"Just yesterday a group of men couldn't decide where to put left-over equipment from a job. Who had to tell them? Me, of course. They are good people, though, Javier. I treat them with respect. You should always treat people with respect. They will work even harder for you."
"Yes, Papa," the boy replied instantly. Roberto felt a great urge to hug his son, so he stopped and picked him up. He wrapped him in his arms and breathed him in for a moment. For his part, Javier hugged him back with the fervor of a son that idolized his father.
"Go home. Both of you."
The order came from behind them in a voice tinged with annoyance. Roberto turned with Javier still in his arms. Three men walked towards them dressed in military black. They had guns strapped on their hips and long knives at their thighs. They moved with the swagger of bullies, their authority wrapped around them like a cloak.
"Ardati," Roberto cursed under his breath. Shock troops from the Caliber sent into the Warren on the rare occasion they cared about something outside their great city. They came here for the same reason special forces went into the favelas of Brazil—regular police were too damn scared to do it themselves.
They stalked down the center of the cobblestone street like they owned it, and people started finding other places to be.
"Fucking hate coming to this side," one of the ardati said. The man was tall, lanky and blond-haired with a cigarette hanging off his lip. A large scar ran from his mouth to his ear. He reached up and flicked his cigarette into the street.
"Stop your bitching, Richie," the leader told him from the front of the group. The man in charge was shorter and thickset with a neatly trimmed beard. "Sooner we find where the Flash came from, the sooner we scrape this shit off our boots." He looked around with open contempt at the poorly maintained roads surrounded by old apartments. "Shit's the right thing to call it, too. You, come here before you leave."
It took Roberto a moment to realize the leader was talking to him. He hesitated, dreading any contact with the soldiers. Javier, still in Roberto's arms, looked on with his mouth hanging open, unsure what to make of the black-clad military men.
"Are you deaf, man?" The leader stepped over with the rest of his men in tow. They stopped in front of the father and son.
"We were leaving," Roberto said, one hand out in a placating manner.
"I know you were. I was the one that said get home. And now I'm the one saying stand there. Did you see what happened here?"
"An old drunk named Hobb got the Flash," said Roberto. "He used to hang out close to here. It made him fly. Last I saw, he was going over the buildings that way."
"Someone from the Warren learned to fly, did he? Looks like it's true, boys. The sun shines on a dog's ass now and then," the leader said, and the rest of his men chortled along behind him. "Idiots. My bet is he's lying somewhere with his brains bashed out of his skull. Goddamn waste of our time coming here."
Javier shrank back against his father. The leader noticed and gave the boy a stare.
"What's wrong, boy? Old Hobb a friend of yours, maybe? There now, it'll be fine. I figure Hobb was like the rest of you squirming messes. Running about here and there, scavenging off the likes of us. Little rats. And that's why it's okay. You live in the Warren, and like everyone knows, the one thing the Warren will always have is plenty more rats."
His men roared with laughter.
Roberto, white faced with embarrassment, turned with his son in his arms and began to walk away.
"Tell you what, my friend, I agree, its best you go home now. And I'm fine with you leaving," the leader said. But he put a hand on Roberto's shoulder, turned him around then shoved his face close against the other man's. "You can leave soon as you tell me why you're wearing that suit."
"Good question, Lieutenant," said Richie to his leader from the back of the group, hand itching at the scar on his face. "You see, I've seen our new friend before in the Caliber. Couldn't place him until now is all."
"Please, just let us go," Roberto whispered.
Richie continued as if he didn't hear him.
"I could understand a man coming back from a long day with his tie undone and shirt a little rumpled. I mean, don't all of us go home a little worse for wear, boys?" The soldiers around him nodded in mock agreement. He continued.
"Like I said, though, I've seen our friend before, and here's what I don't get." He paused and looked at Roberto's son before speaking. "Why would a man who sits on a corner begging for change day in and day out need to get all dressed up? Seems like it might be bad for business, don't you think?"
"I do." This answer from the third member of the group, an older, gray-haired man. "I mean, if you're going to beg you probably should look like you need the help."
"My Daddy doesn't beg for anything! He works in an office. People ask him what to do."
"Javier, it's okay; it's just a mistake," said Roberto.
The scarred-faced soldier, Richie, pushed forward, shouldering the other men aside and shoving his face into Roberto's.
"Are you calling me a liar, Warren rat?"
"I'm not calling you anything, sir. If you'd just let us leave …"
Richie's gloved hand suddenly gripped Roberto's throat. He started to choke and dropped Javier, who fell from his father's arms. The child smacked his head against the road and began to wail. Roberto tried to reach his son, but was held tight by the gloved hand at his neck.
"This damn place," Richie said, his face inches from Roberto's. "You're all a bunch of fucking animals. They send us into the Warren cause we're the only ones who can stomach you all. Because we stand where others fall. But you bastards still find ways to hurt us, don't you?" His free hand pointed to the scar on his face, and he pulled the knife with a rasp out of its sheath.
He placed the tip of the blade against Roberto's cheek. It bit in and drew blood. "I can't find the one who gave me this scar. You all look alike to me. But you'll do just fine."
"Stop!" pleaded Javier. Richie paused and looked down at the boy in a considering manner. Then he gave him a smile with teeth that were white and perfectly even.
"Beg me," he taunted.
But suddenly, Roberto was released. He fell to the ground and scurried over to Javier, putting himself between his son and the armed men. The father and son were both scared and completely confused. The troopers seemed to have forgotten about them. They were, even now, staring behind Roberto. He followed their eyes.
In the distance, a man stood in the shadow of a nearby building. The wind shifted the tail of his white long-sleeved shirt and one hand moved to the small of his back. And when he spoke his voice was low and menacing. It carried clearly to the ardati.
"Have you all come here to die?" asked Jebediah.
Chapter 5
Jebediah's palm closed tight against the gun in the small of his back, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to use it. Roberto and his son were too close to the troopers. A shot could rebound off their body armor, and bullets in the air don't know enemy nor ally.
"This has nothing to do with the Scrounge," the leader of the ardati yelled back.
"I'm just someone that watched you beat on a father in front of his son. I'm just the man who wants to kill all of you. And I'm someone who could do it," said Jebediah. "If the gray hair's hand moves any closer to his gun, you'll find out how much I want to."
The trooper cursed, but his hand stopped inching toward his weapon.
On the ground, Roberto started to push away from the troopers while still cradling his son in his arms. Jebediah walked slowly forward.
"I'll ask you again. Did you come here to die?" he asked.
"Brave for a man without a weapon in his hand. You're facing three ardati. And you don't look like one of the local monsters, so I'm guessing a bullet would put you down just fine," the leader said.
"I'm going to explain this in a way even you idiots can understand. Last night I put a stupid boy into his grave. If this were last night I would've killed al
l of you already. But today the sun is shining brightly and the shadows feel far away. You are all out of your depth here. The ardati may be good where they come from. But to me, you're only adequate. And adequate means death."
He stopped in arms-reach of the group's leader, then turned to Richie standing in the back. The scarred man had stood silent and now held a pensive look on his face.
"The man who cut you, died three days afterward. His wife died one day before that. He was a monster, no doubt about it. The Flash does that to some. And those fires took several people, even children. And when they spread to your precious Caliber you started to care. That animal had to be stopped. But you botched it all to hell, so I had to drop him. But his woman, she did nothing to you. Nothing to anyone."
"Who the hell is this, Richie? What is he talking about?" asked the ardati leader. "You told us you got that burner."
"I don't care. Give me the word and I'll gut him!" yelled gray hair.
Jebediah smiled. "Go ahead, Richie. Give him the word."
"Don't. It's enough. You don't know him. Let's go." Terror ran through Richie's voice, and it carried across the group. Hesitation showed in all of their eyes now.
It's what the bounty hunter wanted. Regardless of his bravado, the ardati were impressive soldiers. Without being able to fire his gun, he needed them doubtful, even scared. Richie's fear delivered that. But would it be enough?
"You've gotten what you came for. Now leave. The Scrounge live in the Warren, and no one wants you here." Jebediah glared at the men. His arm, still tucked behind his back, shifted just slightly. The soldiers looked at him with hesitation, and for a moment, the only thing to be heard was the sound of their breathing. Then, in the silence, the leader of the ardati narrowed his eyes and moved.
"No!" screamed Richie.
Jebediah jerked the arm behind him. The soldier's eyes all went to the motion while their hands scrambled for guns and knives. And while his right arm distracted their eyes, his left came up and out. The truncheon hidden in his sleeve dropped down into his hand and cannoned into the leader's head. It crushed his skull and he dropped as if struck by lightning.
Jebediah let the motion carry him full circle. He spun with the club and dove it towards the gray-haired trooper. But he only connected with air!
The soldier had taken half a step back, then blurred out of view. The air around him buffeted and knocked the hunter back.
Jebediah looked around him, confused, then saw a streaking shape moving in the distance. It stopped. The gray haired soldier paused with his blade pointed toward Jebediah, took another half step, then ran towards him with inhuman speed.
Shit, he's Flashed! Jebediah thought.
He threw himself towards a nearby alleyway, spinning and simultaneously drawing his gun. The speeding man was moving too fast to hit directly, so he fired multiple rounds at an angle toward the ground, sweeping the weapon left to right and praying Roberto had gotten his son far enough away. The bullets careened into the ground, gouging divots in the street and rebounded at random directions into the air. The speeding soldier had no way to predict the bullets path and couldn't dodge. One struck him. He yelled out in pain and stopped for a second. It gave Jebediah enough time to duck into the alleyway and out of sight.
"Hide, you dog! Old Ian's coming for you!"
"Come in here and find nothing but pain, Ian," Jebediah responded.
The enraged soldier growled and then sprinted toward the alleyway at breakneck speed. He raised his knife to eviscerate the bounty hunter. He had just enough time to scream before running straight into the wooden pallet Jebediah had hastily propped up inside the alley's entrance. His unnatural speed kept him from stopping and he crashed into it full on. The wood splintered into sharp points that shredded his skin. His momentum carried him forward and he skidded several feet before crashing to a stop on the ground.
Jebediah stepped over and chambered a round.
"Warned you about coming in here," he said, them fired his gun into Ian and ended his running forever.
Jebediah left the alleyway with his gun at the ready and looked about for the remaining ardati. The dead leader still lay on the ground and Roberto and his son were against a wall in the distance. But the scarred Richie was nowhere to be seen. Jebediah ran over to Roberto and Javier.
"Where?" he asked.
"Gone," replied Roberto. "He ran while you were in the alley."
Jebediah nodded. "You need to stay away for a while. I don't think he'll come back, but you never know." He looked at Javier. "You're okay?" he asked. The boy stared mute back at him. "Your Dad took care of you, Javier. That's all that matters today." He waited for a moment but the boy said nothing.
"Thank you, Jeb," Roberto said. He picked up his son and hurried away.
Behind them, the doors of the diner flew open and members of the Scrounge flooded out, drawn by the sound of gunfire. They all stared at the dead leader on the ground.
"Hell, you'll have the ardati on our asses now," said Lee. Then he grinned and spat a stream of tobacco to the street. "I ain't entirely against it."
"Quiet, man. Last thing we need right now is a war," said Ray
"Oh please boys, so much drama," said Flint. "Even if they did want to retaliate, they wouldn't. It would cost both sides far too much. Today will just be a reminder."
"Reminder of what?" asked Ray.
"Don't mess with the Warren," Flint said, looking at Jebediah.
Jebediah faced away from the crowd, looking at the dead soldier and holstering his gun behind his back. He started going through Hobb's discarded belongings.
Ray gave a mirthless smile. "Maybe. But also, don't fuck with that guy."
Chapter 6
Jebediah stepped toward the house of the sick and dying, a hospital guarded by a one-eyed dog. The dog wore striped sweaters and went by the name Sugar.
No one knows how Sugar lost his left eye. He was found in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant eating the remains of a hamburger. The bread was moldy, and what was left of the meat and assorted defrosted vegetables had particles of road dirt and grease sprayed from passing cars.
The nurses of the hospital, being the stereotypical angels of mercy, cleaned him up and disinfected his eye socket. Then, because it was cold outside, one of them bought a sweater from a nearby pet store. They all stood back, viewed their work, and without a further word, all agreed that sweaters were the way to go. They kept a bunch of them in a closet. Depending on the day's general feeling, they'd choose an appropriate pattern and color.
Today, Sugar greeted Jebediah at the sliding glass doors bedecked in green and black. It reminded the bounty hunter of a pool table. He bent down and ruffled the dog's pale brown fur. Sugar licked at Jebediah's fingers in return, then ran into a nearby patient's room, jumped on the bed and curled up for a nap. No one questioned his access to the residents of St. Timothy's hospital and hospice. Sugar seemed to sense where he should go and who needed the comfort of a cuddly dog. So, the residents welcomed him as a small, warm friend.
Jebediah stood, for a moment, looking out of the windowed hallway into the outdoor courtyard the building wrapped around. He'd walked the courtyard's pathway before and stood outside at night staring up at the sky. Those still, quiet moments, helped keep him steady, something he needed desperately. Following the encounter with the ardati, and once out of sight of the Scrounge, he'd stopped and stuffed his hands under his arms. He held them there while they shook and quivered. The uncontrollable shivering had spread to his chest and he hadn't been able to move for several minutes. His ability to go from calm stillness to sudden violence helped keep him alive. But there was a price to be paid afterward.
As unsettling as the shaking was, though, he embraced it like a friend. There had been a time that it'd stopped, when the calm and silence of the cemetery was all that waited for him after he'd killed. No, after he'd slaughtered.
He'd hunted down men who visited horror on his family and paid them
back in pain and blood. He followed them into a deep, dark hell that left him a soulless, butchering machine. It'd taken him a long time to climb out of that hole, and he'd vowed never to return. Violence was his trade and only skill, but so long as he shook afterward he wasn't an animal.
He turned and walked down a hallway lined with patient rooms. One room had a group of white-coated doctors standing around an old man. The patient's eyes were closed, and his mouth was partially open, and his breaths were drawn with a gargling sort of snore. One in the crowd of doctors didn't wear a white coat. She had a paisley shirt reminiscent of the best hippy colors from the 1970's and on her head, was an old-style metal oculus. She had it flipped down so she could peer through its center hole at the man on the bed, and when she spoke to the crowd of doctors, she didn't bother to look up.
"Mr. Johnson, read out." She said it as an order, not a request. The young doctor's response was immediate and slightly tinged with fear.
"Dr. Gaal, the patient presents with acute leukemia. Liver is enlarged, white blood cell count is abnormal, significant weight loss. Chemotherapy has been unsuccessful."
"Is he dead?" Dr. Gaal asked, pointing to the loudly breathing man on the bed.
"Ma'am?" asked Johnson.
Dr. Gaal turned and fixed Johnson with a look and an upraised eyebrow. "The question is more than clear. Is the patient in front of you dead?"
"N-no; he's alive."
"Why is he alive?"
The young doctor glanced around at the group but found no help. The other doctors refused to even meet his eyes.
"Well, he's alive because … he hasn't … died yet?" he stammered.
She sighed. "I think what Mr. Johnson is trying to describe in a particularly non-cogent manner is, I don't know. And neither do the rest of you, and neither do I. For all intents and purposes, this man's body should have shut down. Yet here he lies, breathing on his own, and based on all indications, the cancer has been stopped." She pointed to the mirror in front of her eye.
"Even this thing, this oculus, this miracle of Hinge modern medicine through which I can see cell movement and bacterial growth, and with which I can tell you, without a doubt, the crabs in Mr. Johnson's genitals came from Ms. Trish's crotch, can't tell me why he is still alive."
Jebediah's Crime: A Heroic Supernatural Thriller (The Hinge Series Book 1) Page 6
