“Nobody, nobody,” Wayne said. “It’s good you didn’t. Gotta stay classy, you know. ’Specially in times like this. Very serious. Bombs threatening cities. Likely detonation today. No time for frivolity.”
He paused.
“But…” Wayne continued, “ifI’dbeen there, and seen that fancy chair… Well, I like those chairs, you know? The type that leans all the way back, and is all leather, and firm enough for support, but not so firm that it’s uncomfortable. You know?
“And I’dthink, ‘Damn, that’s a fancy chair.’ And I’dwonder… would the old backyard mistmaker sound different? What if I released a little concentrated essence of Wayne into those perfect leather contours? Would it feel different? Would my cheeks—”
“That’s enough. Please.”
“Oh, right. Okay.”
They continued on a little farther, but something about his words… Wax again tried to put it out of his mind, but…
“Wayne,” he finally said, closing his eyes, feeling angry at himself for continuing the conversation. “I have a chairjust like thatback in my study in the penthouse.”
“That you do,” Wayne said solemnly. “You do indeed.”
Oh hell. “Wayne. Did you—”
“Wax, the whole city is in danger, you know? You need to stop letting your attention drift, mate. First that fixation on me maybe setting government buildings on fire—only twice, mind you, which isn’t a pattern, just a coincidence. Now this fascination with what comes outta my backside. Can’t we keep focused on important things?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Like this art,” Wayne said, admiring some graffiti. “Ma was right. This place is beautiful.”
“Ma?” Wax said. “Do Iwantto know what you’re talking about this time?”
“This just reminds me of an old story with a canyon,” Wayne said, joining him as they continued. “A story my ma told me. Last one she gave me. So I remember it well, you know?”
“No,” Wax said. “How is this tunnel a canyon?”
“It just is,” Wayne said softly, looking up as they passed under another grate, sunlight crossing his face in a checkerboard pattern. “Been thinking about it since earlier today. It’s inevitable, you know?”
“I don’t,” Wax said. “I really don’t, Wayne.”
“Well it just is,” he said. “Even if you don’t know it. You’re the hero, Wax, and you got a mission. Barm. The nastiest monster what ever lived. You’re gonna stop him…” He hesitated. “Watch out. Might be some snakes in this canyon.”
“It’s a storm drain,” Wax said, “and I’ve never seen a snake in the city.”
“Yeah, they’re damn good at sneaking,” Wayne said. “Speaking of snakes: the Set, they’ll know that was us with the mansion.”
“Undoubtedly,” Wax said. “They might push into the mayor’s study to recover sensitive documents. I couldn’t replace the rug above the trapdoor—so they’ll know I found the tunnel.”
“Ah, great.”
“Great?”
“You’re supposed to find a bad guy in the canyon,” Wayne explained. “If the story is going to go right, at least.”
“Wayne,” Wax said. “We’re not in a canyon in your mother’s story. We’re in a storm drain in Bilming, trying to find and stop an explosive device. We—”
He was interrupted by a gunshot just ahead, echoing in the narrow tunnel—and a bullet hit the concrete near Wax’s head with a pop, blasting out a chip.
They both immediately ducked to the sides, getting low, and sawshadows moving in the tunnel ahead, just around a bend. Wax picked out two figures crouching beside the curve of the tunnel—the Coinshot he’dfought earlier, and a shorter woman wearing a bowler hat.
“Hey,” Wayne said. “Will you look at that. Bad guysandsnakes. Both at the same time.”
47