78.
Nadine
The whiskey burned, but it was a good burn, as she held it on her tongue a little longer than was necessary. She just liked the smell of the good stuff. It reminded her of success, of breaking into this world and tasting the fruits of her labors as they started to ripen.
This was a favorite watering hole, but now that she was broke—temporarily—this was the first time she’d been here since her fall. It looked like it wasn’t going to be the last, though, since the storm clouds were dissipating even now, and the horizon was starting to look clear. Blue, even. Lovely.
The TV in the bar was blaring wonderful news, with Gravity Whore’s face exposed, plastered all over it. She looked old to Nadine, who took another satisfied sip with a swell of joy that almost made her giggle.
Then the door to the bar swung wide, presenting a familiar outline, and Nadine took a much longer drink of her whiskey, because that horizon wasn’t looking nearly so clear anymore.
She put her glass down on the bar and scanned the room; she wasn’t alone, at least. There were witnesses. “So, you found me,” she said, trying to restrain that slight edge of panic.
“Yeah, I found you,” Sienna Nealon said, her walk to the bar an intimidating thing, casual and yet powerful. She eyed the empty glasses on the bar in front of Nadine; the barman hadn’t done a very good job tidying up. “I guess this answers how you maintain your stick figure: alcohol-induced bulimia.”
“Vomiting up aged single malt would be conspicuous consumption on a scale that would bankrupt all but the most wealthy,” she said, rolling her eyes slightly. “I’m afraid in that area, as in so many others, I’m simply better than you.” She turned on her stool to look at Nealon. “So … did you come to get your revenge because of that little picture I sent you?”
There was a faint flicker of irritation in Nealon’s eyes, and then she simmered down, which Nadine found surprising. “No,” Nealon said. “I came to ask if I could buy an advance copy of the Balls Out!™ Success Plan.”
Nadine tensed. “How did you kn—you looked through my office?”
“You left the window open,” Nealon said, inviting herself to sit down at the bar. She was playing this way too cool if she was looking for revenge, almost like she thought she was a real cop or something. “I’m here about Jamie Barton.”
The barman set down another whiskey in front of Nadine and she lifted it toward the TV screen. “I was just watching that,” she said smoothly. “What a shame.” She didn’t put too much effort into it.
“Her daughter’s missing,” Nealon said, voice tight. Oh, so that was why she was here.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Nadine said. “I’ve been sitting here for the last little while—”
“I know you wouldn’t get your hands dirty yourself,” Sienna said, not even looking at her. “But this girl’s life is on the line.” Her jaw tightened as Nadine watched, as though it was paining her to speak this humbly. “If you know anything about what’s happening here—”
“All I know is what I see on the news,” Nadine said, trying to keep the smirk from showing. “I mean, really, though, we should have seen this coming.” When Nealon cocked her head slightly, Nadine went on. “Heroes, right?” She waved a hand at Sienna. “You were the first, and look at you now. You set the standard, proved that the people we thought were better than us, that we looked up to—they were just people like us. Petty, venal, angry—in your case, at least—people. No better. Sometimes worse.” She raised her glass to the TV and the image of Jamie Barton. “I mean, look what she was hiding behind that mask.” She giggled and leaned closer to Sienna. “And I’m not just talking about the wrinkles—”
“I can see through your mask,” Sienna said, leaning in, all menacing now. “I think the world’s gotten a good glimpse of you now, so even if you can—trade again or whatever it is you do when you play with your computers all day—”
“You’re really proving me right on that whole, ‘you’re not better’ business, aren’t you, you poor, sweet, simple soul?”
“—they’re not going to accept you back to their little clan,” Nealon went on. “You’re going to be an outcast of humanity.”
“Oh, I’m drowning in sanctimony,” Nadine said, and tipped her glass up to empty it in one good gulp. “I need more Macallan if I’m going to continue this conversation.”
“You’re destroying this woman’s life,” Sienna said, pointing to the TV. “Her daughter’s life. These are people.”
“There are lots of people in the world,” Nadine announced, sliding her glass toward the edge of the bar to see if it would go crashing off the other side. It stopped short. “I don’t let them or their pitiful little woes get me down, and I don’t let them get in my way.” She looked at Nealon and smiled. “That’s what you don’t understand. That’s why I’m the Queen of Wall Street. That’s why I always get what I want.”
Sienna Nealon gave her a hard look. “Sounds like a parenting fail to me.” She leaned in, so that Nadine could smell her breath, which was a little rank. “If I find out you were involved in this in any way—”
“You’ll what?” Nadine announced to the whole bar, the dozen or so patrons. “Kill me?”
“I would never do such a thing,” Nealon said loudly, “I’m upset with you, but that’s no cause for violence.” Then she lowered her voice, the stage whisper for the benefit of witnesses over. “If I found out you’re involved in this, I will take the silver spoon up your ass and use it to carve your heart out. Because, in the words of the late, great Alan Rickman, it’s dull, you twit, and it’ll hurt more.” And with that she stood up, eyes blazing, but smile sweetly fixed as though she’d just given out a recipe for brownies or some such. “I hope you enjoy your drink.”
“Oh, I will,” Nadine threw right back.
“We are interrupting this program to go to a live broadcast on YouTube,” the television announced, causing Nealon’s head to turn, “from a group claiming responsibility for kidnapping Gravity Gal—a.k.a. Jamie Barton’s 16 year-old daughter, Kyra.”
Nadine watched as the screen frizzed into a digital livestream of some sort, complete with the blocky interruptions she’d come to expect from a video at low quality. The scene was dark, and there was a man in a black mask with sunglasses, speaking in muffled tones. “—and if Gravity Gal does not come to us immediately, here at old Sea View Hospital in Staten Island,” the camera swept around shakily enough that Nadine felt a hint of nausea at its motion, “we will execute her daughter.” The video settled on a tear-stained face of a teenager with duct tape over her mouth. “If the police come in, we will kill the girl,” the man said in a dull tone. “If anyone else attempts to interfere … we will kill the girl. Gravity Gal alone must come for her—and answer for what she’s done.” The picture froze, then cut out.
“Ooh, a revenge scheme,” Nadine said, pretending to shiver. “Someone mad at Gravity Gal for the destruction? Or a criminal getting her back for something she did to them?”
Nealon’s eyes settled hard on her. “I pick the latter. Where’s Sea View Hospital?”
“Staten Island, I guess,” Nadine said in disgust. “How should I know? No self-respecting Manhattanite gives a damn about Staten Island.” She turned back to the bar.
“You did this,” Nealon said flatly, hovering in shadow between Nadine and the door.
“Prove it,” Nadine said, bored now. “But if I did … let’s face it … you’re nowhere near bright enough to pin it to me.” She smiled sweetly. “No one is. But hey,” she brought her glass up in a toast-like motion, “you could still kill me. Here, in front of witnesses. Later, with no witnesses, except these people who saw us arguing, and would probably drop a dime on you.” She smiled. “You feeling like crossing that line, Nealon? Want to rip my memories out of my head?” She ran a hand over her neck. “Rip my throat out like a rabid dog? Do you think that would improve your situation at all? They,” she waved a hand around the bar, around the world, “do hate me right now. You might not even get convicted if you did it right here, in front of everybody.” She leaned closer. “But I suspect that’d be all the confirmation your ex would need to really believe he was right—that you are a villain, not a hero. It’s not what good guys do, after all.”
It was a measure of how effectively she’d read Sienna Nealon, Nadine thought, that the girl just stood there, almost quivering with anger. “I’m going to go fix this problem you’ve thrown into the life of others,” she said, “that’s all. But I can tell you that someday, the law is going to catch up to you—and on that day, I only hope I’m there to see it.” And with that, she was off, out the door of the bar with a whooshing sound as the air was disturbed by her swift passage.
“Good luck with that,” Nadine said and brought the glass back to her lips. She knew defeat when she saw it, and that right there was a girl tucking tail and running. She doubted she’d ever see Sienna Nealon again.