Devious Origins

by Thad Phetteplace

CHAPTER 10

  The next two days were remarkably quiet and uneventful, all things considered. There was productive discussion on Tilly's private chat channel, but the plan was still coming together, so it had not demanded a huge time commitment yet. I sent a text message to Dee asking how things were going, and she replied only with, 'deep into it. be in touch.' She finally called on Sunday.

  “Hey Barry, can you meet me at the lair? I'd pick you up, but Martin is indisposed.”

  It took me a moment to remember that Martin was her scooter. “Sure, I can be there within the hour,” I answered, “What's up?”

  “Just need your help with something. Details when you get here. Bye.”

  Cryptic as always.

  I set aside the software project I was working on and headed out the door. The 67 bus had a stop only two blocks from the factory, and would be able to catch the next one if I hurried.

  Lost in my own thoughts while I walked from the bus stop, I didn't notice the truck until I was practically at the entrance of the factory. It was a small, black, Chevy S-10 pick-up truck with a fiberglass cap on the back. The tailgate was open, and a long haired bearded fellow was unloading boxes from it. We both froze as we saw each other, stood staring at each other for a long moment, then the stranger spoke.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Barry,” I replied, “and you?”

  “Joe,” was all he answered. We stood there for another few seconds until he asked, “So why you here?”

  “Dee asked me. Said she needed help with something.”

  “Oh, OK then.” He nodded his head, then looked down at the box he was holding as if seeing it for the first time. He set it down next to the building with the other boxes he had already unloaded. He then walked up and offered his hand. “Hi, I'm Joe,” he said.

  “Um, yeah... Barry... nice to meet you.”

  “Watch out for the demons, Barry.... the demons with dead eyes will drag under.” He said it with the unconcerned casualness that one might warn against a high salt diet. Then he asked, “Do you know Dee?”

  “Yes, for a few days now,” I answered. I felt like I was trapped in some sort of time loop.

  “I've known her for years,” Joe shared, “She's good people. Not like the demons. They'll drag you under.”

  “Um, so I've heard.” I looked desperately for a verbal exit. “Um, well, Dee is expecting me, so I'm going to head inside.” Joe just nodded and went back to unloading his truck. I made my escape and entered the factory.

  The first thing I noticed was that the lights were on. The second thing I noticed was that it was no longer completely empty. An assortment of old sofas and chairs was arranged in one corner. Pieces of scrap lumber and in one case an entire door had been laid over cinder blocks to create ad hoc coffee tables. Two young children, a boy and girl no older than eight, were playing on one of the sofas. A woman with braided hair, probably in her late twenties to early thirties, sat in a chair near them. She appeared to be clipping coupons from an advertising circular. Given the resemblance, I assumed she was the mother.

  Another sofa held a young man with long white blond hair. He was dressed mostly in denim with a lot of patches on both his jeans and jacket. He was stretched out on the sofa with his feet on one end and his long hair draped off the other. A young woman wearing a purple head scarf was sitting on the floor at that end of the sofa, braiding his hair. She was wearing ragged jeans and a black t-shirt with the words 'Abby Normal' emblazoned across it. Both looked to be in their late teens to early twenties. Two skateboards and a pair of backpacks leaned against the sofa.

  A grease smudged Dee could be found nearby, working on her Vespa. The cover was removed from the engine compartment, and various components were arrayed on the floor around her. She looked up as I entered.

  “Barry, you made it,” she happily announced.

  “Of course,” I answered, “I said I would. Looks like you're getting settled in.”

  “Yeah, with a little help from my friends.” She got up and wiped her hands on her already grease stained t-shirt as she walk over. “Over there we have Ruth and her rug rats, Milo and Penny. I'm letting Ruth and the kids crash in one of the offices for a bit while she works through some, um, domestic challenges.” Ruth looked up, smiled, and waved to acknowledge the introduction, then went back to her coupon clipping. “The other two are Sebastian and Katie. I know them from way back. Practically the first people I met when Mom moved us here. I was just a total poser hanging at the skate park before they made me their skater padawan.”

  “Don't believe her,” Sebastian spoke up, “She had sick moves from day one.”

  “I assume you met Joe on the way in,” Dee continued.

  “Um, yeah, he's... interesting,” I answered.

  “Joe is a character all right. He's sort of a local institution actually. Most people call him Homeless Joe, but he is just Joe as far as I'm concerned. I think he used to be an investment banker or something like that before having some sort of breakdown. He basically lives in his truck and spends his days in the park. The city has been really clamping down on overnight parking lately, so I told him he can park here. They won't ticket or tow on private property. I asked him to come in and hang for a while, but he seems to have a phobia about buildings.”

  “That's nice of you,” I said, “letting him park here I mean.”

  “Well, its not like it costs me anything, and he helped us haul the sofas, so it was only fair. Oh I should show you this.”

  Dee led me over to another area of the factory. Four large exercise mats had been laid out on the floor. Each mat was about six foot by eight foot and had the name Health Adventures Fitness and Spa printed across them in gigantic letters. They were worn and faded and even patched with duct tape in a few spots. Someone had sown them together with a course hand stitch, effectively joining them into a single 12 by 16 foot mat.

  Along the outer edges of the mats, someone had lined up a variety of random objects, some on the ground, others on top of cinder blocks or wooden crates. Odd bits of machinery, pieces of brick, a length of rebar... there seemed to be no pattern or sense to it. Then I noticed other objects arranged even farther away from the mats. An old retail store manikin missing one arm. A hat stand with a paper target attached to it. A full size cardboard figure of some almost recognizable celebrity holding a beer, only the beer had been drawn over with magic marker to instead be a gun.

  “You like it?” she asked, “It's my danger room.”

  Before I could ask what she meant, she began a series of cartwheels and flips, picking up various small objects from the edge of the mat and tossing them as she spun through the air. A metal gear struck the remaining arm from the manikin. The paper target was shredded by a piece of brick. The cardboard cut-out wobbled as a piece of rebar perfectly clipped the the hand with the beer/gun. I could hear applause from the other side of the factory.

  Dee made a bow toward the sofas, then said, “What I really need, though, is something that fights back. I was thinking bags of sand suspended from ropes that randomly swing in from the perimeter... or maybe rig something up with a tennis ball machine. I can't keep asking Sebastian and Katie to just throw stuff at me.”

  “Hey, it's fine, we like throwing stuff at you,” I heard Katie yell from across the room.

  Dee just laughed and shook her head. “We should probably get going actually,” she said to me. I expected her to walk to the scooter, but she headed outside instead. I followed along as she approached Homeless Joe and asked, “Hey Joe, can I borrow your truck now?” Joe tossed his keys to Dee without even looking up from the paper he was reading. “I'll gas it up,” she promised.

  I climbed into the passenger seat as Dee started up the S-10.

  “Your friends seem nice,” I said as we pulled away.

  “Actually, Sab and Kat are the only ones I've known for very long, and even then we've mo
stly only connected on the whole skater thing. I don't think they really get what I'm trying to do right now. They probably think this is all just a big game, the hero thing, like grinding at the park. They think its cool and all... me making a dojo and going all kung fu theater... but they don't really understand why I'm doing it.”

  “And you think I do?”

  “Yeah Barry, I think you do. You think I'm crazy for trying, but you get why I'm doing it. I scanned that about you right off, otherwise I would've never taken your phone number.”

  “I'm not so sure.”

  “Give it time. You just need to listen to yourself more.”

  I didn't know how to respond to that, so I changed topics. “So, Ruth, her kids, Joe... what's the story there?”

  “Ruth is quite the saga. She was basically made homeless by her stalker psycho ex husband. He kept tracking her down and and causing chaos until she would get kicked out by the landlord or just leave so her ex wouldn't know where to find her. He's gotten her fired from jobs, screwed up her credit. She was living in a shelter, her kids too, when I met her. I used to spend a lot of time hanging in the park and got to know them there. Same with Joe. I got to know him at the park. He can seem a bit out there, but he's OK.”

  “Still, not everyone would do what you've done.” I meant it as a compliment.

  “Yeah, a lot of people have this irrational fear of poor people, as if they must all be immoral or criminals or something. They act as if you could actually catch it from them... like reach out to a homeless person and you might become homeless yourself. It makes no freaking sense. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to let just anyone into my lair. Some people hit bottom because of really stupid and destructive behavior, and you just don't want to get too close to that. It's the lifeguard rule... you got to look after yourself before you can help someone else.”

  “That doesn't seem to fit with the whole superhero thing,” I answered without really thinking.

  “Oh it's not really a contradiction,” Dee assured me, “It's not like I haven't thought about the risks, Barry. I mean, all sorts of people have risky jobs... police, fire fighters, soldiers... but they do it anyway because they know how important it is.”

  “And you really think you understand the dangers you are facing?” My thoughts drifted back to the altercation in the factory. To Red and his gun.

  “Yes, Barry, I've really given this a lot of thought.” She sat quietly for a moment before continuing. “I know how high the stakes are. My jacket for example. Looks normal enough, doesn't it? But its made from a carbon Kevlar composite, lighter and stronger than regular Kevlar. It's actually designed to provide maximum protection in a motorcycle accident, but it effectively doubles as a bullet proof vest, especially after I sewed some extra layers into the lining. My riding goggles... they are industrial safety goggles from a specialty supplier in Denmark. The lenses are extremely impact resistant, and they are mounted in a nearly indestructible titanium alloy housing. Combine that with the layered carbon fiber crash helmet, and I'm actually better protected than the typical cop or soldier.”

  “It seems you've thought this through,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

  “Sure, but that is all just worst case planning. If I'm doing my job right, I should never need this stuff. I mean, look at the classic early comic heroes. The Shadow, The Green Hornet, even Batman... they grew out of the detective pulps. The heroes of those stories mostly solved things using their wits, not their fists. Case in point, our current mission... a bullet proof vest won't help us much here.”

  She pulled the truck to a stop in front of an understated brick house. It was a modest size but well kept and in a decent middle to upper class neighborhood. Dee set the parking brake as the engine chugged to a halt. She rested her hands back on the steering wheel and took a few deep breaths. Finally she turned to me and said, “OK, you ready?”

  “I'm not so sure I...” but she was already climbing out of the truck and walking around to the front steps. I reluctantly followed.

  “OK, so this is the mission and our cover story...” She bit her lip. “We are meeting my mother. You're my boyfriend. OK, let's go.”

  She started up the steps to the door. I just stood there.

  “I'm your what?”