by Baron Sord
“When did you get those?” I asked.
“Back at the house when I got my Glock. Sit on his head and shoulders and I’ll tie him for you.”
I released the choke and turned around, sitting on Automatic’s shoulders and pinning his arms.
Arnold zip-tied Automatic’s arms behind his back and tied his ankles too. Then he folded the dude’s legs up and zip-tied his ankles to his wrists. “That’ll hold him.”
“What did you do with his friend?”
“He’s tied up. Same way. He’s still out cold. The kid has the revolver trained on him.”
“Daniel? The teenager?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You left a teenager in there with a loaded gun? After what these guys did to his family? What if he shoots the dude out of anger? That’s on us.”
“Relax,” Arnold grinned. “I took the bullets out first. Told him the perp wouldn’t know the difference if he woke up.”
“Perp?”
Arnold shrugged. “Oh, did you touch the revolver earlier? I see you aren’t wearing any gloves.” Arnold was.
“Oh, shit. I did.”
“No worries. I wiped it for prints. Now it’s got the kid’s.”
“What about my DNA?”
“Shit. Hadn’t thought of that. Did you touch anything else in the house?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Where’s this guy’s gun?” He nodded at Automatic.
“Under that lounger.” I pointed.
Arnold ambled over and squatted down heavily, his wide behind and hefty thighs stretching out his black pants. He grunted, “There it is. Looks like an H and K VP9.” Arnold knew guns. He fished it out with one gloved hand and pulled a rag out of his pocket. “9mm,” he said while wiping it down. “Just a pea shooter.”
“I didn’t touch that one.”
“Just in case.”
“Don’t forget the DNA,” I smirked.
“DNA, Schmee-NA,” he chuckled.
“You thought of almost everything, didn’t you?”
“Except for DNA,” he shrugged, still wiping the gun. “You told me what was gonna happen back at the house. Zip ties were a must.”
“What about the rag? Did you bring that too?”
“Got it in the house.”
“Are you going to give it back when you’re done?”
“Why, because DNA?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” he snorted. “It’s not like they’ll miss it.”
I looked around and sighed. The backyard was quiet. The houses around this one were dark. That didn’t mean everyone was asleep. Someone must have heard Revolver’s gun go off when I’d fought him for it. Unless gunshots were a common occurrence in this neighborhood and people ignored them? Or the house had muffled the sound? No way to know. But I did know we shouldn’t stay here long.
“What now?” I said.
“I think we’re done here,” Arnold said with authority.
“Did the family get a good look at your face?” I wasn’t worried about me because I was dressed in black and wearing a black ski cap that covered my face like a ninja mask. Arnold was another story. “Your NFL stripes aren’t exactly camouflage. Neither are your glasses.”
“So?” He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Do you want to be identified?”
“By who? The family?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, “I’m not really worried about it. We helped them, remember?”
“Good point. What about the two gunmen?”
“They never saw my face.”
“Are you sure?”
Arnold sighed, “Yes I’m sure. Quit worrying.”
“Okay, fine. I’m going inside. Just for a minute.”
“Take your time,” Arnold said, busying himself wiping down the automatic.
I walked back into the house, my mask still on. Called out in a friendly voice, “Hey. It’s me. The guy who helped. Coming inside.”
Nobody said anything so I went back to the master bedroom.
Revolver was on the floor, zip-tied and out cold.
The family sat on the bed together. The dad was sitting up and holding a blood-soaked towel to the back of his head. He looked groggy and was probably bleeding from a scalp wound, which often bled worse then they were. Hopefully that was true in this case because he’d taken quite a beating from the butt of Revolver’s gun.
I said, “Did you guys call 911?”
“I did,” Maria said.
I wasn’t surprised she had, but I tensed anyway. I didn’t want to be here when the police arrived. Way too many questions to answer. There was no logical reason for me and Arnold to be here. Telling them about my super powers would only make them more suspicious. They might decide Arnold and I were working with Automatic and Revolver.
I said, “Are you guys all okay?”
The mom nodded.
Daniel said, “Sorry for hitting you with my bat, bro. You good?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Who are you?” Maria asked.
I smiled under my mask, “Just someone trying to help.”
“Thank you so much,” the mom said. “You saved my daughter’s life. Is there anything we can do for you?”
“Yeah. Just tell the cops you have no idea who we are.”
“We don’t,” Maria said earnestly.
I winked at her, “Perfect. Daniel, can I have the gun?”
“It’s empty,” he said.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave it here.” I knew Arnold had wiped it, but I didn’t want to take any chances with my DNA likely still on it.
The mom said, “Give it to him, Daniel.”
The boy sighed and handed it over.
I stuffed it in the back waistband of my black jeans. Then I bent over and grabbed Revolver by an arm and a leg and threw him over my shoulder. I said, “I’m putting him in your backyard with the other guy. Tell the cops when they get here.”
The mom nodded.
I gave the family a last look and smiled, “Take care of yourselves.”
They thanked me enthusiastically.
I walked down the hallway sideways, trying not to bang Revolver’s head into the walls. Not because I wanted to go easy on him, but because I didn’t want to put a hole in the sheetrock or knock down any family photos. The family had already suffered enough damage to the sanctity of their home. They didn’t need more.
Outside, I dropped Revolver on the concrete next to Automatic. Arnold had already zip-tied Automatic to the BBQ. It was big and metal, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
“We should go,” I said to Arnold. “They called 911.”
“When? Just now?”
“No. I’m guessing a few minutes ago. We don’t have much time before the cops get here.”
“Less than that,” he said. “I heard a gun go off when I was in the car. Someone probably called 911 then.”
“That why you came inside?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “You didn’t get shot, did you?”
“No.” I held up the revolver. “When I took it from him, it went off into the ceiling.”
“Sure is a nice gun,” Arnold said. “.44 Magnum. Looks like a Smith & Wesson.”
“Nice?” I smirked. “He was going to shoot me in the face with it.”
Arnold grinned, “Good thing he didn’t. It might’ve cratered your supermodel nose.” By supermodel, he was referring to my recently enhanced good looks, which were courtesy of my powers, as was my newly muscled and ripped physique. Arnold added, “You wouldn’t want a skull hole, would you?”
“A skull hole?” I chuckled.
“Right where your nose used to be.” Arnold winked, “What would the ladies think?”
“Who knows,” I sighed, not really caring.
Although I had discovered my super powers made me highly resistant to gunshots, getting shot was still painful and left marks. A few hours ago, when Ice Statue had s
hot me in the neck, it had made my voice hoarse for almost an hour. Hardly noteworthy, but it was an injury. In short, GSWs (gunshot wounds) did damage. Minimal damage, yes, but getting shot in the face was not on my to-do list. I was still concerned that a bullet to my brain might actually kill me.
I said, “We should take both guns with us. I don’t want these two crooks getting ahold of them once we leave.”
“They aren’t going anywhere.”
“Still. We should go.”
“Fine. Let me tie this guy to the BBQ first. Drag him over.”
I did. “Make it quick.”
It took Arnold half a minute to zip-tie Revolver to the grill beside Automatic.
We hurried out of the backyard.
“Keep your head down,” I whispered as we ran down the driveway. I was paranoid someone would see us or video us or who knew what. With both of us dressed in black, we looked exactly like a couple of home invaders.
“This way!” Arnold hissed, pulling me in the opposite direction on the sidewalk.
“I thought the car was that way,” I whispered.
“I moved it. Follow me.”
His Prius was parked up the street and around the corner. When we got there, he pressed the button on the remote. The headlights flashed once and the automatic locks opened. We both jumped in and threw on our seat belts.
I pulled the automatic out of my waistband and stashed it and the Magnum under my seat.
Arnold pressed the on button mounted on the dash and the Prius came to life.
We drove off in silence, the car’s headlights and running lights still off.
After we turned several corners and put some distance between us and the house, I said, “When did you move the car?”
He offered a satisfied grin, “I followed you when you took off.”
“How did I not hear you driving behind me? I was running down the middle of the street going like 40 miles an hour.”
“I know. I saw,” he grinned. “But I told you this thing has a stealth mode.”
“Right,” I grunted.
We rode in tense silence until we were on the freeway. Thankfully, we didn’t see any red and blue flashing police lights or hear any sirens along the way. Once we were cruising north on the 5 freeway at a cop-safe 66mph, I finally heaved a sigh of relief and said, “That was really brave of you back there.”
“Eh, it was nothing.”
“I’m serious. You could’ve been killed. You’ve got a lot of balls going in there with an empty gun.”
“Empty?” He pulled his Glock out of his pants. “Here.”
I took it and immediately realized it had a magazine in it. I popped it out. It was full. “Wait, what? I took your magazine. Oh shit! Did I drop it back at the house?! It has my prints all over it!” I lifted my butt off the seat in a panic and patted my back pockets. To my immense relief, the magazine was still there. As was the extra bullet Arnold had kept in the chamber. I pulled both out and held them up.
He grinned, “I brought two clips.”
I chuckled, “Fricking idiot. You’re lucky that guy didn’t shoot your ass.”
“Luck? It wasn’t luck. I was a Boy Scout, remember? Be prepared, bitch!” He cackled.
I smirked, “What did the Boy Scouts ever teach you about preparing for a gun fight?”
“Never show up to one without an extra clip, mutha-fuckaaaa!”
We both laughed as we drove home.
—: Chapter 2 :—
I woke up at 10:15am the next morning. Saturday. Day three of San Diego Comic Con. It was already in progress. Saturdays were always the craziest because the families came out in force.
After last night, I wasn’t in any hurry to get there.
I trudged out of the guest house where I lived, past the infinity pool, and up to the main house where Arnold lived. I opened one of the French doors that led into the kitchen.
Called out, “Arn! You here?”
Silence.
I found a note from him on the kitchen table.
Had to work. I’ll do Comic Con tomorrow if Gabe doesn’t make me work again. Stupid deadline. Rrrr!
I was hoping Arnold would’ve been here so he could go with. He deserved a day off too. Last night had exhausted both of us.
I yawned and opened the refrigerator and pulled out a new half-gallon carton of orange juice. Popped the cap and drank the whole thing.
That’s when I realized I was starving. Again. After a mere 20 hours, it was clear my super powers required I eat like a carnivorous horse — which had fangs like a sabertooth tiger. You can find them in the Monster Manual under C — Carnihorse. HP: 65. Special Action: Saber Gore 4d10+4. Totally badass and they probably made excellent warhorses for your average Anti-Paladin.
Smiling, I pictured an Anti-Paladin riding a charging Carnihorse into a wall of Lawful Good peasant do-gooders and bowling them over with their asses flying in the air, limbs akimbo, and polearms spinning hilter-kilter. With that cheery Chaotic Evil image in mind, I made myself breakfast. Cooked and ate a dozen eggs. Baked and ate two potatoes smothered in butter. It wasn’t enough. Baked a third and ate a bag of chips while I waited for the third potato. Ate half a block of cheddar cheese. Drank a half gallon of whole milk.
Amazingly, I didn’t feel full.
There was no way I had burned this many calories since yesterday. Then again, super powers. That said, the exothermic reactions of all my cellular activity (like impossibly fast healing and the muscle mass I was adding) should’ve been cooking me alive. Oh wait. I was the heat transfer guy. It kind of made sense. Kind of.
I wasn’t going to question it.
After I ate and cleaned everything up, I showered and got dressed. Since it was Saturday, and I did have a 4-day pass for Comic Con, may as well use it.
I had to wonder why I wasn’t hearing any new emotional distress calls from people? Last night, I had heard thousands. Why none now?
Was it because I was tired and needed more rest?
Or needed my food to digest first?
Both?
Either made sense.
I didn’t care one way or the other. I wasn’t in any rush for the distress calls to kick in again. Not after the near blood bath last night. There had been a moment there when I’d been 100% sure that Automatic was going to shoot Maria’s brains all over her family. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing had given me a mild case of PTSD. Yeah, I could use a day off to decompress.
Thankfully, the Con was the perfect distraction.
Before I went, I needed to get a new phone. I had unwittingly destroyed mine yesterday in that car fire outside the convention center. I drove my crummy old Chevy Aveo to Best Buy to get one. I bought last year’s still-cutting-edge model of iSearch Robot phone. It was newer than my last Robot. A phone upgrade wasn’t in my budget right now, but I had just enough room on my credit card, and I didn’t have time to shop around online for a decent used phone.
I had to laugh because I knew for a fact that no Marvel or DC Comics superhero ever had to deal with mundanities like losing their phone and barely affording a replacement. That was the unglamorous reality of actually having super powers. Your bills didn’t suddenly disappear.
Things could be worse.
—: Chapter 3 :—
Back home, I parked my car and grabbed my art portfolio and walked down the asphalt drive. The convention center was close, the summer weather was too nice not to walk, and I’d never find parking downtown anyway. It had been sheer luck I’d found a space yesterday, which reminded me of…
Pinstripe.
The sexy attorney who looked like a porn star in a pinstripe suit. After all that had transpired in the last 24 hours, I could honestly say I had no lingering bitterness she’d said no to my dinner date offer. Who needed Pinstripe when you spent ample quality time with women like Lady Liberty, and my neighbor Vangelina. I meant Vanessa, aka Yoga Angelina.
Fricking Arnold and his nicknames.
Yesterday, Vanessa had thrown her naked self at me while I was at her mansion. Pinstripe could take a fricking number.
Wow, had all that happened yesterday?
I had lived a lifetime since then.
Who knew what today might bring?
I’d find out soon enough.
“We’ll go home in a minute, Stefan,” Vanessa said softly, her sultry voice coming from somewhere behind the wall and hedges that surrounded Arnold’s parents’ property. “Be patient for Mommy, okay?”
“Yip!”
“That’s a good boy,” Vanessa cooed. She thought, I hope he comes out soon. I can’t wait all day for those abs.
I walked out the side gate and let it close loudly. I didn’t want to startle Vanessa when I came around the corner of the property.
She came walking toward me seconds later with Stefan trotting in the lead. She beamed a smile, “Morning, stranger!”
Damn, she was hotter than I remembered, and I remembered her being pretty damn hot. Speaking of heat, today was quite warm already. Fittingly, Vanessa wore skintight short-shorts and a sports bra.
She thought, I hope he likes the new outfit.
I hid a smirk.
In the past, her normal walking attire had never been this revealing. Tight as hell yoga clothes yes, but she didn’t usually flash this much skin, not even during summer. Her new short-shorts cut off right at her thigh gap. Her boobs were practically popping out of the tight top. Her nipples were popping out, but they hadn’t been a second ago.
Oh god, she thought, he makes me so damn hot.
No earbuds in her ears to prevent me from talking to her. But she was wearing her trademarked ninja sun visor. Instead of using it to hide her eyes from me like she had thousands of times in the past, she smiled right at me. Vanessa may have been in her late 30s, but from a distance, she didn’t look a day over 20.
Too bad she was fricking married. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but you couldn’t miss the white tan-line.
Had she gotten a divorce since yesterday?
Doubted it.
Had I lost my principles since yesterday?
