Page 110 of Antihero

His teeth came visible in that scraggly beard. He flicked his chin back in acknowledgment, wheeled into a turn, and disappeared around the corner.

Anca had pivoted as well, staring at the blank spot on the sidewalk where the man had stood.

“Was that”—Anca’s voice quavered—“one of them?”

Candy shook her head. “Don’t know.”

“That’s the problem. Could be anyone. Could be everyone.”

They kept on toward Anca’s apartment.

Anca plodded at Candy’s side, bags swinging, head lowered. “They are still out there.”

Not a question so much as an observation that she was still getting her head around.

Candy said, “Yes.”

“They will do this to others.”

Candy said, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Anca said. “Yes, then.”

“Yes, what?”

“I will do it. I will talk to her. The law-enforcement lady.”

They reached Anca’s building and she shouldered through the door into the lobby. Candy gave another sweeping glance around behind them, the sidewalks dark, the asphalt gleaming with humidity, the pedestrians with faces shadowed by hats and umbrellas. That electricity pulsed once more, tingling up her spine. Paranoia took hold, feeding on itself as it always did.

She stepped inside, drawing the door shut against rain and darkness.

Could be anyone.

Could be everyone.

43All the Lonely People

The Twist ’n’ Shouters!

A one-night event at a club in the deep Valley.

That’s where they were headed in Mia’s venerable Acura.

On the drive over, she updated Evan on Peter (big into science, crush on a girl named Lola, heartbreakingly graduated from superhero-themed school supplies) and her stint in San Francisco (under-resourced, rampant property crime, balancing incarceration and rehabilitation).

“And what’s been going on with you?”

“Not much,” Evan said.

Mia scratched at her hairline and stared through the windshield.

Evan’s dread mounted as they neared the venue. Parking was plentiful. The air tasted of a distant forest fire. He came around to open the driver’s door for Mia and offer his hand.

She wore a fitted royal-blue cocktail dress that hit just above the knee, a slight flare at the skirt accentuating her curves. A small strap purse with a subtle metallic sheen picked up her dangling silver earrings. She was in pointed toe-pumps with medium heels, so he proffered his arm and she took it. A high ponytail strictly bound her hair, a new look for her, all that curly wildness wrangled into sleekness, her fine features on stark display.

A sparse line had formed at the venue.

The bouncer checked IDs with his head cocked back and an aura of constrained I-might-have-to-beat-your-ass-later threat. The prison-ink cross at his temple sometimes stood for white supremacy but sometimes didn’t. Evan watched him engage with a black couple ahead of them in line but noted no variation in his behavior.