Le chapter five

Sitting in the chair is a slim freckled man in a navy pinstripe suit, gold rings on his fingers, and shocking red hair. He smiles.

Charlie is the first to speak. "Richard fucking Cameron."

"Cigar?" Cameron calmly opens the top drawer of the desk and produces a box of Cubans.

"You must be joking," says Charlie.

"I never joke about cigars," says Cameron, sucking in as the man in the grey suit flicks a gold lighter he has apparently pulled from thin air.

Charlie turns to Steven and whispers, "Is this the kind of trouble you were hoping for?"

"So this is what you do these days," says Cameron, cigar wedged between his teeth. "Meeks and Dalton – the genius mastermind, and the loyal but ultimately useless superhero."

"What did you – " Charlie starts, but Steven cuts him off.

"We came to get our license, Richard."

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Cameron puffs on the cigar, and rocks back in his chair. "Unfortunate that you had to come such a long way."

Steven shoots a quick glance at Charlie. "Unfortunate? Why?"

"Because I'm not actually going to give you a license." Cameron blows a smoke ring and it hangs in the air, a placemarker in the conversation. Only when it disappears does anyone dare to speak.

"What?" says Charlie.

"Why not?" asks Steven.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Richard, we're your friends – "

"Give us our fucking license!"

"There's nothing wrong with – "

"Do you want a knuckle sandwich?"

"Charlie, shut up – "

"Both of you can shut up," says Cameron, coolly watching Steven and Charlie practically fall over themselves in protest. "I'm not going to give you a license."

"But why not?"

"Because your designs are rubbish, Meeks. They're not safe."

"What do you mean they're not safe?" Steven takes a step forward, and Charlie has to grab him by the shoulder.

"They're not safe. They're unroadworthy. There are no – emergency brakes, no warning lights, no fuel gauge, no guarantee that Dalton here won't just fall out of the sky. Oh my God, Meeks. You made the wings out of bamboo sticks and tarpaulin – I mean what were you thinking?" Cameron laughs, and Steven turns red to the tip of his ears – whether with rage or embarrassment, he's not even sure.

"Is this about high school?" asks Charlie. "Are you still mad about high school – "

Cameron sighs loudly, as if speaking to an idiot. "Guys – I'm the CEO of a company worth forty million dollars. I have a beautiful Russian wife who just happens to be a lingerie model, we have a gorgeous little daughter, and another baby on the way. We go for weekend getaways to France or Switzerland or the Bahamas, in my private jet; and at night, when I tuck my little girl in, she tells me I'm the best father in the world." He gets out of the chair and laughs. "I am not still mad about high school. Now – look, no hard feelings, okay? Why don't I take you out for lunch? Then you can get on the plane, go back to America, and stop wasting everyone's time."

"What's the matter with you?" Steven looks genuinely confused and hurt. "There's nothing wrong with – "

"Steven. Steven. Calm down." Cameron steps away from his desk and approaches the red-head. He clicks his tongue, and shrugs. "Your designs are rubbish. That's all." He reaches out to place a hand on Steven's shoulder.

So Charlie socks him in the jaw.

Big mistake.

In the matter of a moment, the pale calm man in the grey suit has Charlie in a headlock, and has a firm grip on Steven's arm.

"Okay, okay – we're going," says Steven, trying to placate Cameron.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Cameron says, ignoring Steven as he lightly massages his face and looks at his hand for signs of blood. "I could've let you redesign your gear. Given you a few tips – "

Steven frowns.

" – you could've gotten your license, Charlie Dalton. Been the biggest fucking superhero in the world. Well, you can forget about that now. Take them both away." He waves his hand airily, and turns back to his desk.

"You're dead, Cameron," yells Charlie, struggling against the grey man, in vain. The man calmly pushes the office door open and leads the two out. Charlie hollers abuse at Cameron all the way; Steven pays more attention to where they are being led, trying to keep track of the twists, turns, stairs, and elevators of the building – but it's a rabbit warren, and all he really knows is that they're going up.

They find themselves in a windowless, concrete room – in the light of the open door, Steven sees that it's very small, airtight, and completely empty. Then they're pushed inside and they fall on the floor. The door closes with a resounding thud, and it's pitch black.

Charlie is immediately on his feet, banging at the door and twisting the handle, but it's no good – they are prisoners.

"Fuck's sake," says Charlie. He slides down and leans against the door.

Steven shuffles over to the far wall. With legs stretched out, he can just touch Charlie's feet with his own. He moves slightly to avoid the contact.

"Is this what you wanted?" Charlie mumbles. "This is the kind of trouble you expect when you're with me?"

Steven doesn't answer. Apparently his worst fears are coming true.

Charlie tries again. "You think this is my fault, don't you? You think this whole thing is my fault?"

"Well," says Steven. "You didn't have to punch Cameron."

"He deserved it!" says Charlie. "The self-righteous arrogant little – who does he think he is?"

"He didn't do anything."

"He insulted me, and then insulted you, and now you'll go back to being a patent officer – "

"He was willing to let me redesign the – "

"Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Steven hears Charlie scramble up, and there's danger in his voice. Steven draws his knees up to his chest. "This isn't high school, Charlie."

"Isn't it? Are you sure?"

Steven stares in Charlie's direction, listening to him pace the three feet of room in the dark. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, you're not going to wimp out on me again, are you, Stevie?" Charlie's voice is suddenly low and close.

"What are you doing?" asks Steven, quickly. A hand brushes against his cheek, and he jumps.

"Scared?"

Steven knows Charlie well enough to know that he's leering. He hesitates, says no, he's not scared. He feels soft breath against his face, and he closes his eyes – then Charlie snorts, and goes back to the door.

"I can't believe you," Charlie says.

Something makes Steven's heart stop – just for a moment. He's heard that tone of voice before; heard those exact words before, somewhere. At the time, he didn't register their meaning, too compelled he was with the face that went along with it. But now, in the dark, with no other cues, it hits him. It's not taunting or belittling or annoyance Steven hears this time. It's sadness.