Hero Types

Chapter 13

"I think this is really important. Listen," she said, before he could interrupt, "I've done my research. I mapped it out, it's got to be the same person. All the break-ins are identical."
    "I'm not saying you're wrong there," Lucas said. "This is definitely the same person. I just don't think it's connected to—"
    "Why else would someone need twenty refrigerators?"
    "Why would anyone need twenty refrigerators!"
    "Lucas, it has to have—"
    His phone rang. He got up, shaking his head, and walked away. "Hello..."
    Kit rolled her eyes and observed her stack of research. She cast a glance at Jersey, who shrugged.
    "Don't look at me!"
    "You know I'm right."
    "I didn't say you were wrong," he said. "But like Lucas said, there's no reason for this to be connected. And right now, some fridge thief is a much lower priority than that guy with the gas mask."
    "I know, I'm saying they're the same person!"
    "No offense, but I feel like mask-dude has much better things to do."
    "Howe?" He looked up from his book. "What do you think?"
    "Oh, boy," he grumbled. He twisted his yellow python's tail around his gloved fingers while it napped on his shoulders. "There's always a chance."
    "Thank you."
    "You never really know," he continued quietly. "'Specially with those kinds. Probably not right in the head. Might be a...hobby. An addiction."
    "...Yeah." Kit had known him for four years, but she still wasn't totally sure what Howe's deal was. Jersey had told her he was a veteran, but he hadn't been specific about from which war. And once Jersey had convinced her that Lucas had an evil twin named Sylvester by photoshopping some old pictures of him. To that day, she still wondered.
    The backdoor opened down the hall, and there was a howl of wind before it shut. Kit turned around in her seat, but Lucas was still in the other room.
    "Ah." Mickey appeared, woolen hat pulled low on his head. "Cold out there." His eyes darted over the table, and they landed on Kit. He hesitated, then he took the seat next to her. He glanced over his shoulder, frowning. "Is Lucas—"
    "He's on the phone," she said. She crossed her arms and studied her work on the table. She just needed more evidence, but she couldn't get it without help.
    Mickey zipped and unzipped his sweater, eyeing the other two at the table. Howe was buried in his book, and Jersey was trying to discreetly scroll through his Twitter feed. He turned to her. "How're you?"
    "I'm—" she frowned at her map. "I'm a little pissed."
    "Ooh, that's no good. What about?"
    She stared at him for a second. She opened her mouth, but then—
    "All right, gang. And—Mickey, good!" Lucas grabbed his coat off the back of a chair, ignoring Kit's glare. "Bundle up, guys. It's cold out there."
    Kit thought that their Center should actually be called the Carpooling Heroes Club, because that was all they ever did.
    They crowded in Lucas's car and something happened that caused Kit to end up in the backseat next to Mickey. She didn't realize till about five minutes down the road, and even then she wasn't so sure it was a bad thing. He hadn't been so bad last time. If he could keep that up, they were going to get along just fine.
    Lucas had gotten word of a potential prison break, so they were going to make sure that it didn't happen. It was about an hour out, and they were probably going to be waiting for a while. It was already past ten.
    Kit pulled out her phone and scrolled through her playlists. She put her headphones in and closed her eyes. Gran had gone to the doctor that day, and the results had been inconclusive. She would have to go back in a week. Kit had been trying not to think about it ever since she'd heard the news, but it was one of those things that you couldn't really help but think about.
    Mickey's metal finger was poking her shoulder. She pulled her earbud out.
    "What're you pissed about?"
    She glanced at Lucas, who seemed very focused on his driving. She shrugged and kept her voice down. "A lot of stuff. It's...not anything."
    "Oh, no, of course not." He snatched her phone out of her hands. He pointed at the screen. "Can I prank-call someone?"
    "No!" There was also the fact that she was embarrassed by the lack of numbers in her database. She leaned across to see what he was doing.
    "No offense, but you have shit taste in music," he muttered. He found whatever he was looking for and put her dropped earbud in his ear.
    "Can I have my phone back?"
    "Shh." He held a finger to his lips. "Just listen."
    She rolled her eyes and leaned back, because arguing would be useless. Operatic voices came forth.
    "Well, we know where we're going...but we don't know where we've been..."
    She raised her eyebrows at him. He shook his head and held onto her phone, and she crossed her arms with sigh.
    "Give us time to work it out..."
    Eighties-style organ swelled up. She grimaced, and he was smirking. The beat dropped. She laughed in horror. He grinned, pleased with himself whatever the case. She managed a dry look, and then she focused out the window.
    The headlights were yellow streaks on the dark road, and they glittered in dew and puddles, the hissing misty sheen over the asphalt. It was cold outside, but there was some sort of warmth in the car, and a part of it was Mickey's breath on her neck as the headphones forced them to lean close together. She couldn't decide what it smelled like tonight, except that maybe it was kind of comforting.