“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. You’re just saying that.”
“Believe me.”
“God, I am sorry.”
“Forget it.” He gently kissed her nose, and she looked at him.
“You know what? You’re amazing.”
“I wish I could say ‘of course’. Far from it.”
“It’s true anyway. Thank you.” Louise broke into a grateful smile, disarmed and relieved, if still nervous. “Heavens, I thought — well, I thought you’d hate me.”
“Never, ever possible.”
The two of them ended up spending the rest of that night lying side-by-side on the bed covers, occasionally nestling up to the other, but mostly taking turns reading aloud passages from different books selected at random.
That was how they fell asleep, with an opened copy of The Count of Monte Cristo on Jack’s stomach and Louise’s face pressed against his, Tarpé Mills’s against hers.
#126
Jack had to be up early and back to Timely Tower by eight a.m., since their fabulous ringleader had scheduled a red-eye get together.
He wasn’t certain why one should feel either fatigue or wired on caffeine in a make-believe place like Heropa, but even after three espressos the fatigue was winning and he struggled to keep it together.
Flashbacks peppered his more lucid moments — of waking up on Louise’s pillow and gazing into her green eyes. Of her looking back with an earnest, open expression. Of her saying, in a soft voice, scared, “I love you.”
Jack and the Brick were the only two at their round table when eight segued by. According to his cinder-block teammate, Pretty Amazonia was ill.
“Not fair,” Jack decided.
“Tell me ’bout it.”
“Do people actually get sick here?” Jack asked.
“Blandos do — they run the full gamut o’ illnesses we have in the outside world, somethin’ t’do with makin’ it more realistic, poor sods. But Capes? Nah. We have our own probs back home, health or otherwise. PA was out late. Figure she’s feignin’ illness, an’ catchin’ up on beauty sleep.”
“And she needs it.”
The Brick chuckled as he looked at his rocky left wrist, like there was a timepiece there, when in fact a watchband would never circumnavigate its width. “Anyways, where’s the Great White Dope? The loser called this meetin’.”
“I heard that.”
The Great White Hope, bedecked as ever in stainless white robes, did his smooth-descending-the-stairs trick from the balcony.
“Nice to know yer hearin’, at least, is intact.”
“It’s nice to know you care.”
The Equalizer had reached the bottom-most step, but remained in that spot as his gaze swept over Jack, like he was inconsequential, and affixed itself on the hulking man to his right.
“By the way, perhaps you might be courteous enough to help me understand — why stick with a name like the Brick, when you could better resort to the Dick?”
“Oh, gee, the bozo has a wily sense o’ humour — he even rhymes. Hurrah.”
Stifling a yawn, Jack lifted his fourth coffee and decided to hose down some of the tension.
“What’s up, GWH?”
The remark earned him that piercing grey stare, but this at least meant he amounted to more than a hill of coffee beans.
“Please, Southern Cross, use my full name. Don’t you realize how much the acronym ‘GWH’ irritates me?”
“Actually, sorry, I didn’t. Everyone else uses it.”
Very discreetly, the Brick winked at him. At least, Jack thought he winked — it was difficult to tell amidst the masonry.
“Yeah, it irks our boss. Makes ‘im sound like some kind o’ dangerous, illegal drug. GWH-slash-GHB — geddit?”
Jack didn’t get it at all, but shammed. “Sure.”
For his part, the Great White Hope plumbed unhappy. “Dear God. Do I really need to listen to this nonsense first thing in the morning?”
“Course not, bub. Y’could kick us out on our arses right about now — only, I seems to remember we’re here by yer explicit invitation.”
“Ahh. That.”
“Ahh, that,” the Brick mimicked.
Their all-white host finally drifted across the marble foyer, and then lingered to stand over the other two Equalizers. In close proximity, Jack noted the GWH had some weird, eerie personality clout, leading the Brick to renounce his breezy charms and slouch instead to examine his feet. His partner wondered if he was searching for remnants of Little Nobody or the Tick between his toes. Biting the bullet, Jack peered up at their leader.