How to Save the World (12 page)

Guy looked at me sideways. I'd explained Raze's logic to him time and again, but she needed to be experienced to be believed. “I keep telling you the same thing,” I said to her.

But Raze shook her head. “I have invested far too much into this enemy-­ship to let it go now. Oh, hey, Sal.”

Since I hadn't heard the bartender and I usually heard everything, I jerked hard enough to hit my elbow on the bar, narrowly missing the flick of Raze's butterfly knife just above said elbow. I thought I saw Sal the bartender pause momentarily in the doorway to the back room, her gaze on us, but it could have been an illusion through the sudden tears of pain. I blinked those away and shook out my elbow. I'd hit my funny bone perfectly. It was a talent, really.

“Hostage Girl,” Sal said, flicking up her eye patch so that her bionic eye swept over me in a scan. “You're looking a little less like a fugitive this time.” The bionic eye scanned Guy, who looked a bit awkward folded over onto the bar stool. “Who's this? Another villain?”

“Not exactly,” Guy said.

“Uh-­huh.” Sal turned and gave Raze a high five. “Don't usually see you on Sundays.”

“Her idea.” Raze jerked the blade at me. “She's looking into that power-­sucking stuff.”

“Uh-­huh. What's your poison?” Sal asked her, and I worried that it was literal.

“Lemon juice. Five shots, straight, neat. Sour as you can get it.” Raze looked at me. “And I'm not sharing with either of you do-­gooders. You can get your own sour squeeze.”

Sal looked from Raze to me, face switching to decided amusement. A line of scarring traced the skin around her eye patch. I figured it had to do with the reason she had a bionic eye in the first place. “You want to know about the power-­draining juice, too? And you thought you'd just ask around here? Are you some kind of junior gumshoe?”

“My friend got hit,” I said. I didn't look at Guy. “Two of them did. One's more upset about it than the other.”

Sal rested both hands on the bar top and regarded me. Only me, though. Raze and Guy she ignored. It was unnerving having that one eye focused on me. “You're also friends with Chelsea.”

I blinked at that. “What? Not exactly.” Belatedly, I realized I should have denied any connection to Brook a great deal more vehemently. From the way Guy went tense next to me, he seemed to agree. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I run Mind the Boom,” Sal said, giving me a look that pointed out how much she disliked me for making her state the obvious. “She was spotted for the first time in months at Union Station. And so, Hostage Girl, were you.”

Damn Toadicus, I thought. Next time I saw him I was kicking him extra hard in the gizzard or whatever frog parts he really had. If he hadn't messed up my mask, I wouldn't be in this much trouble.

“Dangerous ­people are looking for Chelsea,” Sal said. “I don't want them finding her at my bar.”

“It's not like I brought her with me. She's not here,” I said.

“I can see that. Is that going to change?”

I squinted at her. “Why do you want to know?”

“It's not important. Just know that if she ever shows her face here, your drink gets replaced with arsenic.”

“I think I'd be able to tell if it was arsenic,” I said.

Sal raised an eyebrow. “Would you?” She set a drink in front of me: an Irish car bomb. I'd ordered one the last time I'd been in the bar, so it was a little scary that she had that kind of memory.

“Uh.” Guy held his hands up in a time-­out. “How about we not threaten to poison the clientele?”

Sal didn't look at him. She set a shot glass full of lemon juice in front of Raze, who happily sucked away at it. “Who's the stiff?” she asked me.

I bristled. “My boyfriend.”

“He's too tall for you.” Sal refilled Raze's glass. Raze downed that, made a face, and waved her hand in a
keep 'em coming
gesture. Sal shrugged to herself and poured another shot of straight lemon juice.

I exchanged a look with Guy. This was just bizarre. “Do you . . . have some kind of problem with me?” Guy asked.

Sal straightened abruptly. “No,” she said. “Raze, I'm cutting you off.”

“But that's only three!”

“And last time you had more than that, I had to peel you off the ceiling. You're done.” She looked over my shoulder. “Looks like your one o'clock appointment is here, Hostage Girl.”

“What are you . . . ?” I trailed off, my insides going cold. I hadn't heard a thing, which could only mean that something very, very bad was going on behind me and things were probably about to go to hell in a handbasket.

Sure enough, I turned, and standing there in the main part of the bar, right next to the wall full of Hostage Girl selfies, was Tamara Diesel.

For a second, I could have heard a pin drop.

And then Tamara strode forward so quickly that I didn't have time to react, and grabbed me by the throat. “Hostage Girl,” she said. “Just who I was looking for.”

Oh, crap.

 

CHAPTER 12

T
amara Diesel, unsurprisingly, was even
more
terrifying up close.

For example, being a block away from her in the fight at Union Station hadn't impressed upon me how cold, flinty, and ruthless the woman's eyes truly were. Or the fact that the metal spikes on her leather vest happened to be splattered with something that smelled suspiciously like human blood. The left half of her head was shaved—­save for a very short star-­shaped patch of hair—­the other half in cornrows that followed the contours of her scalp. She had a scar bisecting her lip and a sneer that put Angélica's to shame.

Fear made my heart actively stutter as her hand tightened around my throat. This close, I could smell her chapstick. I put up a hand to stop Guy from leaping at her, just in case he'd forgotten that he was a great deal squishier than usual.

“Uh,” I said as Raze looked over with interest. “I don't think we've formally met.”

Her teeth were very white when she sneered. “You know who I am.”

“I'm out.” Sal tossed her dishrag down and raised her hands in the air. “You want to fight, I'll give you the name of my insurance company. Good luck paying the premiums.”

I wondered if they still sold Hostage Girl insurance. It was a strange and almost absurd thing to think when a woman literally had a hand around my neck, but the thought did go through my mind. Thankfully, she wasn't cutting off my oxygen or trying to hold me up by the neck. I had no desire to find out up close just how strong Tamara really was.

“I'm not here to fight,” Tamara said, looking me up and down.

“I hope you don't feel the same way about being sassed,” I said. “Because with me that's pretty much what you get.”

One corner of her mouth tilted downward. Tamara Diesel didn't have a sense of humor? That was almost worse than that time she'd decided five boroughs in New York City was two too many. At least she wasn't actively choking me, but her hand was around my throat and that was a problem. Also, why did she have to be six inches taller than me? Would it kill them to send me a supervillain that I could meet at eye-­level?

“Either way, it appears you've got me,” I said, trying to change the subject before Tamara started squeezing. “Literally. What exactly do you want?”

“I need a moment of your time,” she said, studying my face. Abruptly, she let me go and I put a hand to my throat, massaging the skin there. I tried to remember if “has a grip like a hydraulic press” was listed among the known superpowers for her because
wow
. “Over here. My companions will keep your friends company.”

On cue, Toadicus and Stretchy McGee stepped into Mind the Boom. I looked around for Scorch, but apparently my fire-­nemesis was nowhere to be found. Tamara jerked her head at them and they stepped over to flank Guy and Raze.

My hands closed into fists. Reassuringly, Guy touched my elbow. “Looks like I've got a new drinking buddy,” he said, jerking his head at Stretchy. “Go on. I'll get acquainted with my new pal. We'll learn each other's life stories, we'll laugh, we'll joke. It'll be fun.”

Apparently losing his powers made him a little more of a smart-­ass. It was a good look on him, actually.

Raze scoffed. “I have no intentions of bonding with this—­” she looked Toadicus up and down “—­reptile.”

She said it like she clearly didn't feel he was worthy of such a title. I didn't bother to point out the error.

“Try not to shoot anyone,” I said, since I didn't feel like starting something I wasn't sure we could finish. I grabbed my Irish car bomb, useless by this point because it was meant to be chugged, and pushed myself to my feet. It wasn't easy, especially since my knees had mysteriously turned to goo, but I kept my spine straight and walked across the warped wooden flooring to have a one-­on-­one meeting with a top-­ranked villain.

Tamara pulled a chair back for herself. It scraped extra loudly in the stillness and tension of the bar. “Hostage Girl,” she said, inclining her head as she sat.

I took a seat across from her, staying on the edge of my chair and trying to ignore the panic jack-­rabbiting through my veins. “Ms. Diesel. Or is it Mrs.? Is there, like, a Mr. or another Mrs. Diesel?”

Again, her lips curved downward. This conversation really was not going to go well.

“Ms., it is. I got it,” I said. “I can work with that.”

She pulled out a ridiculously oversized gun and placed it on the table between us. The gun was massive. It looked like it could blow a few fist-­shaped holes in me. A frigid drop of sweat slid from my hairline and into my body armor, which I knew from personal experience had the ability to withstand a bullet or three. But would it hold up against this monster of a gun? And why did somebody as powerful as Tamara need a gun, anyway? “I can't say I was expecting to see you out in public. Somebody with a better survival instinct might have stayed indoors and out of trouble.”

I lifted my glass and took a sip. It tasted particularly foul, but I smacked my lips. “I got thirsty.”

“In a supervillain bar.”

“I like the ambience. Reminds me of a Jimmy Buffett song.” I plucked at the shirt I'd borrowed from Jessie. “My other shirt's at the cleaners, but it's Hawaiian print.”

Guy's snort as he tried not to laugh was almost deafening in the quiet.

“At least he thinks I'm funny,” I said, since Tamara's face never lost its stony countenance.

“I want to know everything you know about the Demobilizer.”

“It's blue,” I said. The fact that she knew its name meant she'd apparently been a recipient of the kidnapper's video. I wondered if her email had the word
villain
in the domain. “It kind of smells like apricots.”

There was a pause. She expected me to go on, evidently. “That's it?”

“That's everything I really definitively know,” I said, since self-­preservation instincts were apparently for chumps. “The rest is all conjecture.”

“You think you're cute.”

“I'm less than five-­two and ninety percent of my friends are, like, a foot taller than me. By those standards, I'm adorable.”

Tamara Diesel moved fast, I'll hand her that. In a blink she had me by the collar. My shirt wasn't sturdy enough to bear my weight, so I heard a ripping noise. Jessie was going to be annoyed about that. “I don't find you cute,” Tamara said. “I think you're an idiot.”

“I like you, too,” I said.

“Tell me about the Demobilizer.” She shook me a little.

“It's an invention of a really vain man who insists on putting some form of his name on everything he creates,” I said. “I'm not a scientist. I couldn't tell you how it works, except that it's probably bad news and the last person who should have it is you.”

I braced myself for a hit that never came. Tamara breathed out through her nose. “You were right,” she said over my shoulder at Stretchy. “She does know something. Use the beanpole. Sounds like she could use some motivation.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked and in an instant Stretchy had an arm wrapped around Guy, circling him twice. He struggled, but his superstrength had been sapped by the Demobilizer.

“Guy!” I tried to rip away from Tamara, but she was too strong.

“I'm fine,” he said. “Kind of tickles, actually.”

He was lying: his face was rapidly turning red, and frustration was evident in his eyes. But he smiled.

“Start talking or I squeeze harder,” Stretchy said, and Guy grunted.

“Let him go.” Anger made its way up through my chest, nudging aside the fear. I might be scared out of my mind for Guy, who was so incredibly breakable now that it almost made me feel light-­headed, but I'd been in his shoes over and over again for four years. And I
hated
bullies. I slid my fingers under my shirt at my waist, hoping that Tamara Diesel wasn't paying close attention. We were so screwed. “Let him go or you'll regret it.”

“Tell the lady what she wants to know,” Stretchy said. Toadicus smirked. I looked over my shoulder at Tamara, who still had a grip on my shirt. Silence stretched over the bar until—­

Clang.

All five of us jumped. Raze, who'd slammed her third and final shot glass onto the bar top, didn't notice. She let out a ladylike burp. “Sal, I could use another one of those,” she called toward the back room.

“You can drink at a time like this?” I asked.

“They're threatening you, not me. Sal!”

“Enough.” Tamara nodded at Toadicus, who grabbed Raze around the middle, moving to pick her up.

He yanked back a bloody hand and screamed.

No point in waiting for a better distraction. I slapped the side of Tamara's neck, aiming for speed rather than strength. The taser patch I'd slammed into the corner of her jaw sprang to life with a fizzle of static and a bright blue flash. I launched myself right as it went off, sliding for home toward Guy and Stretchy. My knee drove right into Stretchy McGee's scapula. Nothing crunched because the woman was probably made of rubber, but she still screamed.

Tamara stormed toward me, homicide written on every feature. As Guy struggled to free himself from Stretchy McGee, I scrambled upright. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten the telekinesis: Tamara raised her hand, fingers spread, and the invisible force hit like a battering ram. It slammed under my sternum, the force of it scooping me up and backward. My shoulder blades hit the bar so hard that my head recoiled back and agony sang up my spine, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I cried out and tried to push against the force, but it was like I was surrounded by invisible steel arms that threatened to choke me. Tamara stood in the center of the bar with her hand still extended, the irises in her eyes glowing so brightly that I could see them clearly even in the dim lighting. No wonder she regularly made the top ten lists for scary-­ass villains. The look on her face was going to give me nightmares for a month.

From the way Guy gasped, I apparently wasn't the only one to think so. At least on the other side of the bar, Raze seemed to hold her own. She kicked a downed Toadicus in the stomach repeatedly. “Keep! Your! Froggy! Hands!” Each word was accompanied by a kick and a grunt. “Off! Of! Me! You stupid reptile!”

Guy and I were considerably more screwed. I couldn't move, and even though I'd damaged Stretchy a little, she was still standing.

Tamara's eyes never left mine as she peeled the taser patch from her skin. There wasn't even a rash left behind, which told me all the other goodies Jessie had given me would be equally useless. Not that I could even use them. Tamara had me completely immobile, which felt truly strange. Usually when I couldn't move, ropes or chained were involved. The lack of anything visible around my body sent cold fear coursing through me in little choppy waves. We were truly outmatched, and Tamara hadn't even broken a sweat. My heart began to pound, and I fought the urge to actually whimper as she stalked up to me.

She dropped one hand so that the telekinetic hold fell away. Before I could even react, though, she had me by the neck again. She tried to lift me, a line appearing between her eyebrows when she realized how heavy I was. In the end, she settled for tightening her grip, which really wasn't much better. My hands began to shake.

“You're a pain in the ass,” she said, “but you're worth more to me alive than dead. How about you cease these pathetic little attempts at rebellion and I let your boyfriend live?”

“That doesn't sound like something I'd do,” I said.

­People make fun of short ­people, but they don't realize that when you're closer to the ground, it's simply easier to get at the kneecaps and the groin. I went for the former now, kicking sharply at her left kneecap.

She didn't even do me the courtesy of flinching. “Are you done?” she asked.

“Probably not,” I said, wheezing a little.

“You know something. And even better, there's somebody who knows more about the Demobilizer than you do,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.

“There is?”

“Chelsea was there. If I'm not mistaken, she was delivering a ransom payment.”

“I don't know anybody named Chelsea.”

Tamara jerked me closer to her. I stared at her nose. “I think you do. She mentioned a twerp that foiled a few of her plans before she got herself captured by Davenport.”

“Twerp? Really? That's hurtful.”

“Bring her to me. She owes me.”

“I told you—­”

“If she helps me find the Demobilizer, I'll consider her debt forgiven.”

Guy made a soft noise behind me and I tried to remember if he knew that Brook was in debt with Tamara Diesel. Sometimes I had a hard time recalling who knew which piece of information at any given point in the day. Eddie Davenport and his bizarre insistence on keeping my friends apart had struck again.

“You want her to know that, you tell her yourself,” I said.

“Linda,” Tamara said.

Linda must have been Stretchy's real name, for her arm tightened around Guy and he grunted in pain. I struggled, but Tamara Diesel didn't even flinch. If anything, her grip doubled. How she wasn't crushing my larynx, I had no idea. I tried to pry her fingers free and get to Guy, who was going from red to white. “Leave him out of it! I mean that.”

“What are you going to do about it?” She scoffed and I had to admit that it was a good question. I was outclassed on every level: every villain in the bar—­including the one I'd brought with me—­was stronger than me, I couldn't depend on Raze in a fight, and even with the doomed Toadicus down, both Linda and Tamara could kill Guy without breaking a sweat. I'd been in some bad situations during my Hostage Girl days—­and the person who usually saved me then was the reason I couldn't effectively fight back now.