The Anti-Heroes

Chapter Twenty-Three EMILY

Chapter Twenty-Three

E MILY

“This has to be a test. I bet this cake is some sort of Easter egg and he wants us to use it to find him,” I say.

“Like, we gotta do this to graduate?” B-Money asks. “Like the hostage simulation? We have to pull together as a team?”

“Exactly. What does this cake tell us?” I ask.

We stare down at the big white slab of pastry covered in sugary roses and misspellings. Michael sticks a finger in the icing and rubs it between his fingers. “The frosting is grainy. That tells me he was too cheap to spring for real buttercream.”

“Not helpful, Michael,” B-Money says.

“Well, what if the clue is baked inside?” Michael suggests. Seconds later, we’re tearing apart the cake, squeezing handfuls to see if anything points to where Zeus might be.

“Little help here, Michael?” B-Money says.

“No, I do not touch community cake,” he replies.

“Isn’t it magnificent the way he just says no,” Liv observes. “He’s just, No, that does not sound like something I want to do, and then he doesn’t do it! He doesn’t care about peer pressure. He doesn’t care that others are depending on him. He just surveys and figures out what’s best for him. That is his superpower.”

“Yes, his saying no is a true delight,” Vishnu says. “His most positive attribute.”

“Whoa, did you just dunk on Michael, bruh?” B-Money asks, full of awe and admiration. “Was that sarcasm?”

“It was!” Vishnu confirms. B-Money goes to slap him on the back, but realizes his hands are full of frosting and cake crumbles.

After we’ve inspected every (white chocolate raspberry) crumb, we acknowledge the cake was not only a dead end, but actually quite appetizing for a grocery store cake. But we’re not lost.

“Liv, can you grab the dry-erase board? Let’s write down what we know,” I say. I can feel Action Emily has awakened, ready to solve the puzzle, save the day. You can’t take this away from me, Norman . I feel like there’s going to be a road trip to Nashville this fall. This isn’t yet settled. He did respond to me on LinkedIn, right before his profile disappeared. The only thing he wrote: I’m sorry. We were real.

Not enough, Norman . Not nearly enough. But I’m going to file away this anger and hurt because right now, I’m concentrating on my future, not my past, and finding Zeus seems to be the key.

“What do we know about him for sure?” I ask. “Let’s make a list.”

“He’s a Swiftie,” B-Money says.

“Okay,” I say. “What else?”

Vishnu’s hand shoots into the air. “He loves birds!”

“Loves birds,” Liv echoes. I write this on the board.

“Also odd and I don’t understand it. Did he ever mention any specific types of birds? If he loves seagulls, maybe he’s at the lakefront. If he loves robins, he might be in a park. Think, everyone, think.” I write these options on the board.

“He said something about exotic birds once,” Miles volunteers.

“Now, that is good information,” I say. I write it down. “Nicely done, Miles.”

“Exotic? So he might be in a strip club,” Michael says. I don’t write this down.

B-Money begins to poke around the rest of the warehouse. “What if he left us a clue in his office?”

“Is that too obvious?” I ask.

“How would I know? I’ve never played detective before,” he replies.

“Let’s take a beat and think this through,” Liv says. “Do we ever see him using a phone or tablet?”

“He must have one because we get texts from him,” I reply. “Plus, he posts selfies.”

“I never get texts from him,” Michael says.

“That tracks,” says B-Money.

“What if he’s old school enough to want to write things down on paper? All that time he spent watching us on the quad, he never pulled out a phone. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave an electronic trail?” Liv suggests.

“Are you suggesting that he has a calendar or a day planner? Maybe back in his office?” I say. “Let’s check it out.”

We try his office door, but it’s locked. “Do we break in?” Vishnu asks.

“We haven’t had a lot of luck busting down doors before,” B-Money says.

“Emily, do you have any hairpins in your bun?” Miles asks. “I can pick this lock.”

“No, you can’t. I would have known,” I say.

“It never came up in conversation. I learned when I was an Eagle Scout,” he replies. Seeing my shocked expression, he adds, “I contain multitudes.” Interesting. I take down my hair and shake it out. I can hear Michael muttering something about a dramatic before-and-after. I ignore him.

Liv’s phone buzzes and she snorts when she looks at her texts. “What’s up?” I ask.

“My mom says she broke her hip,” Liv replies.

“My God, the timing that woman has. Do you have to go?” I ask.

Liv silences her phone and looks me squarely in the eye. “I do not.”

While it takes him a few minutes, Miles is able to pop the lock on the doorknob, and everyone celebrates. How did I not know this about him?

Zeus’s office is nothing like I expected. There’s a nice chesterfield sofa in the corner and lots of healthy plants. His desk is a fine old antique and his shelves are filled with books by philosophers. It looks more like a high-priced psychologist’s than the back office in a boxing gym. The only nods to his Zeusness are a photo of him with a large toucan on his shoulder (I never noticed his weird tattoo before—it looks like an electric strawberry) and a signed photo of Ms. Swift herself hugging him.

B-Money snatches it up. “‘Zeus, my brother, thanks for always having my six. XO, Tay.’”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“Wait, I know this from a podcast—it’s a military thing. It means to guard someone’s back,” Liv says.

“He was guarding Taylor’s back?” I ask. “Taylor Swift ?”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who contains multitudes,” Miles says.

The whole time we’ve been talking, Vishnu has been rifling through Zeus’s desk. “I found a planner! And today’s date says graduation! He was supposed to be here! He sent a cake!”

“What if my man’s actually in trouble?” B-Money says.

“Would he have sent a cake if he were in trouble?” Miles adds.

“Has his Insta been updated since yesterday?” I ask. “He’s pretty prolific. If he’s not posting selfies, I think we should be worried.”

Liv’s fingers fly across her phone. “There’s nothing!”

We completely toss his office, looking for something, anything, while Michael doodles on a pad of paper. “That isn’t helpful,” I say.

“Rosemont Park—Scott and Granville. Eight p.m.”

“What are you talking about?” B-Money asks.

Michael holds up a pad that’s been shaded with the side of a pencil. “This is the address that was written on the last sheet of paper he pulled off. This is our clue.”

I am gobsmacked. “How on earth did you know how to do that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s easy. I’m old and I understand paper.”

We’re all crammed into Liv’s Audi. She and I are in the front, with Michael, Miles, and B-Money in the back. Vishnu sits crisscross applesauce in the hatch. We had to move some Open House signs to make room for him.

Liv being Liv, she breaks no speed records, but fortunately, we found the clue quickly enough to arrive while Zeus is still here. At least his car is; I recognize the FRLESS1 plate. There’s a small symbol in the back window that I hadn’t previously noticed. It’s the same electric strawberry as his tattoo. I wonder what that means?

“I’ve seen that symbol before, but I don’t recall where. It’s cute, though, right?” Liv says.

“Is that important?” Vishnu asks. We all shrug.

Is it wrong to say how alive I feel right now? I can feel my blood coursing through every one of my veins. Action Emily is back, baby!

“What’s our next move, coach?” B-Money asks. “Do we run up there, or ...”

I’m not actually sure. Before I can make a plan, Vishnu cries, “He’s there! He’s in the car. Look at his caption on Instagram, ‘ Feeling cute, might be deleted later. ’”

Every one of my senses goes into high-alert mode. “‘Might be deleted?’ That’s not what he says. He always writes ‘delete,’ not ‘deleted.’ That sounds like a cry for help. I ... I think he might be in danger. Here’s what we do.” Then I lay out my plan.

B-Money and I are going to sneak over to the car for a better view, and Liv’s going to stay in the driver’s seat, in case she needs to swoop us up. Vishnu and Miles are going to watch his Instagram for more clues. Michael is going to ... something. None of us know. But he got us here, so I have to give him credit for being so useful.

B-Money and I stalk across the street and crouch behind a minivan. We see a small box truck pull up behind him, and Zeus rolls down the passenger window, where a shadowy figure takes a fat stack of bills from him. I can’t see the guy’s face, but he has the same electric strawberry tattoo on the back of his hand.

“What the hell, Zeus?” I whisper.

“Straight from South America,” the person says.

We can hear Zeus say, “Put it in the back,” and the hatch flies open. The shadowy figure struggles under the weight of a large, wrapped parcel and places it gently into the back. He’s so careful with his movements that I have to wonder how fragile the parcel is. Is it fragile like fine art or fragile like a bomb?

Zeus, what are you doing?? What is he doing? Is he moving drugs? Weapons? And for what purpose? How do we tie into this?

I signal B-Money that we should run back to Liv’s car. As quickly and quietly as we can, we make our way to the Audi. “What’s happening?” Liv asks as soon as we’re secure.

“He just conducted some kind of transaction,” I say. “He bought something big from South America.”

“That does not sound good,” Miles says. “Wait, what if he’s not in danger? What if he is the danger?”

“Thank you, Professor Obvious,” Vishnu says, swatting Miles on the back of the head.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Smartypants,” Miles replies, swatting him back. They fecklessly slap at each other until B-Money breaks it up. I feel weirdly proud of how easily Miles has integrated into the group. The other guys don’t slap just anyone . He’s one of us now.

“I know we might be risking life and limb and all, but can we take a second to appreciate how my man here has come out of his shell?” B-Money asks, grabbing Vishnu’s cheek and planting a big smack on it.

“Yeah, we’ll congratulate you on the other side,” I say.

“Can we get another cake?” Vishnu asks.

“The cake thing is weird, though. Did he arrange it ahead of time?” Miles asks. “People in imminent danger don’t send cakes. Then again, those who are the cause of imminent danger might absolutely send a cake. Like a calling card a Bond villain would send.”

Damn it, he’s right! I say, “Guys, I don’t think he’s in danger. I think Miles is on to something: he might be the danger. Liv, look! He’s on the move! I’ll stay on his six!”

Liv clicks her blinker and everyone in the car groans. “Now is not the time to be signaling!” Vishnu yells from the hatch.

“I’ve never done a car chase before!” Liv says, not offering her standard apology. We ease down the frontage roads around O’Hare as we tail him and end up at some kind of cargo warehouse. Zeus finds an empty space and parks, then he grabs the giant parcel, lifting it like it’s nothing.

“He really uses his core,” Miles observes.

“Okay, now what?” Liv asks.

Good question. We don’t know what we could be walking in on. And I’m still not past how he knew so much stuff about us. That is some spy-level intel.

What is his game?

What is he doing?

Wait, what if he’s involved with a cartel? What if it’s human trafficking? Does this have anything to do with my time in Brazil? Is there something larger at play here? The Primeiro Comando da Capital is a massive and terrifying criminal organization down there, and they do their trafficking through cargo ships. And we are out here by cargo warehouses. Could this be a coincidence or something more? I did hear him speaking Portuguese one day on the gym’s phone—does that mean something? My Portuguese is rusty, and it wasn’t great to begin with, but it feels like there’s a connection.

My mind races as I try to assess the possible dangers if we follow him. “I wish we had some sort of protection,” I say.

“Don’t worry, I’m packing,” B-Money says. He asks Vishnu to hand him the giant gym bag he pulled from his car before leaving the Fearless facility.

“You have guns ?” I ask, and I feel a spike of fear travel the length of my body. This just got a little too real.

“Pfft, I don’t fuck with guns. I got something better.”

We creep along in the darkness, just B-Money and me. We made everyone else stay back at the car. If something’s going down, we want them to be safe. My adrenaline is pumping like mad, although I’m having trouble seeing clearly. The catcher’s mask keeps slipping down since my head is smaller than B-Money’s.

His “protection” entailed a bag full of sporting goods. I’m carrying a baseball bat and wearing the catcher’s mask and protective vest, and he’s in a life preserver, holding a lacrosse stick. If an intramural game were to break out, we’d be all set. Still, it’s better than nothing.

We wasted precious time in the car trying to google “Brazilian criminal organizations” to see if they had any ties to Zeus’s tattoo, and we thoroughly freaked ourselves out when we saw a member of the Comando Vermelho with the same ink. Then we also found that same logo on a frozen yogurt shop in Fort Lauderdale, so we’re not sure what to think.

We’re basically armed with nothing but our wits, and if anything goes down, I can’t imagine B-Money’s ability to rhyme any word is going to help much.

“If for some reason this is just an exercise, we’re gonna get extra credit,” B-Money says.

“Extra credit for stalking our instructor?” I ask.

“When you say it like that, it sounds kinda silly,” he replies.

We steal down a darkened hallway. Ahead, there’s a glow, and we hear the hum of voices in the distance. We’re almost there ... wherever there is.

“I’m scared.”

“We can always turn back,” I say.

“What if this is the test?” he asks.

I pause to consider. “Then we’re going to pass with flying colors.”

We fist-bump and continue creeping down the hall to an open doorway. The noise level elevates. What I see around the corner stops me cold, and I inadvertently drop my bat. The sound reverberates as it bounces on the cold, hard floor.

“Motherfucker,” B-Money says under his breath. Neither one of us can believe our eyes.

We’re in the doorway of a massive room, filled with people showcasing ... exotic birds in cages . There are dozens of bird enthusiasts parading around in colorful feathered costumes, and there’s an enormous banner that reads, Welcome to BirdCon O’Hare.

A vendor approaches us. “Can I interest you in a souvenir beak?”

We both just gape in response. Of all the situations I thought we might stumble into ... I never anticipated this one.

“No?” the vendor asks. “No beaks? Maybe later, then.”

“What in the fresh hell is this?” B-Money asks.

That’s when Zeus, for some reason dressed like Johnny Depp in one of his pirate films, spots us and bounds over. “Hey! You made it! That’s amazing, thank you. Didn’t think it would be your jam, but it means a lot to me you showed up. Did the cake get there? I didn’t have a chance to cancel it.”

“Wait, did we pass? Was this our test?” I ask. I’m completely confused, as is B-Money.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Zeus says. “I postponed graduation until tomorrow. Didn’t you get the message?”

“What are you talking about? What message?” I demand. I am so damn tired of men not being straight with me.

“I texted Michael and asked him to run things this evening and push the certificate ceremony to tomorrow night. I wasn’t planning on coming here, especially after being out last week with my army buddies, but then Tater Tot arrived and I had to dip,” Zeus says.

“Is this what an aneurysm feels like?” B-Money says, grasping his head. “Pretty sure I’m having one.”

“Talk me through this,” I say. “You texted Michael and said, ‘Please be in charge tonight. I have to go to a bird show.’ So, this wasn’t a test or an exercise and at no point were you in any sort of danger?”

“Tater Tot is still getting used to me, so there’s a possibility of some biting. You might want to watch your fingertips, and maybe don’t take off the catcher’s mask, because they can go for your eyes, nose, and lips. But otherwise, no. I’m sure it’s fine. Here, come meet him.” With boyish enthusiasm, Zeus leads us over to an enormous cage, where a brilliant green parrot glowers at us from behind his bars. “Emily, B-Money, meet Tater Tot. I read about her online and when I learned what she could do, I thought, You belong with me. ”

“You belong with me,” the parrot ... parrots.

What is happening?

“She wasn’t supposed to arrive yet, but she cleared customs early.”

“Safe and sound,” says Tater Tot.

I’m trying to wrap my mind around this situation. “Hold up. You’re saying you put Michael, better known as Joseph Stalin, in charge. You let Mussolini run the show. You told Hitler, ‘Welcome to Poland!’ for a bird?”

“Bad blood. We got bad blood,” squawks Tater Tot.

Zeus seems profoundly offended. “Please, this isn’t any bird. This is a lilac-crowned Amazona finschi .”

“You’re telling me we just spent the night thinking you were dead or that you were embroiled in some sort of international conspiracy all because Michael is a technophobe who can’t read texts, and you bought a bird who spits out Taylor Swift song titles?” I shout.

“Shh, you’ll scare the Tot,” Zeus replies, trying to get me to lower my voice as he protectively cradles the bird’s cage.

“We thought tonight was life or death, but it was all about a bird who speaks in pop lyrics?” My fury knows no bounds. “I am about to scream my fucking head off if you don’t answer every single one of my questions right now.”

“And mine,” B-Money adds. He smacks the lacrosse stick menacingly across his palm.

Zeus shrugs. “I don’t usually do that until the certificate ceremony, but since you guys found me—tracking is something you wouldn’t learn until the next level—I guess I can finally let you in on my methodology.”

“Now,” I demand. “You’ll do it now.”

Zeus begins. “Emily, your job and your passion revolve around resources. We’re burning through our resources and that’s the problem you’re trying to warn everyone about. But you know what resource is, unfortunately, renewable? Fear. Fear is self-perpetuating, and it’s the biggest problem we face as a society. Fear is why we hide behind our cameras instead of acting when we see something bad going on. Fear is why so many are sheep instead of sheepdogs. The wolves thrive on fear. They cultivate it. Fear is why we don’t know our neighbors. Fear is what closes us off from outsiders. Fear keeps us stuck, keeps us crouched behind the couch in the dark. Fear keeps us isolated and alone. And the pandemic? That took our collective fear to an entirely new level.”

“Okay, but that explains nothing about what this group is or why it exists,” I say.

“Patience is not one of your virtues, Emily. We should work on that. Next term. Anyway, I was afraid during the pandemic too. My boxing gym shut down. I had no streams of revenue, so I had to start driving for Uber,” he explains.

“ That’s why you were able to pick us up that night,” B-Money says.

“Yeah, I never deleted the app, because that challenge is something I do with every class,” he says. “I thought I was going to lose my gym and my livelihood and that scared me. After the army, I spent my life building that place. My gym gave me my purpose. I felt like my duty was to help people get stronger. Suddenly I didn’t have my purpose anymore and that threw me. You know anything about how that feels, Emily?”

Of course I do. I give a subtle nod and Zeus goes on. “I don’t like being afraid, so instead I figured out how to make fear work in my favor. To channel it and turn it into a positive. While everything was closed down, I got certified online as a life coach.”

“‘A life coach’?” I practically spit out the words. “We’ve spent this whole time listening to a life coach ? You have a doctorate in bullshit .”

Zeus takes a long pause to look me intensely in the eyes, and my knees only buckle a teeny bit. “My bullshit is why your life has improved. My coaching has helped you get stronger, physically and mentally,” he says.

“But—” I protest.

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m not wrong. During the pandemic, I started to put it all together. I figured out how to help people channel the fear and sudden disconnection they felt into helping themselves. That’s why I’m not forthcoming in the intro sessions. You’ve gotta find the answers inside yourself; they’ve been there all along. But the only way to get there is to make connections. You can’t help yourself more than by helping your friends and neighbors.”

“Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz ,” B-Money says.

“Exactly.”

I’m trying to process but I still have so many questions. “Did you recruit us specifically? I don’t understand how you put us all together.”

Zeus opens the cage and sets Tater Tot on his shoulder, feeding him an apple slice. The bird gobbles it down and nudges the side of Zeus’s face, asking for more. “You were loitering in a lousy coffee shop. You weren’t there for the atmosphere. You definitely weren’t there for the shitty cold brew. You were there because you wanted to connect. You wanted to be around other people and you wanted to see them, and for them to see you. You wanted to reach out and you didn’t know how. Honestly, I get most of my business from lingerers in third-tier cafés. If people have their shit together and their life’s going right, they don’t hang out at the Brew and Chew. People with full, rich lives don’t camp for three hours in a bad coffee shop; they go to one that’s good. Brew and Chew is where people go when they’re lost and they want to latch on to something.”

Damn it. I hate to admit that he’s not wrong. Liv and I were there because we both felt stuck. And the robbery pulled us out of it. That brings up another question. “How did you know we’d be robbed?”

“I didn’t. But it’s Chicago, so ... something happening was inevitable.”

“Shut the fuck up about Chicago,” B-Money says, pointing his lacrosse stick at Zeus.

“Exactly,” I add. But something is still nagging at me. “How do you know so many intimate details about our lives? We didn’t tell you those things.”

His laugh infuriates me. “Of course you did. You put your whole life out there on social media for everyone to see. When you post, you’re fishing for connections. You want to be noticed and appreciated for who you are, what you think, and how you feel. You want membership in a larger community. So that’s what I do. I see you and then I help you see yourself. You guys assuming I’m mystical or a spy is easier than taking a good, hard look at yourself, to see your own fear, to see your own need. You’ll stare directly into the sun but never in a mirror, right? But once you get over being afraid of who you are, the world will be your oyster.”

“I don’t fuck with mollusks,” B-Money says, but his fight is gone. He believes Zeus, as do I.

“Metaphorically,” he replies.

“And what is the deal with Taylor Swift?” I ask.

“I work security when she’s in town. I’ve gotten to know her. Good kid. Great pipes. Talented songwriter. Nice family. Someone did a survey recently. Did you know more than half the US population considers themselves Taylor Swift fans? When was the last time this country came to a consensus on anything? She brings people together, and I support that. She’s all about connections. Now, let’s commemorate this occasion. Everyone get in close. I want to take a selfie.”

Because we don’t know what else to do, we crowd into the frame and smile. I can’t help but notice how nice it feels to be pulled in close to Zeus.

“Say Speak Now ,” Zeus instructs. He takes the shot and the flash scares Tater Tot, who nips B-Money on the ear.

“Ow!” he cries. “Why does this bird gotta be so mean?”

The ride back to Zeus’s warehouse is quiet. I suspect some of us (mostly me) are disappointed that there’s no greater mystery at play, that we weren’t being recruited for something larger.

“He’s not a secret agent,” I whisper to myself. “He’s an aviphile.”

Michael is mad that we’re teasing him for failing to read his texts. But I’m glad he didn’t. We’re all grateful for the experience. No matter what happens next, we’re connected. We’re bonded. We see each other and we are seen. For better or for worse, we’re a family. And we’re stronger and smarter and more empowered for it.

“He’s an aviphile!? Thank God there weren’t any children there,” Michael huffs.

Well, maybe not Michael.