Cassie’s cell phone rang, loud and sudden. The caller ID read: RED.
Cassie answered it. ‘Reggie.’
‘ATAC got a satellite fix on him. He’s on his way here from New York. After taking care of the east coast, it looks like he’s working his way across the country. I’m next. Then it’ll be Silvia, Gary, Blaine—’
This was typical of Reggie, Cobalt Red.
Straight to business. No small talk. No wonder he’d never got along with White and Purple and, sadly, Cobalt Green.
‘Oh, Reggie . . .’ Cassie said.
‘—then you. If he can find you.’
‘Where are you now?’ Cassie asked.
* * *
Cobalt Red stood inside City Hall in his home town of Chicago.
He was outside the mayor’s office, having just had a meeting with the city’s senior officials.
‘The mayor wants me to leave Chicago,’ he said flatly into his phone.
‘What!’ Cassie said.
‘To “minimise damage” in the event that I lose.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
Red shook his head. ‘They’re already planning for life after. I protected this city, these people, for twelve years, and now they want me out of here so their windows don’t get broken when he comes to kill me.’
‘That’s just . . .’
Red said, ‘You were smart. You laid low, lived out of sight.’
‘Reggie . . .’
Red shook his head. ‘I have to admit, I enjoyed it, Cassie. Bit of limelight. Good tables at restaurants. I haven’t had to pay for a drink in a bar in years. But now—’
Cassie whispered to herself, ‘It all means nothing.’
‘—it all means nothing,’ Red said, even though he hadn’t heard her. ‘Now they don’t want to know me!’
‘They’re scared.’
‘I didn’t want to be like Purple and White: celebrity superheroes,’ Red vented. ‘Or Gary in Vegas, pushing his agendas. Or Green, the Army’s super-soldier working out of the Pentagon. Or Black, doing whatever the hell he does in his lab. I kept it low-key as a cop. Reduced gun crime, helped inner-city kids. They still made me into a hero, a goddamned tourist stop.’
He took a breath. ‘You said this would happen.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Cassie said.
‘I never really got why you chose Witness Protection but I get it now,’ Red said.
‘I wanted my life to be mine.’
‘You always were the smartest of us all.’
‘What’re you going to do?’ Cassie asked.
‘I’m going to fight him is what I’m going to do,’ Red said bitterly. ‘North of town, out over the lake. Keep their precious city intact. And I’m probably gonna lose.’
‘Don’t say that, Reggie.’
‘I’m sorry, Cassie.’
‘What for?’
‘For not being more understanding when you made your decision. For not getting it back then. You were right. You were the only one who—’
A sudden sonic boom above the city made Red spin and look out the window.
‘He’s here. Sorry, Cassie, I gotta go now. See you on the other side.’
And he hung up.
NORTH TEXAS
TWELVE YEARS AGO
Cassie was 17. Red was 22.
They were in the basement of Cassie’s parents’ home in north Texas. It was early morning.
They both wore simple gym clothes: her top had the name of the local high school on it, his read C.P.D.
‘Okay, today we begin your fight training,’ Red said. ‘Now, Golden Gary, he can teach you all kinds of pretty techniques and flashy moves, but I’m gonna teach you something else. I’m gonna teach you how people fight.’
‘All right,’ Cassie said.
‘First thing,’ Cobalt Red said, ‘is knowing when a fight has started. We’ve all been brought up with the notion of “They threw the first punch. I just defended myself.” Now, this kind of thinking seems noble and all, but it has flaws, not least because it presupposes that you can win a fight starting from behind, after you’ve already been hit. America beat the Japanese in World War II after they bombed us at Pearl Harbor. We took a hit, came back, and won. All very noble and honourable.’
‘Right,’ Cassie said.
Red shook his head. ‘Wrong. Nope, there are times when you gotta realise that the fight has already started and you’ll need to throw the first punch. When a big dude in a bar comes lumbering toward you, bunching his fists, trust me, the fight has already started.’
Cassie nodded.
This had actually been an issue for Red, indeed for several of the Cobalt males: cocky men in bars—sometimes groups of them—wanting to test a Cobalt in a fight, to see if they really were super.
‘Right then, hit me,’ Cobalt Red said.
She swung at him.
He ducked.
She missed.
‘I said hit me!’
Another swing. Another swerve. Another miss.
‘Come on! You can do better than that! HIT ME!’
Cassie was pissed now, so she unleashed a flurry of blows . . .
. . . but Red dodged all of them.
On the last swing, he stepped nimbly behind a punching bag and casually swung it into her, knocking Cassie onto her ass.
But Cassie wasn’t done.
Ever determined, she got up—only to be punched hard in the nose by Red.
She dropped like a sack of shit, clutching her face.
‘Ow!’
‘Everyone should get punched in the face once in their lives,’ Red said.
‘Why?’ Cassie didn’t think so right then.
‘Because,’ Red said, ‘in that moment of dizziness, your heart races and the mere idea of another punch sends your mind into fight or flight mode.’
‘You mean resilience?’
‘I mean: to know you can take a punch and keep going. When someone hits you, you get dizzy, your vision blurs, but can you still think clearly?’
‘So what’s the key?’
‘If you get hit in a fight, you gotta keep your wits long enough to avoid the killer blow that’s comin’ in next. Till then, don’t get hit.’
‘So how do I duck a punch?’
‘By watching. Hit me.’
She wound up to strike him.
‘Okay, hold it there,’ Red said.
She froze with her right fist pulled back.
‘So here’s what I see,’ Red said. ‘You’re winding up for a cross. All your weight is loaded back to the right. So I’m ducking left. Punch.’
She swung. He ducked left . . . so she missed.
‘That’s the key. Watch. Watch where your attacker loads up and you’ll know where he’s going. Read the punch before it comes.’
Now Red swung at Cassie. She ducked left. The blow missed.
More punches. More ducking. She got hit a few times, fell onto her ass again.
Got up.
Bobbed down. Miss.
Bobbed and swerved. Miss. Miss.
By this time, she was drenched in sweat.
‘Now block me!’ Red called.
She parried his blows.
Red yelled, ‘I don’t care if you’re tired! Your attacker won’t! Now, duck, bob and hit.’
She ducked, bobbed up and landed a solid punch right in Red’s face.
And this time he ended up on his ass. He grinned, impressed.
‘Nice hit, little sister.’
Cassie staggered over to a bench, sat down heavily and wrapped a towel around her neck, exhausted.
Red sat beside her, patted her on the shoulder. ‘That was a good session. Nice work.’
He rubbed his jaw.
‘That really was a solid hit.’ He stood to go. ‘Same time tomorrow?’
‘This is an expression of my love for you,’ Cobalt Red said.
As she remembered those training sessions, Cassie thought about Red.
He’d never been good at softening the way he spoke, at giving news gently.
It was why he’d never got along with Green. Greg could play the game, especially the Army game at the Pentagon.
Red couldn’t. He was simply unable to do it. He was hardwired differently: he was too literal, too plainspoken, too blunt.
But he’d been telling the truth: those sessions really were an expression of his love.