would be bad."

Here we go, Pender thought. She’d been waiting for this uneasy alliance with Ed to come crashing down to Earth, and now it seemed frighteningly imminent.

"No. No, that’s not what’s happening. You’re free to go, if you like." She hesitated. "Although I hope you won’t."

"He’s not a ‘suspect,’" she told Waters, turning to face him, clearly more than a little irritated. "Quite the contrary. Think of him as a witness, or whoever it is that cops treat with a little respect. He deserves it."

"My mistake," Waters said. His eyes were half closed, as if he were about to doze off. He nodded to the cop who would drive them, and the officer began walking toward his car.

The irritation on Ed’s face washed away as he watched Waters amble off. "That guy…" Ed began, but his voice trailed off. That guy is one smart son-of-a-bitch. , he thought with a touch of amusement.

"So, um.. Where are we going?" He asked Pender. "Cause I sure wouldn’t mind a hamburger or something."

"Ed, this is Chicago," Pender said. "We’ll have pizza."

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