He looked a little taken aback, but it’s not like Anne gave a shit. What did The Exxterminator’s birthday have to do with her?
“The Owls are throwing a party for him,” David said, the Owls being the superhero team that he led. “I was hoping you’d come.”
“Oh,” she said. That really came as a surprise.
God, his birthday, she thought. I killed the asshole on his birthday.
She decided not to give a shit. After all, he shouldn’t have been snooping around on his birthday. He shouldn’t have been doing the vigilante shit on his birthday. That was his fault, not hers. What he did was dangerous business — could’ve died any day, at the hands of anybody.
Shit, vigilantes got killed by cops as often as they got killed by bad guys. Killing a vigilante didn’t say shit about who she was. Didn’t mean she was good or bad. She just was.
“What’s the time and place?” she asked. She figured that saying no would have been admitting to herself that she was afraid, or guilty. But she wasn’t afraid, or guilty.
So she’d killed a guy. He had it coming.
“Tonight at five,” he said. “At the base. Please don’t bring a gift. We’d worry about it being a camera, or a bomb, or a camera bomb, or a robot that takes pictures of us in our sleep, or a–”
“Fair,” she said. “Five at the base. I’ll see you, then.”
“Yeah,” he said, walking off. He wore a bit of a smile. “I’m glad you said yes.”
Asshole, with his fancy smile and fancy base and powerful friends.
He was worried her surprise was going to be wrapped in some box? Nah, she had the greatest surprise in the world: she’d killed the guest of honor.
She tried opening the wine bottle, to take a swig from it. But then she remembered the cork. She probably looked awkward, just standing there.
Walking towards the checkout, she realized he hadn’t given her any shit about trying to buy wine underage.
She wondered what that meant.