Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Read online

“She is?” Emma checked the time on her computer; it was only eight-thirty in the morning. Clearly the council president was an early riser. “I guess I better go see her.” Emma tried to smile; she had hoped to put off meeting Becky’s boss for a little bit, at least until she felt more comfortable in Becky’s shoes.

  Emma tapped lightly on Napier’s door. “Come in, Rebecca,” Napier’s voice said. Emma did as she was told; she opened the door just enough to let herself in. She remained by the door until Napier said, “Have a seat, please.”

  Emma settled into one of the chairs across from Napier’s desk. The older woman sat with her fingers tented, which reminded Emma of the director at the Plaine Museum; perhaps there was a secret school of management where they learned to do that to make subordinates uneasy. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, I did. I ran into one of the mayor’s aides at a party last night. He mentioned that the Russian trade minister is going to be paying our city a visit in a couple of weeks for trade talks. I need you to coordinate with the mayor’s office to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  Emma said nothing in response to this; she stared at Becky’s supervisor in shock. The Russian trade minister? She wondered if perhaps he was on Bykov’s payroll. Maybe these “trade talks” were an excuse for Bykov to send some thugs over to look for Emma and the meteor. If he wasn’t on the payroll, then maybe he could help exert some pressure on Bykov to get him to stop his private war against Grakistan.

  “Is something wrong, Rebecca? You’re sweating.”

  Emma put a hand to her forehead to wipe the sweat away. “I’m sorry. It’s just a little warm in here for me.”

  “Perhaps you should go home. I can ask Reynolds—”

  “No, I can handle it. I’ll handle it.” Emma smiled and hoped it didn’t look too desperate. “I was remembering a report I’d seen on the news recently about a breakaway republic called Grakistan. They’re being harassed by mercenaries hired by a Russian businessman named Bykov. Maybe the trade minister knows him. You could ask—”

  The councilwoman cut her off. “We only worry about Rampart City here, Rebecca. What happens in Russia or Grakistan isn’t any of our business.” Napier smiled insincerely at her. “On your way out, send Reynolds in here.”

  Emma stood up and nodded slightly. “Yes ma’am.” She dragged herself from the office, her head hung in embarrassment. She had only been Becky for a few hours and already she’d put her friend’s career at risk. Marlin had been right; she should have stayed home.

  ***

  Reynolds turned out to be the young man who’d talked to Emma earlier. Before long he would probably be Napier’s top aide, all thanks to Emma running her mouth. Of course Napier wouldn’t involve herself in the situation with Grakistan. It wasn’t any concern of a politician in Rampart City. It probably wouldn’t interest the Russian trade minister even if he wasn’t in Bykov’s pocket.

  She looked down at her chubby hands on the keyboard and felt more helpless than at the Russian farmer’s house. She had promised to get rid of Bykov for him, but that had been nearly a month ago. In that time she had done absolutely nothing except flee the country like a coward. Now she was stuck in Becky’s body, unable to even touch the scarlet armor. There was nothing she could do to help.

  Emma slunk back into the kitchen. There were no donuts left, so she put money into the vending machine. Emma scanned the rows of sugary treats. A pack of Jolly Ranchers were the only thing not to have chocolate in them. Emma was about to tap the button when she caught Becky’s reflection in the glass. Emma was allergic to chocolate; Becky was not. With this in mind, she decided to buy a Snickers bar. The candy bar made it halfway off the rack before it got stuck. It hung ponderously from the rack to mock her. She pounded the machine in a rage, to exhaust her fury at her uselessness to everyone. The candy bar still refused to drop; Emma wanted to pick up a chair to smash the machine open. She decided against this at least until she realized there wasn’t another dollar in her purse. Then she tightened her grip on the back of a chair.

  “Problem with the machine?” a familiar voice asked.

  Emma turned around to see Dan Dreyfus with a smile on his face. “That one must be yours,” he said. He gestured to the Snickers bar that teetered over the edge of the rack.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “It’s stuck.”

  Before Emma could stop him, Dan reached into his pocket for a dollar bill. He inserted it into the machine and then typed in the number for the Snickers bar. Not only did the stuck candy bar drop, so did a second one. He scooped these out of the machine; he took one and offered the other to Emma.

  “Thank you.” She tucked the candy bar into her purse.

  “You can pay me back by buying me a cup of coffee,” he said.

  She stared at him in confusion for a moment before she realized he’d made a joke. She laughed timidly. “Oh, right. Sorry, I’m a little off today.”

  “That’s fine. I have days like that too.” Emma poured them each a cup of coffee and then motioned for Dan to sit at one of the Formica tables. She didn’t usually drink coffee, but Becky did; she didn’t want to do anything too out of character. As she sat down, Emma felt the seat wobble beneath her. The way things had gone today, she wouldn’t be surprised if the chair broke to dump her on her rear in front of Dan.

  She tore the wrapper off the Snickers bar and took a cautious bite. She remembered when Aunt Gladys had given her some chocolate-covered bugs when she was two; her throat had nearly closed up and hives had broken out all over her little body. Nothing like that happened this time. This chocolate tasted delicious, so sweet and creamy, unlike anything she had tasted. She groaned with pleasure as the chocolate melted on her tongue. “Wow, that is so good.”

  “Haven’t you eaten a Snickers before?” Dan asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Emma said. To change the subject, she asked, “So what are you doing here?”

  “I was in the area and thought I’d come up to thank you for your help.”

  “My help?”

  “With Councilwoman Napier. The police wouldn’t have taken me seriously without her help, not with that psychopath doing their job for them.”

  “Psychopath? You mean the Scarlet Knight?”

  “That’s the one. It looks like we scared her back into whatever hole she popped out of.”

  “Oh, well—” Emma couldn’t say anything else; her lip trembled too badly. Tears threatened to pour from her eyes, but for the moment she held them in check. She knew Dan was angry about what had happened to Isis.

  “Three weeks without a sighting. You know how much quieter it’s been? No one releasing animals from the zoo or slaughtering people in the park.” Becky had told her the same thing, but to hear it from Dan was enough to break Emma’s heart. She wished she could crawl into a hole like Bykov’s bunker to hide.

  Instead she could only mumble, “I’m glad I could help. I should go back to work.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to take up so much of your time.” Dan scratched the back of his head shyly; from experience Emma knew he was working up the courage to ask her something important. “I thought maybe if you weren’t doing anything, I could take you out to dinner to thank you properly.” He smiled at her and motioned with his candy bar. “I promise it’ll be somewhere much better than this place.”

  “I, I—” Emma didn’t know what to say to this. Dan had asked Becky out! Dan, the man Emma loved more than anyone else wanted to have dinner with her best friend. She couldn’t possibly say yes, could she? Ms. Chiostro had said she should do what Becky would normally do. What would Becky do?

  “If you’re busy—”

  “No, I’m not busy. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  “Great. How about tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at seven if that’s OK.”

  “It’s fine. Just fine.”

  Emma hardly noticed Dan leave the kitchen. She remained there for a while and replayed the conversation in her mind. It was just dinner,
right? What was the worst that could happen?

  Chapter 16

  In all her life, Becky had never run so fast before. It wasn’t just that she had been fat even as a toddler; most of the time she had her little sisters along or Emma, who refused to run outside the park or her backyard because her mommy forbade it. Now that she was Emma, she found her skinny legs could propel her faster than the cars that meandered along in the rush hour traffic.

  She wanted to scream with joy at this, but then she remembered she was supposed to be unhappy about the situation. For twenty-six years she had tried to accept herself for who she was—the good and bad parts of her—and she’d be damned if she’d let someone change her into someone else, especially when that person was her former best friend. She was proud to be Becky Scherr nee Beech; she didn’t want to be anyone else, especially a scrawny know-it-all with a warped sense of nobility that allowed her to save every stranger but not her best friend’s husband. A know-it-all who had caused all of this because she had to stick her nose where it didn’t belong.

  Now that nose belonged to Becky and she would teach it a lesson. As she ran, she thought about the most painful and embarrassing places to get pierced. Wouldn’t it serve Emma right to find a stud sticking out of her labia? Of course it would be Becky who would feel the pain at first, but no pain, no gain as they said. To accompany the piercings she thought of getting Emma’s entire pale back covered in tattoos, or maybe one big one like a mural.

  Her plan began to unravel when she found out it was too early for the tattoo parlors to be open. She would have to come back in the early afternoon, by which time her rage would probably have ebbed somewhat. She wanted to take her revenge now while she was still angry enough to do it.

  With the tattoo parlors closed, she wandered the sidewalks of Rampart City. She came upon the high-end shopping district along Toledo Avenue, an area she rarely visited because she had little use for the clothes boutiques and jewelry stores. The last time she had come down here was with Steve to search for a wedding ring. They saw one in a display case with a diamond as big around as Becky’s finger. “Someday I’ll get you one like that,” he said and squeezed her ring hand.

  “I don’t care how expensive of a ring I have. All that matters is we’re together,” she had said to him and then kissed him on the mouth. His face had turned red, as it always did whenever she showed any affection to him in public.

  Now he was gone and when she looked in the mirror she saw the person responsible for his death. A tattoo or piercing wouldn’t be enough; she wanted to destroy this body. Throw herself in front of a bus maybe or light herself on fire. At least cut off a finger or take a razor to that pretty face. She wanted to leave a scar the way Emma had left a scar on Becky’s heart.

  She stopped in front of the window for a dress shop to study a pink dress. The sleeveless straps and low skirt made it something she would never wear because it would show off her flabby arms and cottage cheese thighs. A ray of sunlight came from behind her to show her reflection in the window next to the mannequin in the dress. Not her reflection—Emma’s reflection with her long legs and near-anorexic chest. For the first time in her life, Becky could show off her body.

  What was it they said: living well is the best revenge? She imagined the fun she could have in that dress in the city’s many nightclubs. Guys—and girls—would line up to buy her drinks and ask her to dance. They would probably want her to do more than that—and she would be eager to do it. She could do all of the things she could never do and that Emma wouldn’t do because of her skewed sense of morality. If Becky played her cards right she might even cause Emma to lose her virginity—now that would be revenge!

  This plan also began to unravel when she patted her pockets and remembered she didn’t have any money. Emma was completely broke, not to mention homeless after she’d been evicted from her apartment. If Becky went back to her house she could get her purse, but she didn’t have that much money either. The house payments and associated bills ate up most of her money and Steve’s life insurance had gone to his parents since he hadn’t changed the policy yet.

  “You would look great in that dress,” a man said.

  Becky turned to see a man probably ten years older than her with the expensive suit and slick hair of a stockbroker. “Thank you, but I’m just window-shopping,” she said in Emma’s timid little voice.

  The man craned his neck to check out the price tag that dangled from the mannequin. “I could buy it for you,” he said.

  “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Please, I insist. A pretty young lady like you shouldn’t be wearing rags.”

  “It’s too much money. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

  “I can afford it. Please, let me do this for you.”

  From the look of the man’s suit, shoes, and watch he could afford a dozen of the dresses in the window. Becky imagined herself in the dress again and how beautiful she would look. And she had imagined guys would chase after her and here she already had one on the hook. “Well, OK, but you’ll have to give me your address so I can pay you back eventually.”

  “How about I take you to lunch and then I can give you a lot more than my address?”

  Becky couldn’t help but smile at this. She had never had a man this attractive take this kind of interest in her. She had always been the fat girl in the corner no one noticed, except for one sweet, shy young man. She thought of Steve again, but then reminded herself he was dead thanks to Emma Earl. Now was the time to get some payback. It wasn’t like she would marry this guy anyway. “Sure,” she said. “I’d love that.”

  ***

  The dress looked every bit as good on her as she had imagined while she’d stood in front of the display window. Her only complaints were that the bosom sagged a little due to the weight Emma had lost in her flight from Europe—weight she couldn’t afford to lose there—and she had a bandage wrapped around her left bicep from where Emma had been shot. This didn’t seem to be a problem for the man who introduced himself as Rolf.

  Becky stepped out of the dressing room and turned around in the pink dress to give Rolf a good look at her. “You look spectacular,” he said.

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.” While the clerk went to write up the order, Rolf whispered into her ear, “I can’t wait to get you out of here.”

  “Me either,” she said with a girlish giggle.

  She left the store in the dress; she left Emma’s mud-splattered clothes in the dressing room for the clerk to dispose of later. This would be a minor loss, but she considered it the first salvo in the war.

  She took Rolf’s hand as they left the store, but he soon insisted on putting his arm around her bare shoulders. In turn she leaned against him; the warmth of his body reminded her of Steve. But he wasn’t Steve; Steve was dead and she would avenge herself on the one responsible.

  As they walked along Toledo Avenue, Becky could sense people turn to catch a glimpse of her in the dress. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she walked; for the first time she had stopped traffic instead of prompting it to go faster. She laughed at this. “What’s so funny, babe?” Rolf asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

  “I’m happy too.”

  They stopped at a trendy restaurant for lunch, the kind of place Napier frequented but Becky couldn’t afford. She looked around to see if her boss was here, but didn’t see the council president or anyone else from the office. This helped her to relax, as did the martini Rolf ordered for her. Of course Emma hardly ever touched alcohol. Before she became the Scarlet Knight she had been too young and when she came of age she didn’t want to have her reflexes slowed. Becky gulped down the martini and then shook her glass to indicate she wanted a refill.

  She drank two more martinis before lunch arrived. While not strictly a vegetarian, Emma usually didn’t eat meat because it was too fatty. Becky ordered a two-pound steak with a baked potato slathered in sour c
ream and butter. Like the rest of her plans, this one unraveled when she became full after she ate a quarter of the steak and half the potato.

  “I guess your eyes were a little bigger than your stomach,” Rolf said.

  Becky laughed at this as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. As he ate, Rolf explained he was not a stockbroker but the vice-president of consumer products for a large multi-national bank. He had recently divorced from his wife; he’d left her the house in Westfield and their three children.

  “I lost my husband recently too,” Becky said.

  “Really, what kind of heartless bastard would leave a girl like you?”

  “He didn’t leave me,” Becky said. Her face turned warm from anger and the martinis. “He was murdered.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. How long ago was this?”

  “About nine months.”

  Rolf reached across the table to take her hand. “Losing someone is always terrible, but I’m sure your husband wouldn’t want you to be miserable. He’d want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy with you.”

  They skipped dessert as Rolf suggested they go back to his suite at the Rampart Arms, where he had taken up residence after his separation from his wife. “The company pays for most of it,” he said. The company also paid for the car that took them to the hotel. The hotel staff didn’t seem to pay any attention to Rolf even though he’d come in with a drunken girl draped on him at noon.

  “Oh my God, it’s so beautiful,” Becky said once Rolf opened the door. It got better when Rolf opened the curtains so she could see the view of the city, which included the not-so-distant Robinson Tower. “This is like a palace. You’re like a king.” She giggled tipsily at this.

  “It’s good to be the king,” Rolf said with a wink. He led her back to the bedroom. She didn’t wait for his invitation to jump onto the king-size bed. The dress came off easily enough so that she lay there in her panties and bra—probably a first for Emma Earl.

  Rolf took his suit off carefully, and folded the pants and jacket before he left them on the dresser. “You know how expensive it is to press an Armani?”