King of the Mutants Page 10

  And they said things were more civilized in big cities.

  A smarmy kid holding a martini glass stepped into view from behind the group. Dressed in a black tuxedo, he stood around six feet tall, looked to be about sixteen, and had squinty rat-like eyes and slicked back brown hair. A prominent scar carved into his left eyebrow made him look a lot tougher than he probably was. He kind of reminded me of a younger—and evil—James Bond.

  I could only assume this was Freddie's friend -- the one and only Ashby Vanderholt.

  With a wicked smirk, Ashby shouted over the snickers. “Guys, back off. Freddie and me, why he’s like my baby brother.” He staggered up to us, sipping his drink. “Freddie, my man, what can I do you for?”

  “Hey, Ashby,” said Freddie. He shifted his weight from foot-to-foot, the right side of his big mouth twitching uncomfortably. “Remember? I called you about me and my friend crashing here for a couple of days?”

  “Sure, absolutely, anything for you, Freddie. Parents are in the Hamptons and then off to Montenegro. Same old, same old.” He turned his back on me. “And who exactly is your friend?”

  “His name is Maverick Mercury and he’s—”

  “A joke?” said someone.

  “A clown?” said another.

  An idiot for coming here, I thought.

  Somebody yelled, “What kind of a name is Maverick Mercury, anyway?” and the group of privileged punks burst out laughing. I didn’t understand what they found so funny. Truth be told, I thought my name was pretty cool. I stuck out my hand for Ashby to shake it. He slapped it out of the way with disdain, which only made his friends crack up harder.

  “Guys, cut it out. You’re being rude to my guests,” yelled Ashby over the raucous laughter. “It’s been real and it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun. And now that I’ve got company to entertain, you guys head off to the club without me.”

  Ashby turned his back on us and said goodbye to his friends—shoulder bumping the guys and hugging the girls. One by one his snobbish friends left, hailing taxis. A couple of his crew rolled their eyes at us like we were the stupidest and most disgusting street urchins they’d ever laid eyes on. I felt lower than pond scum. And then Snaggletooth jumped out of the sidecar.

  “What the heck is that?” asked Ashby, snorting cruelly.

  “That’s my dog,” I said.

  “If you say so,” he hissed, his lip curled up in a sneer. “The repulsive beast can sleep in the pantry and you can park your old jalopy behind my car—the black Aston Martin.” He paused like he was expecting me to jump up and down just because he had an outrageous ride. “Just drive it in there,” he said, pointing to a garage. “Then come up to the penthouse. I’ll leave your name with the doorman.” He eyed me up and down with contempt. “What was your name again? Marvin? Marvin Merdle?”

  It was clear Ashby and I were not going to get along.

  I clenched my fists and glared at Freddie. I’d never wanted to punch anybody in the face so badly in my life—excluding Burt and Yorgi, of course.

  Freddie had an ear-to-ear grin spanning his filthy face. It was my hope he didn’t look up to this jerk, but it was clear he did when he followed snotty Ashby inside the building like a lovesick puppy dog. Left to park Cherry Pie and wallow in my miserable and poor existence, a great feeling of dread coursed throughout my veins.

  Upon entering the Vanderholt apartment, flabbergasted and intimidated were the two words that came to mind. I stood in an all-marble entryway with fifty-foot ceilings. Above my head hung a gold chandelier so big and massive, I knew it had to be made out of the real thing. Ashby walked up to me, bowing. “Welcome to my simple home, Marvin. Mi casa, su casa.”

  “It’s outstanding, but my name isn’t—”

  “Well, wait until you see the rest of it,” he guffawed. “You’re only in the reception area.”

  I thought his hallway was his house.

  Ashby’s thin, pointy nose pinched together like he’d smelled something bad. “Freddie is in his room, showering and stuff. Your nasty, three-legged beast is in the kitchen with the help. They’re giving him a bath. Which leaves you and me to get to know one another. So why don’t I show you to your quarters.”

  It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t offer to help me with my things. Panting heavily, I carried everything up two flights of slippery marble stairs. Ashby bounded up the steps quickly, his chin held up so high I could practically see up his nostrils right into his empty, shallow head. When I caught up to him, I found him waiting not so patiently in the hallway.

  “This is one of the smaller guest suites,” he said with a condescending tone. “Freddie’s is right next door.”

  The room wasn’t small to me at all. It had a sitting area, a king sized bed, and its own private bathroom. A real eyesore, everything was a gnarly green and blue plaid, including the walls, and there were mallard ducks everywhere—duck paintings, duck figurines, wooden ducks, and duck pillows.

  Ashby sat in a green leather armchair and crossed his legs. “So, Marvin, what brings you to Manhattan?”

  “I’m trying to find somebody,” I said, ignoring his blatant disregard for my name. Ashby motioned for me to continue with a bored flick of his wrist. I figured a rich guy like this must have connections and I had no idea where to start looking. “Have you heard of a Dr. Greizenheimer?”

  Ashby narrowed his eyes and didn’t speak for a moment or two. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell, but if he’s a doctor he must be listed in the phone book,” he finally said. He gave me another disgusted once-over, totally sizing me up. “I’ve got some old clothes in the closet. You’re more than welcome to help yourself after you, um, shower. We were just about to donate them to the help.” Ashby burst out laughing, but I didn’t quite get what he found so hilarious. These rich kids sure had weird senses of humor.

  “Yeah, right. Thanks, um, I guess,” I said.

  “Well, you’re not from around here. Nobody except me will know you’re wearing my hand-me-downs. It’ll be our little secret.” He clapped his hands. “So when you’re cleaned up, meet us in the study and we’ll have ourselves a little nightcap.”

  I must have looked confused because Ashby sighed, like I was putting him out, and he went on to explain where it was I had to go. “It’s downstairs, down the hall, and on the left. It’s about six doors down. If you have any problems, there’s an intercom on every floor and Henry will show you where to go.”

  I shrugged my shoulders in confusion.

  Ashby sneered and said, “He’s the butler,” like I should’ve known, and then he sauntered out of the room, leaving me to my own devices. “If you have any laundry, throw it outside your front door. Gertie will take care of it in the early a.m.,” he yelled from the hall.

  This guy put the pomp in pompous. I didn’t know what kind of magical spell he had on Freddie, or why they were even friends, but it wasn’t going to stop me from taking advantage of his “hospitality.”

  I turned on the shower and went back in the bedroom to investigate the closet, overflowing with clothes. Immediately, I found the coolest jacket I’d ever seen. I had to have it because not only was it awesome, it was just long enough to conceal my tail. It was black with a silver-studded skull and cross bone on the back. Total rock star. I placed the coat on the bed. I also found a pair of black jeans that appeared to be my size, and a couple of killer t-shirts with cool graphic patterns on them. I didn’t want to overdo it and take too much like a beggar, but the truth was, I did need a few things. I found a pair of scissors in the bathroom vanity and quickly customized my new jeans.

  I gathered the crusty fish burger shirt and set it in the hallway, opting not to have Gertie wash my shorts or jeans. I would wash them by hand and hang them up to dry overnight. I didn’t need any questions as to why there were holes on the back of my pants.

  Freshly showered and dressed in my cool, new-but-used threads, I finally made it to the study at
two in the morning. A massive room, it resembled a museum, or what I assumed one would look like—polished marble floors, large paintings on the walls, and huge twinkling chandeliers. The curtains were parted so I could see the room had an impressive view of Central Park.

  Freddie was lounging on a brown velvet couch, also dressed in fancy clothes, looking extremely out of place and more than uncomfortable. They sipped champagne from crystal glasses and laughed at Ashby’s obnoxious jokes—or, rather, Freddie fake laughed. It was painful for me to watch him try to fit in. With a sigh, I sat down next to Freddie. Ashby shot me a sinister smile and that ever-familiar tingle shot to the tip of my tail like an electrical bolt.

  I had to learn the rules to whatever game he was playing…and fast.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HOW TO MEET YOUR MAKER

  Sleep did not come easy for me that night. I had a horrible nightmare about mutant kids. As my name was chanted over and over, cries of pain and torture echoed in my ears. I woke up sweating profusely, my sheets soaked through. I stayed motionless, trying to figure out the significance of the spine-chilling vision. What did it mean? Was I just having bad dreams because Darling had put that whole King of the Mutants thing in my head?

  I yawned and stretched my arms out wide. My back cracked from the base of my neck to the tip of my tail, adjusting itself, and I felt great. The sun shone brightly outside and crept into the room. Besides being at Ashby’s, it had all the makings of a beautiful day. I sat up and looked toward the window.

  A creepy man sat in the green leather armchair, watching me intently.

  I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. He had to be a figment of my imagination—a left over hallucination from my nightmare. I shook my head to clear it and focused back on the chair.

  The creep met my shocked gaze. I frowned.

  Really old, at least forty, the man was dressed like he was going to play a game of tennis—white shorts, a pink collared shirt with an alligator on it, and a white sweater wrapped around his shoulders. His platinum blond hair laid almost shoulder length, slicked back over his ears. His soulless eyes pierced right through me—one blue, the other a greenish brown—kind of like that spaceman rocker David Bowie.

  “Good morning, Maverick,” he said a little too fervently for my tastes. “Sleep well, hmmm?”

  My teeth rattled. “Who are you and what the heck are you doing in my room?”

  The man uncrossed his legs and picked up one of the stuffed ducks off the floor. He stroked its head like it was alive. “No, Maverick, the real questions we have to ask ourselves are: one, what are you doing in New York, and two, why are you looking for me?”

  Guttural and phlegm-y, a touch of a German dialect was mixed in with his thick New York accent—it was pretty disconcerting and didn’t match the man’s physical attributes. Thrown off by his intrusion, all I could do was repeat myself, my voice cracking. “Who are you?”

  “Why, Maverick, you’re an intelligent boy. I should think it would be perfectly clear to you who I am.” He threw the stuffed mallard over his shoulder, leaned forward, and met my petrified gaze. “I’m Doctor Wolfgang Greizenheimer.”

  What? This man did not look like a crazed scientist at all. All this time I pictured a crazy lunatic with wild gray hair working in a dark room with a hunchback peering over his shoulder. Now in front of me, practically breathing down my neck, a man who looked like he was heading off to the Hamptons to play a game of croquet sat before me, twiddling his long, manicured fingers.

  “I asked you, Maverick, how did you come to learn about me?”

  “G-g-g-grumbling,” was all I could stutter out. I gathered up the sheets and held them up to my chin, wanting this man to disappear. My words choked up in my throat. Nothing I said made sense.

  “Are you trying to tell me Burt Grumbling told you about my existence?” Greizenheimer glared at me. “Erroneous! I don’t believe you. I know the man is stupider than a box of rocks, but I don’t think he’d dare risk the consequences of telling my secrets.”

  He got up from the chair and paced in front of my bed like a caged animal waiting to pounce. “Maverick, Maverick, Maverick, I am very displeased with you,” he hissed. “I heard you were very loquacious and all you’re doing is acting like a blithering idiot. Snap out of it. I mean you no harm. I simply want truthful answers.”

  No, that was me. I was the one who wanted answers. This man wasn’t going to intimidate me. I’d just needed a couple of moments to prepare myself mentally after being completely taken off guard.

  “Fine,” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know but I need a few answers first, starting with this one. Why were you watching me sleep?”

  Freddie ran into my bedroom. “I heard you screaming from next door. What’s going on in here?” His body flinched and he pointed at Dr. Greizenheimer with a shaky hand. “Who the heck is that?”

  “My, my, my, if this just isn’t the perfect family reunion,” said Greizenheimer. “I never thought the two of you would meet. Isn’t life full of unexpected surprises? Maverick, I bet you never knew you had a big brother?”

  Brother? This guy was definitely on the crazy pills. Freddie and I were not related. We’d only just met.

  “What are you talking about Doctor Greizenheimer?” I said loudly for Freddie’s benefit. He needed to know whom we were up against.

  “Oh, just call me Daddy,” hissed the preppy psychopath. “Now, Freddie’s mom put up quite the fight when I came to claim him a few years ago. Ahhh, Isabella Finch,” he said with remembrance, looking toward the ceiling. “It was a shame she had to die like that with so much pain, so much blood. Oh well, sometimes experiments just don’t go the way you thought they would.”

  Freddie squealed, “You! You killed my mother the night I was—” His eyes bugged out wide in a moment of shocking realization. “Oh my God, I was here at Ashby’s!”

  “Depends on how you look at it, Freddie. She was used for an extremely good cause. And children, who cares about mothers? Fathers are what are most important. And I am the father to both of you. Where on earth do you think you got your good looks from?” He sneered at me. “Maverick, your mother, Celeste Mercury, died in childbirth, and after that, you were my first success. Younger than all of them.”

  Freddie’s gaze darted back and forth between Greizenheimer and me. My brain was on overload. I was having a tough time digesting all the A-bombs that had pretty much exploded in our faces. The news that Freddie was my half-brother blew my mind. And at the same time, I was sorry to hear about his mom, extremely confused, and more than shocked to learn this psycho was my Dad.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did a little of both.

  Ashby swaggered into the room, all cocky. He slapped Freddie hard on the back, nearly knocking him over. “I gave the good Doc here the rich kid pinky swear I’d keep an eye on you back then, Freddie,” said Ashby, snickering. “We weren’t expecting the cops to show up as quickly as they did the night your mother died. You could have ended up as part elephant boy—a trunk, huge ears, the whole nine yards. Who says child services doesn’t do their job?”

  Greizenheimer snorted. “I didn’t think little Freddie here would have survived the two-year incubation period, Ashby. He’s the runt of my litter. In fact, that’s why I alerted the state to his whereabouts—anonymously, of course.” He rubbed his hands together and turned toward me. “Now you, Maverick, on the other hand, you were freakishly strong—”

  “Did I use to be a normal human?” I bit down on my bottom lip hard, not quite sure if I really wanted the answer.

  “As normal as they come. In fact, it was I who raised you until you were almost two and a half years old,” said Greizenheimer. “Of course, for most of that time you were in the incubation program, changing into the horrible specimen you are today.”

  It couldn’t be true. Stuff like this only happened in the movies.
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br />   “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re insane! I was at Grumbling’s for as long as I can remember. Not only are you liar, you are so not my dad,” I said, my voice cracking.

  Greizenheimer chuckled like a crazed maniac. “But I am your father. Don’t you think that if I can alter a person’s genetic make-up after what they were supposed to be had already been decided upon, I could wipe out memories and implant new ones? I didn’t become insanely wealthy by playing with tinker toys!”

  “Yeah, Maverick, ever wonder why the rich get richer and more powerful and the poor get poorer and flippers and tails?” Ashby sniggered. “We control everything, you subhuman anomaly.”

  Now I knew why Ashby was acting so strange the night before. That maggot. Turns out, I had a very good reason to distrust him. He’d been in on the plan; he’d known the whole time.

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “Well, Maverick, since you’re not going to live…” began Greizenheimer.

  “Are you nuts?” interrupted Ashby. “You can’t kill them here—”

  “For the love of science, never interrupt me when I’m speaking! I’ll take them to my lab and dispose of them there!” yelled Greizenheimer. “Don’t forget it is I who is going to make you the most powerful man in the world…after me!” Ashby cowered when Greizenheimer’s eyes shot invisible daggers of disgust at him. “I give him a few super traits and he repays me with insolence.”

  Greizenheimer ran his hands through his hair and straightened his sweater like he was oh so cool, calm, and collected. More like manic, psychotic, and insane. Freddie didn’t look much better. He sat rocking in the corner of the room, his head twitching, and his body jerking around like a freshly caught fish on a hook. He muttered, “You killed my mother,” over and over again.