“No harm at all, Andre,” Gloria said grandly. “If you’re concerned for your family, why don’t you move them out? We’ll campaign for industrial zoning and clear out the neighborhoods, and you can enjoy life instead of fretting about a lot of lazy bums who will never amount to anything.”
I dug my fingers into Tim’s arm and he grunted. If she was referring to the entire area around the Zone, I was not a lazy bum. Neither were my friends. We’re weird maybe, but not lazy. Not by a long shot. She talked about us as if we were cockroaches. That’s the mentality generated by power, the arrogance of the privileged elite who sincerely believe they know best, though they never descend to the streets to meet or know us.
I’d have liked to shoot her right then, but I’d have had to justify offing just about every rich, powerful bitch in the country. Not good for my eternal health. Maybe I could visualize them scrubbing floors on an empty stomach so they would know what it felt like down here.
“You would tear down a community, throw people out of their homes, for what, Gloria? Magic gas?” Andre’s tone remained cool, but his words were edgy enough to make the goons straighten and pat their coat pockets. Definitely holstered guns.
“It’s not
Yeah, because it had certainly helped Katerina Montoya.
“Then if green gas causes no harm, you won’t mind if I use it in here?” he asked conversationally. “It creates a splendid rainbow effect when applied properly.”
Before anyone could jump him, he sprayed a pink and green cloud into Gloria’s face.
Tim was muttering, “Shit, shit, shit,” and I was thinking pretty much the same.
Beautiful, charming Gloria erupted like a Fury. She came out swinging and punching, no different from the bums back home when the first gas attack hit the streets. Man, I’d never seen an old lady box like a pro. That had to hurt. She had Andre by the shirtfront and was pounding his face as hard she could with her tiny little fist.
A chemical weapon that caused violence,
Apparently unfazed and a hundred times stronger, Andre pried Granny loose and stepped out of reach before she could grab his hair and launch him over the railing. I swear, she was that mad.
Now what the hell should I do? Andre had started this. I couldn’t punish Gloria for what he’d done. Justice was a real bitch.
The goons swarmed closer, trying to work around our raging virago to grab Andre. Gloria swung at them, too, calling them names that would make a sailor blush and smacking them around like punching bags.
“Geez,” Tim whispered in awe. “She’s a berserker.”
Viking warriors notwithstanding, I dragged Tim across the impressive foyer in some idiot hope that I could persuade Andre to move his ass. Gloria was doing such a good job of keeping her guards occupied that he could have sprinted out of there, but it seemed as if the boss was doing the gentlemanly thing and trying to prevent the mad old bat from flying over the railing.
That was some powerful gas. Superpowerdom, my ass. Drop a canister of that in the Mideast and I’d save myself the trouble of blowing up the planet.
Before we could reach the bottom of the stairs, a shot rang out. I froze and jerked my gaze back to the third floor.
Gloria had grabbed a gun from one of the goons and was shooting wildly.
This was seriously not good. Andre had his back to us. I couldn’t see what he meant to do, but he was wisely not tackling her. She was aiming at her own guards because they were wrestling with her, trying to prevent her from knocking them into next week.
The shot was apparently the final straw. One thug swung a blow to her jaw, in some dim hope of putting her out, maybe. Just like Nancy Rose after being bashed in the head with a chair, Gloria didn’t go down. Instead, she backed out of reach, shrieked in fury, flung her arm up in the air, and discharged the weapon. The force of the discharge unbalanced her, and she fell backward . . .
Toward the railing.
Time slowed. I had a distinct impression that Andre tried to grab her, but he’d backed too far away when she’d hauled out the gun. The goons didn’t even seem to be bothering. Maybe they were waiting for her to fall unconscious so they could tote her off to bed. Or an asylum.
She fell against the railing with arm still upraised. She didn’t stumble and collapse on the floor but rammed the rail with the momentum of all her weight. The wood cracked and tilted, and the force of her swing tumbled her over. Backward.
Her head hit the marble floor a million seconds later. Dropping pumpkins would have been less messy.
“Damn you to hell,” I muttered without thinking, horrorstruck by both the blood spatter and the awfulness of dying in such gruesome ignominy. How could this ever be explained to her family?
Unable to drag my horrified gaze away, I watched in astonishment as the burning fires of hell blazed red in Gloria’s dead and staring eyes. To my revulsion, it was as if her Botoxed and plastic face momentarily melted, morphing into a fiendishly blackened skull. And then there was nothing but blood and brains.
I had the urge to hurl.
Even Tim gagged and quit saying shit.
Andre stared over the railing, his usually amused expression transformed to one of horror. I didn’t know if he’d seen what I’d just seen or was even realizing what would go down next. He was simply seeing an old family friend and suffering regret. He had worse to worry about.
I released Tim’s arm for a nanosecond. Andre’s dismay at seeing me was gratifying. I pointed firmly at the rear of the house, then grabbed Tim again before he could slip out of reach.
I dragged him in the direction of what ought to be the kitchen. My fine legal mind was ticking wildly. I would make a very bad witness given that no one had seen me until after the fact. I was pretty certain it would be better if the police didn’t know Tim and I had been trespassing while invisible. And if someone wasn’t calling 911 right now, I would. This was not the Zone. No way in hell was the death of Gloria Vanderventer getting swept under any rugs.
While the goons above were shouting at each other and into cell phones, security crashed in from every door. We didn’t have much time. I stepped out of the way of two guards barging in from the rear, stuck my invisible foot out, and let one trip and the other fall on him. I needed amusement, and these guys or ones like them had harassed and kidnapped me a while back.
Andre was a bright boy. He was right on my heels. He dodged before the guards completed their tumbling act, then stepped over them.
He refrained from shouting my name. I was still invisible, but tumbling Keystone Cops gave him the evidence that I was damned well there. He intelligently locked the kitchen door behind him.
Once in the kitchen, Tim eagerly strained toward the refrigerator.
“Cameras,” I hissed. I’d been spied on by Vanderventers enough to be familiar with their love of security equipment. They’d have Andre entering the house on video but not Tim and me. I doubted they had cameras on the private third floor, more’s the pity.
I glanced around, found a slightly open closet door, and dragged Tim that way. Pantry, bingo. Even security guards got hungry occasionally, or wanted a smoke break. I smelled cigarettes as we stepped inside a closet almost as big as my kitchen.
I released Tim and let him rummage for Cheetos. He was still invisible but I could see boxes and bags wink out as he shuffled through them. I don’t know how the boy could eat after the spectacle we’d just observed, but I doubted any of us was operating on rational. If I thought about what I’d just seen, I’d gag and freeze in horror. So I blocked it out.
Andre glared at me when he joined us, tugging the door almost shut. “I’m not even going to ask,” was all he said. “I think I’ll just wring your neck. You have no business—”
