Chapter 7 – Bad Reputation
Silence. A long, tense, impending silence. Bubbles stared at her family, waiting for some inkling of a response. She looked at the Professor, then Butch, then Blossom, then finally Boomer. But, of course, it was Buttercup to finally break the silence.
"NO. WAY. HOLY CRAP, THAT IS AWESOME!"
With that, Buttercup, Butch, Blossom, and the Professor gathered around her to congratulate her. Buttercup went on a vocal rampage, mentioning all the stuff Bubbles was going to go through, how much pain she was going to be in, how awful the indigestion would be, and "Dude, I'm going to be an aunt! AWESOME." Butch rolled his eyes at her, then winked at Bubbles. Blossom, relieved for some comparatively excellent news, grinned and embraced her sister. The Professor looked at her, misty-eyed, before pulling her into a tight hug. Bubbles was smiling so much her cheeks began to ache, but she didn't mind.
"You know, I didn't get this nice a congrats when I was gonna have Bridie," Buttercup commented, poking Bubbles in the arm.
"You don't congratulate people on their accidents," Butch retorted with a smirk. Buttercup snickered, but slapped Butch on the arm anyway.
Bubbles finally turned to Boomer, who had been rather quiet since the announcement. He gaped at her. Suddenly Bubbles had the thought that she probably should've told him beforehand, but she was just too excited. Before she could say anything else, Butch swaggered over to Boomer and put his arm around his brother's shoulders.
"Guess you had it in you all along, huh?" he laughed.
"I swear, you Boys have super sperm," Buttercup chuckled.
"I really don't think that's the case," Blossom said quickly, while the Professor closed his eyes and waited for the paternal discomfort to pass.
"Thanks, guys," Bubbles said to her family. She glanced at Boomer, who was still in shock, from the looks of it. "But all this excitement is making me really tired. I think we're gonna head home."
"Get used to it," Buttercup said. "You're gonna be exhausted allll the time. I mean, you have a parasite growing in you, you know."
"…Thank you, Buttercup," Bubbles replied as her eye twitched. She turned to Boomer and led him to the front door. After a quick good-bye and a few more congratulations, Bubbles and Boomer headed back home.
Within seconds, they reached their apartment. Boomer fumbled with the keys on his way in, eventually giving up and simply forcing the door open. Bubbles watched him, twirling a loose thread on her shirt. Once inside, Boomer tossed the broken doorknob aside, chain-locked the door shut, kicked off his shoes, and hovered straight to the bedroom. Bubbles followed him. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring intently at the wall. Bubbles waited for him to say something, anything. After a beat, she sighed and nestled into the spot next to him.
"You okay?" Bubbles asked. Boomer sniffled. He didn't look at her, instead turning to the ceiling.
"When did you find out?" he asked.
"A little while ago," Bubbles replied. "I think I took the test, like, fifteen times. Butch was ready to kill me…"
"Why would Butch kill you?" Boomer asked, a chuckle sneaking into his voice.
"He went with me to the pharmacy," Bubbles admitted. "Buttercup was on duty and he was the only one with any experience with this whole thing."
"Butch went with you," Boomer repeated, almost deadpan. "That is so weird."
"He waited outside the bathroom for hours," Bubbles giggled.
Boomer finally turned to her, though his eyes were still focused on something just past her. Bubbles smiled hopefully.
"My brother's a pretty good guy," Boomer mused, smirking. "Don't know how that happened, but he's okay."
"Yeah," Bubbles agreed, though she wasn't quite sure where this was going.
"He's a good dad, too," Boomer added, his smile widening. "I don't know how, but he's actually kind of awesome. And Buttercup. Bridie's growing up great."
"Yeah…" Bubbles bit her lip, still not clear as to whatever he was alluding to. Finally, Boomer looked at her. He grinned.
"Man, if they can do it, we should be okay, huh?" Boomer laughed. Bubbles sighed with relief.
"Is that what you're worried about?" Bubbles asked, almost astounded.
"I'm gonna be a dad!" Boomer cried out. "Of course I'm worried!"
Bubbles leapt on him, kissing his cheek over and over again.
"You—" Kiss. "—have nothing—" Kiss. "—to be afraid of." Kiss. Bubbles pulled away, just enough for the two of them to remain in a close embrace. "We have nothing to be afraid of. We are going to be amazing parents." Boomer gazed at her, his eyelids drooping. He glanced down at her stomach. He sighed.
"This is gonna be crazy."
Bubbles awoke to something that felt like a thousand needles stabbing her insides. She gasped, clutching her middle. She stumbled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. She fumbled for the light switch as she knelt over the toilet, acid searing in her throat. After a gut-wrenching groan, the cold, neon light flickered on. She coughed, saliva dripping like syrup from her trembling lips. Her body shook, a fever burning through her skin. Bubbles suddenly heaved, a familiar metallic taste filling her mouth. She spat into the toilet, and then peered into the water. She choked.
Blood.
Bubbles fell backwards, scrambling away from the toilet. She choked out a painful sob and curled into herself, clawing at the pain in her stomach. Blood dribbled down her lips, pooling around her face on the bathroom tile. She didn't care, the only thoughts running through her mind focused on willing the pain to stop. Stop. She sobbed again, her breathing merely shuddering gasps.
Then, a solid mass slithered into her throat. Bubbles rolled onto all fours, her nails digging into the floor, tiles crushing to dust, as she tried to retched, her stomach lurching to push the mass out. In one more agonizing heave, a long, mushy, snake-like mass plummeted out of her mouth. Bubbles gagged as it hung from her throat, writhing between her lips. She tried to glimpse at the object, her vision too blurred with tears. She retched again, forcing more of the thing out. With a disgusting plop on the tile, Bubbles forced her eyes open again – and upon sight, immediately regretted it.
Wriggling in a puddle of blood and bile, thick as rope, was a tapeworm. Bubbles' shriek was cut short as the worm contracted and seized in her esophagus. She wanted to cry, scream, close her eyes and wish the sight away. Instead, she clutched the worm, the springy scales scratching her skin, and pulled.
Hand after hand, between whimpers and gags, Bubbles pulled the tapeworm from her throat. It tangled itself, curling into a bloody, squirming pile. Blood coated her mouth, her face, staining her nightgown and pooling on the floor. Eyes clenched shut, Bubbles ripped the worm out, praying that it would end soon.
After an eternity, the worm became thinner and thinner until it was like a noodle. But of course, Bubbles felt an even greater mass pulling from the pit of her stomach, up through her insides, and approaching her mouth. It filled her throat, another lurch causing her to vomit a mouthful of blood. Then, she tugged, the mass closing up her throat. With an ear-splitting click, her jaw unhinged. Sinking her nails into her palms, she clenched her fists around the worm and pulled.
The mass popped out of her mouth like a cork, and Bubbles collapsed to the ground. She wept and tried to gasp for air at the same time, her body still shaking too hard for to even consider getting up. She rolled over, her hair drenched in her bodily fluids. She opened her eyes, her gaze settling right away on that final mass.
Bubbles wailed. She hugged herself tight, unable to tear her eyes away from the bloodied form in front of her. She wailed again. It was so small, so pink, so innocent curled up in a tangle of worm. She whimpered a weak, defeated cry. A small person, a fetus, a lifeless being on floor.
Bubbles eyelids fluttered, her body suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. Her eyes burned from the hot, salty tears. Still sobbing quietly, Bubbles rolled over and closed her eyes. She shivered, the cold tiles shocking her skin. Her pain-clouded brain finally cleared enough to allow her thoughts to come together. I can't handle this. She sniffled. Please, please stop.
Please…
A small hand rested on her forehead. Like a quick breeze, Bubbles felt her body warm, her hair dry, the pain disappear. She opened her eyes to see the little boy, his big gray-blue eyes stare down at her past the fringe of dirty blonde hair. He moved a strand of her own hair out of her eyes. Bubbles immediately sat up and embraced the boy, holding him tight to her chest. He nestled into her chest as Bubbles pressed her lips to her head. The boy pulled away far enough to look up at her.
"Wake up."
"I'm with you now," Bubbles replied, holding his face in her hand.
"He can't get you when you're awake," the boy said, glancing behind him.
"What about you?" Bubbles asked, glancing to the side as well.
"I'll be okay if you're okay," the boy said. He looked up at her, the expression on his face too knowing not to trust. Bubbles sighed. She brought him back close and kissed him on the head one more time.
"Sleep well, sweetie."
Bubbles closed her eyes for just a moment, and then opened them. She blinked a few more times, allowing herself to get used to the darkness. After a few minutes, she glanced at Boomer, swaddled in blankets next to her. A thought drifted through her mind, as strong as a recent memory. He can't get you when you're awake. Bubbles ran her fingers across Boomer's arm, and then, grabbing a blanket and pillow, floated out of the bedroom into the living room. Quiet as a cat, she made herself a whole pot of coffee, rather than her usual tea, turned on some cartoons, and nestled into the loveseat. After a few Looney Tunes, she glanced at the clock: 5:42 AM. Bubbles whimpered.
It was going to be a long night.
One month.
Blossom stared at the calendar in disbelief. It had only been one month – a mere thirty days – since she had last seen him. She huffed. There was no logical reason as to why she should, of all the things to think about right now, be thinking of him. What she should really think about was how much of that month she had spent double-time in the campaign office to clean up after the scandal. Meetings, speeches, community service, fundraisers, you name it, she did it. It was all she could do to repair her reputation back to something redeemable. Because of him, Blossom grumbled. Or she could be thinking about how calm Townsville has been lately: there hadn't been so much as a mugging since last month. Actually, the last time she fought was the same day she… Blossom closed her eyes, stopping the train of thought in its tracks. Enough.
Blossom glanced out the window. The sun was particularly bright, blasting its last rays onto the city before hiding behind the horizon for the night. Blossom momentarily counted how many hours she had been in today – nearly twelve – and decided to pack up. As she collected her things to go home, she went through the notes in her head, occasionally jotting down anything important on a steno pad. She finished up some minor organizing, grabbed her suitcase, and headed out.
She hovered outside, pausing for a moment to enjoy the warm spring air. She looked around – it seemed people had finally stopped staring at her, passing her by without so much as a glance. Thank God. Then, she remembered the old days, back when everyone would always stop and say hello to her. Blossom sighed, waving to an older lady trotting past her. The lady didn't even blink.
"How things change," Blossom said to herself.
Just then, a cop car whizzed past her on the street, cherry-berry lights swirling, siren blaring. Blossom smiled. Or not. She followed without another thought, beating the police by a second at its destination: the bank. They were quickly joined by three other cars, the cops leaping out, guns in hand. Blossom dropped her suitcase near the first car and approached the sheriff.
"Robbery?" she asked.
"Yeah, but it's a weird one," the sheriff growled. He spat on the ground away from Blossom. "Three of 'em. They asked for the money, the girl gave it to 'em, and then they personally called the police."
"They called the police on themselves?" Blossom clarified, her eyebrows rising. The sheriff shrugged his shoulders.
"Looks like it."
"Okay then," Blossom nodded her head, and then stepped forward. She stood her full height, took a deep breath, and yelled. "Alright, I'm gonna ask you to come outside! Drop your weapons, put your hands behind your head, and come out of the building!"
Blossom was so used to this command never working she had to stop herself mid-breath from repeating it as the three robbers stepped out the front door, no weapons, hands behind their heads. The cops leaned forward, ready for any quick moves. Alas, the robbers only stared quietly at Blossom.
It took Blossom a moment to recognize the lead robber's face. It had been a few years, and she only saw him once, briefly. That night had ended rather quickly, considering she had been drugged within an hour of the party. Nonetheless, it wasn't the dark, curly hair or the thick eyebrows that gave him away, but his words.
"Bella ragazza…"
Before Blossom could respond, the sheriff ordered the others to cuff them. The robbers didn't give any problems, allowing the cops to handcuff them and lead them to the back of one of the cars. Finally getting a hold of herself, Blossom darted to the car where they were ducking the lead robber.
"Can I talk to this one?" Blossom asked, her tone more commanding than inquisitive. Luckily, the cops didn't question her, and let her grab the guy and drag him back to the building. Out of earshot, Blossom whirled around and glared at the man.
"Agostino."
"Ciao, bella," Agostino grinned. He gave her a once-over. "How are you – Adelina, vero? Or they call you Blossom around here."
"The latter," Blossom nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "And I think the real question is, what are you doing in Townsville?"
"Ehhhh," Agostino looked back at the cops. "I'm, eh, checking out the system."
"What does that mean?" Blossom demanded, narrowing her eyes.
"Just looking at how… things work around here," Agostino replied vaguely. "Get a feel for the environment. You know what I mean?"
"No, no I don't," Blossom snapped. "Care to explain?"
"I have a message for you," Agostino said abruptly. Blossom's eyebrow rose, causing Agostino's impeccable smile to widen. "Watch your back."
"…And what is that supposed to mean?" Blossom asked, her voice cracking.
"Amore, Fratellino."
Blossom inhaled sharply, and the cops came back and walked Agostino back to their car. Agostino continued to smile at her until the car started and followed the rest of the cars back to station.
Blossom remained frozen on the sidewalk for a good five minutes. When she finally came to, she drifted back to her suitcase and floated straight home. There he was again, back at the forefront of her brain. But this time, she let him be.
Butch, Buttercup, Ace, and Mitch sat around the kitchen table. The table looked like it had been hit by a tornado, strewn over with empty cans of Mountain Dew, cigarette butts, pizza, candy bar wrappers, and several dozen crumbled balls of paper. Ace rubbed the sleep from his eyes behind his sunglasses, a cigarette burning in his other hand, as Mitch drummed with his fingers on the table. Butch lit up his millionth cigarette. Buttercup sighed as she folded her arms and glared at the piece of paper before her.
"Seriously? We can't come up with anything?" she grumbled.
"We suck, obviously," Butch reasoned.
"Well," Ace said, singing the word for emphasis. "Maybe we should suck a little less."
"Fuck you," Buttercup snapped, tossing the pen on the table so hard it shattered into a puddle of ink. She rolled her eyes, but let it be.
Just then, the front door open, and Blossom dragged herself inside. She dropped her briefcase on the floor and immediately headed into the kitchen to get herself some tea. She hovered to the kitchen, contemplating whether chamomile or Earl Grey would be more calming. She caught sight of the table – and stopped.
"What is going on here?" Blossom sighed, too tired to really sound angry.
"Hey, leader girl!" Buttercup yelled at her. Blossom stopped and closed her eyes. She heaved a great sigh before answering.
"Yes?"
"How are you? How's work?" Buttercup asked, leaning back in her chair and tossing a paper ball into the air.
"Fine," Blossom replied, ripping open the cabinet door so hard she pulled it off. She wrinkled her nose and placed the door gingerly on the counter.
"Ain't that girl-talk for 'shit-tastic'?" Butch asked, blowing out a puff of smoke. Blossom rolled her eyes.
"You shouldn't be smoking in the house," Blossom commented before turning away and putting a pot of coffee on.
"The Professor isn't home and Bridie is upstairs," Buttercup retorted, tossing the ball at the ceiling as if to punctuate her point. Blossom blinked.
"Should we leave?" Mitch asked, sliding back in his chair. He looked directly at Blossom.
"No!" Buttercup yelled, throwing a paper ball at him. "We do not leave this table until we figure out a name for the band!"
"Is that what you've been doing this whole time?" Blossom asked incredulously, staring at the mountain of crumbled up paper on the table. Ace, Mitch, and Butch nodded their heads.
"We've thought of everything," Buttercup huffed. "Everything. Nothing sounds good at all."
"I still think 'Frankie Foster Goes to College' is a good one," Ace said dismissively, crushing his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray.
"Who the hell is Frankie Foster?" Butch demanded, slumping in his seat.
"It don't matter, it's a name," Ace said with a shrug.
"You'll think of something, I'm sure," Blossom said, ruffling Buttercup's hair for good measure. She turned around and started rummaging through the cabinets again for a mug. Buttercup snorted.
"Yeah, I doubt that."
"Well, it's not the end of the world," Blossom chuckled, finally finding a decent mug and filling it with coffee. She grabbed the sugar and creamer. "What is it, one in seven bands never make it off the ground?"
"That's restaurants," Mitch chirped.
"Oh, hell no," Buttercup snapped. "We've been practicing too much to quit now."
"We already have a decent set list," Mitch added, nodding to Blossom, who promptly rolled her eyes. "And, uh, we perform at the high school in a week."
"Really?" Blossom asked. "This is the first I've heard about it."
"Well, you're kinda busy all the time," Butch said with a shrug. "And, well, we haven't exactly been promoting it, since we don't have a name."
"Hm," Blossom grunted. As she recalled, they had been practicing regularly over the past few weeks, though mostly in Ace's shack at the dump. She figured – and hoped – they'd spent most of their time battling creative differences and idly jamming or something. Guess not. "Well, maybe you should get on that, then."
"See?" Buttercup exclaimed. "Besides, I'd rather guzzle up a stew of whoopass before letting this band die."
"Wait, what?" Mitch laughed, sitting up in his seat. Ace leaned forward and Butch looked up. Buttercup's eyebrows rose.
"What?"
"Say that again," Mitch commanded. Buttercup clicked her tongue.
"I don't know, I don't remember what I just said," she grumbled. "Something about whoopass stew."
"…I like it," Mitch grinned.
"Not half bad," Ace agreed, nodding his head.
"Fucking awesome," Butch chipped in.
"What is?" Buttercup demanded.
"The name," Mitch said. "The band's name. 'Whoopass Stew.'"
"Seriously?" Buttercup remarked, though a small smile broke on her face. She pondered it a moment. "Yeah, it does kinda have a good sound."
"Oh, that doesn't sound very… appropriate," Blossom commented, momentarily stopping her coffee ritual.
"Then it's perfect," Butch concluded. The others' laughter signified enough agreement, and Butch started a round of triumphant high-fives. Blossom groaned, then added an extra tablespoon of sugar into her mug.
"Are we decided then?" Butch asked, standing up and looking down at his fellow band mates. "'Whoopass Stew' is the official name of this band."
"Oh, hell yeah!" Mitch cheered. Ace gave the thumbs-up.
"This is gonna be too good," Buttercup snickered.
"Awesome!" Butch slammed his cigarette into the ashtray, catapulting several old butts into the air and onto the table. "Let's break."
Mitch and Ace waved their good-byes as Butch and Buttercup cleaned up (mostly for the sake of Blossom, who kept glaring tight-lipped at the mess.) Once clean, Blossom took her usual seat and settled into her drink. A little while later Butch crashed in front of the television while Buttercup happily grabbed a cookbook out of the drawers and searched for a good recipe for dinner.
"Mmm, now that I'm in a good mood, I'm feeling steak," she said. She glanced through the doorway at Butch. "That means you gotta grill!"
"I ain't grillin' shit!" Butch yelled back.
A voice popped up near the staircase. "Is Daddy making steak?"
"See, now you have to," Buttercup said, closing the cookbook with a snap. Butch groaned.
"Dammit."
There was a knock at the door. Butch groaned again, then, muttering under his breath, crawled out of his seat and hovered to the door. He answered it.
"Wide load, coming through!" he announced as Boomer and noticeably larger Bubbles floated inside. Bubbles made a face at Butch.
"Just in time for dinner!" Buttercup shouted before zipping to the doorway. "Butch is grilling steak."
"Am not," Butch growled.
"Oh, yeah," Boomer rubbed his stomach. "Butch steak. Perfect."
Blossom joined Buttercup at the doorway, nursing her coffee. "Hey, Bubbles. Boomer. What's the occasion?"
"Dinner, obviously," Boomer said, dropping into the nearest armchair. Butch rolled his eyes and then hovered to the closet to get his shoes.
"I don't know," Bubbles said, nestling onto the edge of the couch. Her arms fell to her belly, a tender lump under her sundress. "It's kinda boring being at home all the time."
"Take advantage of it, hon," Blossom said. "I would give anything for a good night's sleep."
"Yeah, so would she," Boomer added, folding his arms across his chest and nodding at Bubbles. "She never sleeps."
"You're not sleeping?" Blossom asked, her head tilting to the side.
"I do so sleep," Bubbles declared, giving Boomer a dirty look. She turned to Blossom. "I'm just never comfortable, ya know?"
"Oh, I remember that," Buttercup sighed. "It don't change, neither, girl. I haven't slept in years."
"How many steaks am I getting?" Butch asked.
"I don't know, ten?" Buttercup shrugged.
"Damn, that's pricey," Butch remarked. He bopped Boomer on the head. "C'mon, bitch, we're going shopping."
"Ow!" Boomer cried, both hands shooting to hold the top of his head. "I don't wanna go anywhere."
"Too bad, let's go," Butch grabbed one of his brother's arms and hoisted him out of the chair and out the door. The girls stared after them, bemused, before a dark green and blue streak passed the window. Blossom and Buttercup floated into the living room while Bubbles gingerly floated up and around onto the couch. Blossom took a seat next to her while Buttercup stole Boomer's old spot.
"How's the bun?" Buttercup asked. Blossom sniffed, but turned to Bubbles and gave her an inquisitive look.
"Baby's fine," Bubbles replied, glancing down at the bump. "It's been a little over a month, and definitely feeling it now."
Buttercup sat back, her eyelids drooping and a big smile growing on her face.
"Ah, memories," she said, mock-reminiscent. "Constant pee breaks. Eating everything ever. Being bitchy all the time. More than usual."
"If that's possible," Blossom teased. Buttercup stuck her tongue out at her.
"Bad dreams?" Bubbles asked quietly, lacing her fingers over her belly.
"Bad dreams?" Buttercup repeated, turning to her. She glanced away thoughtfully. "Not that I recall."
"Are you having nightmares?" Blossom asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Uhh, sometimes," Bubbles replied. She stared down at dress, her fingers picking at the fabric.
"What are they about?" Blossom questioned further. She placed her mug on the coffee table. Bubbles shrugged.
"I don't really… remember…" Bubbles sat up. She turned to Blossom. "But it's nothing to worry about, you know. They're probably normal."
"Mmm," Blossom looked away. "I think I remember reading about it before. Probably just hormone changes and whatnot."
"Probably," Buttercup agreed, reassuring. "Unless, like, Him is involved or something."
Bubbles inhaled sharply. Blossom and Buttercup both leaned closer to her.
"Him isn't involved, is he?" Buttercup asked.
"Well," Bubbles started wringing her dress. "No, not really. I think he shows up once in a while, but it's all just my memories and stuff."
"Are you sure?" Buttercup sat up, her voice hard. "Because if he is—"
"No, I'm positive," Bubbles said. She stared ahead through the window, her reflection on the glass looking back at her with a distorted expression of unmasked fear. Blossom clicked her tongue.
"You don't look positive," Blossom stated.
"They're just not very nice," Bubbles said, tearing her gaze away from herself and back to her sisters. "I promise, they're nothing more than bad dreams."
Blossom and Buttercup glared at her. Bubbles had the thought at just how terrifying – and similar – her sisters looked when staring someone down. Most people would crack, and Bubbles should've. But she didn't. She looked back at them.
"I promise."
"Fine," Blossom said stiffly, grabbing her mug and taking a sip.
"Shit-tastic," Buttercup added.
Bubbles sighed. She really wasn't sure why she just lied to her sisters. She really shouldn't keep her dreams a secret anymore. Her new sleeping habits weren't secret; perhaps the reason for them should be told, too. But she didn't. She couldn't. And she didn't know why. She yawned. Honestly, she was too tired to think about it much right now. She watched Blossom take another sip.
"Could I have a cup?" Bubbles asked.
"Coffee?" Blossom asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Yes," Bubbles replied. She yawned. "I need it."
Brick blew out a puff of smoke, his teeth still gnawing the end of his cigar. He had to contain himself as he stared at the bright green Porsche, resisting the urge to blow something much hotter in the car's direction. Or maybe at the perfectly manicured lawn, or, better yet, the whole damn house. But no, that's not why he was here. This was business. Brick dropped his cigar into the grass, secretly hoping it would catch fire, and headed to the front door. He knocked. Behind the door he heard some quick, soft footsteps, then a pause. Yeah, you better be paranoid, you stone-cold bitch. The door swung open. Nancy peeked over her glasses at Brick and leaned against the door.
"Brick Fratellino," she cooed, flashing him a toothy smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Not too much, thankfully," Brick replied, flashing her his own smile. It almost hurt.
"Would you like to come in?" Nancy said, stepping out of the way and gesturing him in.
"Uh, no," Brick declined, holding up his hand and shaking his head. "We're gonna make this short and sweet."
Nancy's smile faltered for a second. Then she recomposed herself and nodded at him graciously.
"What do you want?" Nancy asked.
"So those pictures of yours…" Brick started. Immediately, Nancy laughed.
"I hope you're not here to teach me a lesson or something," she said coolly. "Because let me tell you now: one, I didn't take them; two, that's just journalism, darling; and three, I have a hidden camera picking up your every move and your every word. So any threat you make will be used against you in a court of law."
Brick's lip curled. Then, he forced a laugh.
"That's cute," he said. "And for the sake of brevity, I'm gonna let that slide."
"Okay," Nancy giggled. "Just so you know."
"So," Brick started again. "Those pictures of yours."
"Yes."
"They were nice," Brick said.
"Thank you," Nancy smiled again. "Even though I didn't take them."
"That's okay, because I'm not here to discuss your lack of photography skills so much as your political influence," Brick stared at her. Nancy's cool composure fell to something Brick figured was questioning. He continued. "Some people that I know have noticed your exceptional influence on the people of Townsville. Your work in utterly destroying Ms. Utonium's reputation was, quite frankly, remarkable."
"I hear it's not the only thing I destroyed," Nancy quipped. Brick resisted another fiery urge.
"That. Said," Brick spat, "they have a… suggestion for you."
"Oh?"
"They think you should run for mayor."
Nancy stared at Brick, her expression beyond shock. After a moment, she put a hand on her chest and stifled a laugh.
"Me? Run for mayor?"
Brick's eyebrows flickered. This time, Nancy actually laughed.
"You've got to be joking," Nancy chuckled. "I'm flattered, really, but tell your 'people,' nicely, that they're full of it."
With that, Nancy turned away and tried to shut the door, only for it to be stopped by Brick's foot. He pushed the door back open, tripping Nancy to the side.
"Since you're fully aware of just the 'people' I know, I would hope you wouldn't be so insulting," Brick seethed. "And anyways, allow me to be frank with you: it wasn't a suggestion."
"Really," Nancy snorted, clutching the doorknob.
"Really."
"And why exactly am I supposed to obey this 'suggestion?'" Nancy asked.
"Because my people have more political influence than your shitty articles ever will," Brick snapped, allowing his rage to surface just a bit. "The only reason we need you is because your work is a lot cleaner than ours, no matter how dirty it is."
"And if I refuse?" Nancy put a hand on her waist, still clutching the door.
"Try," Brick dared. Nancy pursed her lips, then slammed the door shut – right through Brick's outstretched fist. Nancy gasped, staring at the hand poking undamaged through the gaping hole in her door. Horrified, she watched the hand reach in, grab the knob, and open the door. Brick kicked it open and peered down at her. He grinned. After Nancy finally caught her breath, she threw Brick a nasty look and huffed.
"Fine."
"Good," Brick said cheerfully. "Then I'll be on my way."
Brick whirled around and floated away, leaving Nancy to glare at the fresh hole in her door. Her breath quickened, her normally well-kept anxiety surfacing with a vengeance. Then, with a nerve-wracking flash, a blazing whooshing outside made her jump. She turned to see her Porsche – her beautiful, beautiful Porsche – up in flames.
"You son of a bitch!" Nancy screamed, ducking behind the wall as the gas tank exploded. "I said I'd do it!"
A few feet away, Brick stepped over and lit a new cigar with car's flames. He took a long drag on the cigar, exhaled the smoke, and snorted.
"That one was for fucking up the last thing I gave a shit about."
