Local Hero by Nora Roberts Page A

always a bit of a trick, and usually an expensive one, to find a cabdriver who didn’t object to a hundred-and-fifty pound dog as a passenger. Once inside, however, Taz sat by the window and morosely watched New York pass by.
    â€œIt’s a mess out here, isn’t it?” The cabbie shot a grin in the rearview mirror, pleased with the tip Mitch had given him in advance. “Don’t like the snow myself, but my kids do.” He gave a tuneless whistle to accompany the big-band music on his radio. “I guess your boy there wasn’t doing any complaining about not going to school. No, sir,” the driver continued, without any need for an answer. “Nothing a kid likes better than a day off from school, is there? Even going to the office with your dad’s better than school, isn’t it, kid?” The cabbie let out a chuckle as he pulled to the curb. The snow there had already turned gray. “Here you go. That’s a right nice dog you got there, boy.” He gave Mitch his change and continued to whistle as they got out. He had another fare when he pulled away.
    â€œHe thought you were my dad,” Radley murmured as they walked down the sidewalk.
    â€œYeah.” He started to put a hand on Radley’s shoulder, then waited. “Does that bother you?”
    The boy looked up, wide-eyed and, for the first time, shy. “No. Does it bother you?”
    Mitch bent down so they were at eye level. “Well, maybe it wouldn’t if you weren’t so ugly.”
    Radley grinned. As they continued to walk, he slipped his hand into Mitch’s. He’d already begun to fantasize about Mitch as his father. He’d done it once before with his second grade teacher, but Mr. Stratham hadn’t been nearly as neat as Mitch.
    â€œIs this it?” He stopped as Mitch walked toward a tall, scarred brownstone.
    â€œThis is it.”
    Radley struggled with disappointment. It looked so—ordinary. He’d thought they would at least have the flag of Perth or Ragamond flying. Understanding perfectly, Mitch led him inside.
    There was a guard in the lobby who lifted a hand to Mitch and continued to eat his pastrami sandwich. Acknowledging the greeting, Mitch took Radley to an elevator and drew open the iron gate.
    â€œThis is pretty neat,” Radley decided.
    â€œIt’s neater when it works.” Mitch pushed the button for the fifth floor, which housed the editorial department. “Let’s hope for the best.”
    â€œHas it ever crashed?” The question was half wary, half hopeful.
    â€œNo, but it has been known to go on strike.” The car shuddered to a stop on five. Mitch swung the gate open again. He put a hand on Radley’s head. “Welcome to bedlam.”
    It was precisely that. Radley forgot his disappointment with the exterior in his awe at the fifth floor. There was a reception area of sorts. In any case, there was a desk and a bank of phones manned by a harassed-looking black woman in a Princess Leilah sweatshirt. The walls around her were crammed with posters depicting Universal’s most enduring characters: the Human Scorpion, the Velvet Saber, the deadly Black Moth and, of course, Commander Zark.
    â€œHow’s it going, Lou?”
    â€œDon’t ask.” She pushed a button on a phone. “I ask you, is it my fault the deli won’t deliver his corned beef?”
    â€œIf I put him in a good mood, will you dig up some samples for me?”
    â€œUniversal Comics, please hold.” The receptionist pushed another button. “You put him in a good mood, you’ve got my firstborn.”
    â€œJust the samples, Lou. Put on your helmet, Corporal. This could be messy.” He led Radley down a short hall into the big, brightly lit hub of activity. It was a series of cubicles with a high noise level and a look of chaos. Pinned to the corkboard walls were sketches, rude messages and an occasional photograph. In a