Saturday AfternoonIt wasn’t a stakeout. Not really. Randall was just taking Jerard for a nice outing in the park. So the park was long way from where they lived, and there were a lot nicer parks a lot closer to home. The van, and the equipment he had installed in it, was doing the real job. While Jerard slid down the slide a couple of dozen times, then turned his attention to the monkey bars, and Randall looked on like he proud father he was, the van was videotaping everyone who went in and out of a certain dry cleaning store. It was also recording all phone calls placed in and out of the building, the level of power used, and any other electromagnetic signatures that might indicate what equipment was being used inside. “Daddy! Look!” Jerard shouted, showing off that he could swing hand over hand along the bars. “Good job!” Randall shouted. The kid was a lot more fearless than Randall was at his age. Randall had been inside reading most of the time. Of course, it wasn’t safe to go outside where he grew up. The phone number that Marcus got from the gang banger had turned out to be just a relay point. It was forwarded a number of times through different parts of the city before a voice mail system answered. A voice said, “Please leave a message.” and that was all. It would have been a dead end for most people. Randall had some programmers working for him who had been phone phreaks when they were teenagers. They didn’t even ask why he wanted to trace a phone number that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make untraceable. They seemed to think it was for industrial espionage, and he let them think it. He felt a little guilty about involving them in Knighthawk business. He didn’t know where this trail would lead, and what repercussions there would be. He also worried a little about the fact that tapping other people’s phones was very illegal. Not too much, though. If it didn’t stop the President of the United States, why should it stop him? Tracing the phone number had led to the dry cleaner on Colorado Boulevard in the town of Glendale, a placeholder between Burbank and Pasadena. Randall had never been there before, but it seemed nice enough. The park was across the street, in the shadow of an elevated freeway and spectacularly backed by mountains. A mother with a girl younger than Jerard and a baby in a stroller came up to the playground. The girl ran to the swings and the mother sat on a bench. Randall walked around the playground and kept an eye on Jerard. He had never imagined the emotional intensity that was required of a parent. He worried about the kid, planned things to do with him, and thought of things to tell him the next time he saw him. Jerard was always in the back of his mind. He used to spend hours writing code with complete concentration. Now he found himself unable to do anything for long without thinking about his son. Randall looked at his watch. He was supposed to go to a fundraiser that night for the victims of the recent fires that had encircled L.A. He knew two couples who had lost their homes. He planned to donate generously. It would be Sharra’s first appearance with him in the public eye, there would be photographers in front of the hotel and everyone would want to know who was dating the software billionaire. Randall thought she would handle it well, she was used to high pressure at her law firm. Thinking about the fires made him think of the news coverage of that new superhero, Sun Man. The TV anchors all breathlessly announced that Sun Man had won his first major battle, though on the video it looked like the hero was getting his ass handed to him. What interested Randall was that one of the villains Sun Man was fighting was Buzz Kill, who had brought down the Nighthawk flying car the first time Marcus took it out. “Come on, Jerard,” Randall called out. “Time to go.” The boy either didn’t hear or pretended not to. “Come on! We’ll stop and get some ice cream.” That got Je-rard’s attention. He climbed down from the dome of steel bars that he had been playing on and ran towards Randall. Randall hoped to find a way to raise Jerard without continually bribing him. It wasn’t easy, he could afford anything the boy could want. He didn’t want a spoiled brat on his hands, like the rich kids at Jerard’s school. He enjoyed the doting father role too much, handing out gifts and goodies. He had to learn to say no sometimes. Nodding at the young mother as he passed her, Randall took Jerard to the van, which was parked at a meter on Colorado. They entered through the sliding side door. Randall sat at a console with computer displays and other equipment. “You said we would get ice cream,” Jerard said. “We will. Give me a minute,” Randall said. He put on a pair of headphones. He meant to go over all the data meticulously when they got home, but that would take hours. He wanted to see if anything of interest was going on right now. Jerard took a toy car out of his pocket and made motor sounds as he moved it through the air. The phone tap did reveal a conversation going on in the dry cleaning store. “...just two calls this afternoon,” a whiny male voice said. “I sent out Faster and Bully. They’re still out.” “Report logged and accepted,” a voice replied. Goosebumps broke out all over Randall’s skin. The voice was a man’s deep voice, but it was...the only thing he could think of to describe it was...empty. There was no humanity there, but he didn’t think it was a computer voice. It echoed with nothing, it spoke of death. “Tesseract out,” the whiny voice said. The line went dead. The strange word “Tesseract” rang a small bell in Randall’s mind. He didn’t think about it much. He was still thinking about the empty voice. Was that the boss? It didn’t sound like anything living. It was the voice of a chasm. Randall was startled by his cell phone ringing. He took it off his belt and answered. “Can you meet me and bring a suit?” Marcus asked. “I have one with me, but I’ll have to drop Jerard off with his nanny. And get some ice cream on the way,” he said, looking at Jerard’s hopeful face. Marcus told him where to meet, down in their old neighborhood. “So what’s up?” Randall asked. “I’m having an interesting day.” ***** “Put the knife down,” Marcus said. The kid tensed and held the small kitchen knife higher. “You do what I say,” he said. “Shut the hell up and sit down.” Marcus backed off a step but he didn’t sit down. His Mama was on the couch behind him, with her friend Janice Hornby. He stood protectively in front of them. With his special ops training he could take the boy out without breaking a sweat, but he wanted the kid to give up on his own. “Do what he say, Shawan,” LeShondra said. She reached out to touch Shawan but he pulled away and waved the knife at her. She retreated behind an armchair. “Who is he? How I know he’s not a cop?” Shawan said. “Just a friend, I just met him,” LeShondra said. “You’re lying!” The fourteen-year-old’s face was slick with sweat, and it was not a very hot day. His eyes were strange, with dilated pupils. “You’re not thinking right, son,” Marcus said. “We can work this out.” The first red flash of a police light came through the window. Then more. Marcus had started the day taking his Mama to church, and had ended up in a hostage situation. It had started well enough. Mama called on Friday and said her car wouldn’t start and had been taken to the shop. She clung to her old Buick like it was the only car in the world, always turning down his offers to buy her a new one. So it didn’t surprise him that it had broken down. Then Mama said she had promised to help out at her church on Saturday afternoon, and could he take her? Saturday was usually his day off, though on this one he had to bodyguard Randall at an evening charity event for fire victims. He agreed to take Mama to the church as long as he got home in time for the evening job. Everything was set for a boring Saturday afternoon with nice church ladies. Then Mama pulled a fast one on him. “Can you stop by and get Mrs. Hornby too?” she asked as soon as she was settled in the passenger seat of his BMW. “Where does she live?” Marcus asked. “You know Mrs. Hornby,” Mama said. Marcus vaguely remembered that one of the church ladies had that name. “I think I remember.” It’s just a little out of our way.” It was more than that, but what Mama wanted, Mama got. After about ten minutes, they pulled up to a small house with a porch with two columns. Marcus started to get out of the car to walk up to the house when Mama said, “Oh, honey, I forgot. Janice had to move, the house was condemned by the city.” Marcus sat in the driver’s seat. “Don’t tell me it’s a long way.” “Right there, the second floor.” Mama waved at a two story apartment building at the end of the block, on the same side of the street. Marcus drove the car up to the apartment building. It was a standard L.A. building with parking spaces under the apartments. He was lucky to find a parking space on the street. He got out and walked to the passenger side and opened the door for Mama. As she stood up, she reached up and smoothed Marcus’ tie. “You wanta look nice,” she said. “I don’t know why I gotta wear church clothes on my day off,” Mar-cus said. “It’s a fundraising sale, not a service.” “Well,” Mama said, “I guess I should tell you now. Janice has a daugh-ter, and...” The truth crashed in on Marcus. “Aw, no Mama, you didn’t set me up.” “She’s very nice.” “No, Mama, aw no.” Now his painfully boring afternoon was going to be em-barrassing and awkward as well. “You here now, you can’t back out.” “Damn, Mama.” “And watch your language.” Marcus walked up to the apartment building with dread in his heart. LeShondra was, as promised, very nice. She stood nervously in the living room of the small apartment and shook Marcus’ hand when they were introduced. “This was my mother’s idea,” she said. “Mine too,” Marcus said. “It was a conspiracy.” He shot a look at the two older ladies sitting on the couch. They both smiled. “Would you like some coffee?” LeShondra asked. “Why don’t we just go to the church? We can talk there.” “All right. Mom’s gonna stay here and watch Kyle.” “Kyle?” Marcus asked. “Your mom didn’t tell you I have two kids?” “She didn’t tell me this was a date until I was standing outside.” LeShondra turned on her mother. “You said you would be honest with him.” “Honesty never gets you a man,” Mrs. Hornby said. “Kyle is six; he’s in the kid’s bedroom.” LeShondra said. “And the other one?” “Shawan is fourteen. He’s out doing God knows what.” Marcus knew what fourteen year olds usually were doing in this neighborhood, and it wasn’t good. “Shall we go?” Marcus said. Before they got to the door, it crashed open and Shawan entered, breathing hard and looking sick. He took one look at Marcus and pulled a small knife. There was a lot of shouting. LeShondra screamed at her son to give her the knife, and he screamed back at her. Shawan advanced into the living room, and Mama and Mrs. Hornby sat on the couch with fear in their eyes. Marcus positioned himself to protect them. He could hurt this kid, or even kill him, but he wasn’t going to do that in front of his mother, and the kid’s mother and grandmother. Plus, there was a six year old some-where in the apartment. “Look,” Marcus said. “My name is Marcus. I brought my mother; she’s a friend of your grandma.” Mama smiled nervously as Shawan flicked a look at her. “I’m just taking these ladies to the church sale. Everything’s okay. No need for the knife.” Shawan licked his lips and blinked. “Stay away,” he said. “First time?” Marcus asked. “What was it, PCP?” “Shawan, no!” LeShondra said. “I didn’t take nothing!” Shawan shrieked. “Maybe just a little weed?” Marcus asked. Angel dust, PCP, is sometimes sprayed on joints.” Shawan’s eyes were unfocused; Marcus didn’t know what the kid was seeing or thought he was seeing. “Nothing,” Shawan repeated. “Just a few drags, s’all.” The police lights were getting more intense, and now a cop on a bullhorn started to shout, “POLICE! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!” “Oh my god,” LeShondra said. “Shawan, you gotta put the knife down.” “No!” “You wanta be sent to juvie? You know what happens to kids in there?” Le-Shondra shouted. “He’s gonna hurt me,” Shawan said, waving his knife at Marcus. “He is not! Now you listen to reason, young man!” “He’s beyond reason right now.” Marcus said. “He’s having a bad reaction. He needs help.” “Who called the police?” Mama suddenly asked. It was a good question. No one in the room had done it. The revolving red lights of police cars flashed on and off in the room. “Where did you get the knife?” LeShondra demanded. “Probably from your kitchen,” Marcus said. “I started carrying one when I was younger than he is.” Mama exclaimed, “Marcus!” “Sorry, Mama, life is tough out there. It saved me from some bad situations, just having it to scare people away.” Shawan shoved his knife aggressively forward one more time, then collapsed forward onto the carpet. LeShondra rushed forward and knelt near her son. Marcus walked up and felt the boy’s neck. “He’s alive, but his pulse is low and he’s not breathing well. He needs a doctor.” He took the knife from Shawan’s hand and put it in his pocket. Then he gathered the kid up and stood up. “WE NEED TO TALK!” The police shouted through their bullhorn. “DO NOT HARM THE HOSTAGES!” LeShondra put her hand on Marcus’ arm. “You can’t take him out there,” she pleaded. “They’ll put him in the system. He’ll be just another black kid in jail. He might not make it out of there alive.” Marcus knew that a good kid could enter the system and die in there, or make it out as a hardened criminal. “I’ll try to think of something,” he said. “But Shawan needs to get to a hospital soon.” He put the kid onto the nearby armchair. “Where’s your other son?” he asked LeShondra. She gave a startled look, then turned to run down a short hallway. Following her, Marcus saw her frantically looking around a bedroom with two beds. The boys must share the room, he thought. “Kyle?” LeShondra said. “Kyle?” After looking everywhere else she flung open a closet door. Six year old Kyle had pushed himself as far back in the closet as he could. “Baby,” she said. Then she noticed that he was clutching her cell phone. “Did you call the police?” Kyle nodded. “I heard shouting, and there was a scary man.” He stiffened when he saw Marcus behind his mother. LeShondra glanced back. “He’s all right, he’s my new friend. Come on, baby.” Kyle stood up and ran forward into his mother’s arms. Marcus was making a call on his own cell phone. He talked, ending with “I’m having an interesting day.” Then he turned to look out the bedroom window. “Well, well,” he said. Marcus carried Shawan down the back steps of the apartment building and put him into his mother’s old Nissan. LeShondra followed, looking very puzzled. “I thought the cops would jump us the minute we came out.” “Little Kyle gave them your old address,” Marcus said. The Nissan backed out and onto the street. No one paid it any attention. There were at least a dozen police cars, plus a fire truck. All the cops and fire fighters had their backs to it as they concentrated on the condemned house just down the street. There were also news trucks, reporters and cameramen, all ready to record some violence for the evening news. “Take him to the hospital. If anyone ever asks you about the 911 call, just say Kyle was playing with your phone.” LeShondra drove away, going around the barrier that had been placed at the end of the street. “You still taking me to the church?” Mama asked from behind. “Yes, ma’am. Just let me make a call.” He called Randall and told him to hold off rushing to the scene. “I was going to do some heroic Knighthawk stuff, but it turned out I don’t need to.” “You and your Mama are all right?” Randall asked. “Well, we have some talking to do about setting me up on blind dates.” Mama pretended she didn’t hear that. “Then I’ll see you tonight.” Marcus closed his phone and turned towards his BMW. The cops would figure out that no one was in the house pretty soon. They wouldn’t be happy about it, but false alarms are pretty common. He opened the door for Mama, and closed it when she was settled into the passenger seat. Walking around to the driver’s side, Marcus was surprised that there was a white teenager, wearing some kind of pajamas and a costume mask standing in the street. What the hell? A big red D was on the kid’s chest.
The costumed boy pointed at Marcus and exclaimed, “Goodness!”
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