by B. C. James
Tyr cocked his artificial hand back to deliver another blow to side of Thor’s head when Odin put up a hand to stop what was shaping up to be an epic sibling beat down.
“You should know better than to push your brother, Thor,” Odin said with the sort of condescension that politicians usually save for campaign speeches in flyover country. “The topic of his hand and the wolf that ate it are very raw subjects with Tyr. At least he lost it doing something heroic. What acts of bravery have you engaged in lately?”
Tyr lost his hand in an encounter with Fenris. The Asgardians had tricked the wolf into tests of strength where they would wrap him in the strongest chains their smiths could make to see if Fenris could break them. After shattering the best bindings they could forge, it was the dwarves who created a flimsy looking but completely unbreakable ribbon to tie the giant wolf up with. Fenris, sensing a trap would only allow them to bind him with the ribbon if a god put their hand in his mouth. Tyr was the only one to volunteer. As soon Fenris discovered that not only could he not snap the ribbon but that the gods also had no intention of untying him, he snapped down on Tyr’s hand.
“I slept with Cardi B once. Seeing as most people wouldn’t do that without a Hazmat suit, it probably qualifies as courage.”
“Ah Thor, my most intellectually challenged child, the same ribbon that cost Tyr his hand and held the Fenris has been refined by my company, improved and made into other useful things.” Odin grinned and let his eyes fall upon the shackles that held Thor’s wrists. “So... Thor, now to the point, there are things I need from you. Give them willingly, and I will release you. We can work together as it was always meant to be. Resist and I will take what I need, tie you up, throw you in the same hole where we threw Fenris, and leave you to rot. What say you?”
Thor looked down at the dwarf-made shackles and the long length of chain that was clamped to the iron support of the security bench. Thor smirked. “I say a lot. Let’s start with this fact, I say you killed my wife and I’m eventually going to even that score.”
Odin’s face betrayed none of the emotion that he may have felt in regard to the death of his daughter-in-law.
“I didn’t kill her. I sent her to Surt in order to get something from him. Had she succeeded, I would have possessed the key to ending him as a threat for all eternity.”
“Were that true, old man, she would have told me all the gory details involved in this little trip. We were married after all and there were very few secrets between us. There is no clandestine little plan you could tell her that she wouldn’t go and tattle to me.”
“That is very true, son. But Sif wouldn’t have known what to tell you. She was never given the true nature of her mission. She was under the impression that her parlay with the demon would be under a flag of truce. That was, of course, a lie. Fortunately, she wouldn’t discover that I had been economical with the truth until it was too late. Surt wanted a pretty goddess to play with and I needed her back, in one piece with evidence of her dalliance with the Fire Giant. If she came back broken I would call that a bonus, I never really approved of your wife, but I needed her back alive.”
Thor’s smirk was replaced with gritted teeth and a look that would have bored a hole from Odin’s forehead to his cerebellum if eyes could shoot lasers. “Exactly what was so important that you sent my wife off to die trying to get it?”
“I will let you turn that question over in your own mind, but here is a hint. If you are going to kill something like Surt, attacking him at the source of life may be where he is most vulnerable. Most people of average intelligence could figure out the rest for themselves, but you always had more biceps than brains, so don’t hurt yourself trying to sort out the answer.”
Thor was unfazed by the insult. His father’s slurs had become a soundtrack that, for him, defined their relationship.
“I know, I know, I’m just an oversized blonde moment looking for someplace to happen,” Thor said with a sarcastic edge that Odin either didn’t notice, or didn’t care about, “but I do know a couple things you seem to have missed.”
Odin did not lift his gaze from the contents of his teacup, which was far less interesting than what was going on in the room but looking at his drink instead of at his son projected an air of indifference that Odin found appealing.
“First of all,” Thor said, “I am a major celebrity. You can’t do this to me without an army of reporters asking questions and eventually tying it to you and giving your whole little ‘Aesir Engineering’ operation a media colonoscopy. You will be turned into a cable news piñata for daring to mess with one of the world’s most beloved sports figures.”
Odin just chuckled. “You always did put yourself on a rather high pedestal. Don’t get me wrong, I like it when you do that. It makes it so much more entertaining when you take a fall. From what I can see, the only athletes liked less than you are Barry Bonds, Lance Armstrong, and LeBron James whenever he sets foot in Miami or Cleveland.
Odin put his tea down and stared straight into his son’s eyes. “The real reason nobody is going to lift a finger to help you has nothing to do with the public image crap. By this time tomorrow, you will be a considered a criminal from one end of the planet to another. As we speak, NBC is reporting that the FBI and the Justice Department have found evidence that you were financially supporting terrorist cells throughout Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Lebanon and Pakistan.”
A feeling of unease began to rise in Thor’s stomach. Looking at the smug sense of self-satisfaction on his father’s face only made it worse. This wasn’t a bluff. The feeling grew from a subtle unease to one that felt like he had shotgunned a bottle of castor oil. Still, Thor didn’t let this show on his face.
“Dad, you may be rich and bitter, but you don’t have the money or the power to pull off a lie this big. By tomorrow night, my lawyer and I will be booked on every talk show, blowing Vesuvius-sized holes in this story and calling for an investigation into you personally. A week from now, you will be selling your ass for cigarettes to hardcore convicts in a penitentiary someplace.”
“Thor, Thor, Thor, you have been with humans for way too long. First of all, nothing here can touch me. I am the only one on the planet with the means and technology to hold a god, as your own situation has proven.”
Thor had to admit the old man had a point. For a brief moment he forgot he was arguing with Odin, the Allfather, and reacted to his father in the same way he would have treated somebody who was trying to blackmail him or sell him a used car. Odin was beyond the reach of both the law and CNN.
Odin took a sip of his tea and continued, “You don’t seem to understand the situation you are in. Lawyers, riches, reporters, fame…it’s all over for you. The current occupant of the White House owed me a number of favors, and as we speak, a mountain of irrefutable evidence is being presented to the nation regarding your treason. In truth, I expected they would do it grudgingly to cancel a few debts and buy my silence on lots of other issues.
The old man put his cup down, smoothed his beard and continued. “By the way, if you’ve never tried Da Hong Pao tea before, I recommend it if you ever get the chance. But back to business. Anyway, a number of government types were rather enthusiastic about framing you. You see, within certain caucuses there is a vested interest in an Islamic terrorist who looks, well…European. Seeing as one never appeared organically, they’ve toyed with the idea of manufacturing one. And Son, you’re about as mayonnaise white as they get. Being a celebrity only made it more attractive. Honestly, my needs aligned with theirs so seamlessly that they never really seemed to care why I wanted you in particular to take this fall. If I remember the meetings correctly, you are going to be referred to in the news stories as the Ginger Jihadist.”
As Odin spoke, Thor wound the slack in the chain around his bound wrists so that that only a short length of dwarven binding was between his shackles and the place where they were secured to the bench.
“Officially, you are to be sent to Guantan
amo Bay, but in reality you will be my prisoner. You can make this easier on yourself by simply cooperating with me and giving me what I need, or you can be stubborn. If that is the case, I will have no choice but to treat you extremely badly. Either way, dear son, you may consider yourself grounded.”
Thor answered his father from behind a face that was slowly contorting into a mask of abject hate. “What do you want from me, old man?”
“Ah, finally, a question about what I want. This is good. This is progress,” Odin sat back and picked up his teacup once again. “Your hammer, Mjölnir, has been found. Well, actually it was found a long time ago. It’s being kept at Area 51; can you believe that? Anyway, the weapon is as stubborn as always and no invention, science, or reasoned argument will convince that hammer to allow anyone to use it besides you. The problem is simple; I need its power, and it won’t give it to me.”
Odin continued. “I am sure you have heard Jormungand escaped from his prison at the earth’s crust. The earthquakes caused by his freedom pretty much destroyed Detroit in the process, not that anyone would notice the difference. I sent teams to where Loki and Fenris were being held as well. Those who I sent to Loki came back with news that he also escaped. Those checking on Fenris never came back. I don’t need to waste more men in order to tell me what I already know. The wolf has escaped. We both know the prophecies; I can’t rest while Fenris lives. So, Thor, that is where you come in.”
“You want me to take back my hammer and fight for you?”
“That was my original plan, but I think it’s pretty clear that I can’t trust you. So, for now, all I need is your DNA. After you give me that, you will be put in…what do the parents today call it? Oh yes, now I remember. You will be put in a “time out,” so to speak. Here is a hint about your fate though. You and Ted Williams’ head will have a lot in common.”
Thor smiled at his father, but his eyes betrayed the rage behind his grin. “You missed something, old man.”
Odin looked bemused by both his son’s anger and the idea that he overlooked a detail, “Oh?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll entertain the notion that you know something I don’t. So, enlighten me. What have I missed?”
In a flash, Thor got to his feet and tore the chain from the bench’s support. He had noticed that the cuffs and chain may be of a dwarf design, and impossible for him to break, but it was clamped to an iron bench that was probably made by a UAW worker who crafted it between his 10 AM break, his noon lunch, and his 1 pm nap. In short, it was a piece of metal that was no match for an enraged Thunder God and tore like tin foil in the face of Thor’s strength.
Even though his hands were still bound by the cuffs, Thor stepped forward and swung his fists at Odin’s head. The old god showed a deftness that belied his age and easily ducked under his son’s furious attack.
Thor hadn’t intended to miss. His intention was to move Odin’s left cheekbone somewhere into the vicinity of his right eardrum. The miss and over-swing spun Thor to his left, where he found himself facing Tyr.
Tyr struck at him with his steel hand. Thor ducked the strike, and then used the chain attached to his handcuffs as a whip. He swung the metal flog at Tyr and the chain wrapped around his brother’s neck. Thor pulled down hard on the chain. Tyr was already off balance from his failed roundhouse punch. Once the chain had snared his neck, and Thor viciously pulled on the leash like a man forcing a large dog to heel, Tyr came crashing toward the floor. As gravity pulled Tyr’s head toward the ground, Thor caught his chin with a two-fisted uppercut. Tyr’s jaw shattered in a way that Thor found satisfying.
He turned again to face his father, and something swept the legs from beneath him. He landed hard on his back and saw his father holding a spear. Thor had forgotten about Gungnir, Odin’s signature weapon. Wherever his father was, that spear would be close at hand. Considering how dangerous this particular weapon was, Thor was ill prepared to deal with it. Handcuffs are a poor defense against a spear that can penetrate anything, including his godly skin, muscle, and bone.
He rolled out of the way of Odin’s first strike. The problem is that he had rolled on to his stomach, and knew it was a mistake as soon as he had done it. It had been a very long time since Thor had fought somebody on his level, and he was extremely rusty. Unfortunately, Odin was as fast as always, and his second strike went through Thor’s right shoulder blade.
Gungnir passed through his body and into the concrete, pinning Thor to the ground like a bug in a display case.
“I am truly disappointed son. I expected far better of you. I suppose I should have known that the pampered life of celebrity would make you soft, but I never expected you to be this out of practice.”
Thor said nothing in his own defense. Instead he tried to struggle to his feet—a difficult task at best for someone who had been run through and pinned to the ground. Odin stepped on his back and forced him down while he removed a small bottle from the inner pocket of his jacket. Blood spurted from his wounds but eventually settled down and just bubbled up from the holes in his back and upper chest like an uninspired geyser. Odin filled the vial from the entrance wound that Gungnir had inflicted.
Simmons, Odin’s long time lackey entered the room and took the vial from his master. After handing the bottle to Simmons, Odin kicked Thor in the head. The last thing Thor heard before losing consciousness was Odin telling Simmons to get the blood to the lab, and he would call him when it was time to clean up the mess. His last thought before his consciousness slipped away was, I guess I’m the mess.
Chapter 18
Freya used her thumb and feet to get to Glendale, Arizona. She kept a healthy supply of Tootsie Pops with her as well. She found hitchhiking while enjoying a sucker often sped up the process of finding a ride. She tried thumbing for a ride while sucking on a Popsicle once, but that resulted in a seven-car pile-up and four fatalities. Today, she was doing her best not to attract attention. Making the evening traffic report for being the primary cause of an apocalyptic interstate pileup definitely worked against that goal.
Due to a recent, near fatal, encounter with a freak that looked like a Rob Zombie version of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, she was keeping as low a profile as possible. It was unlikely that this was an independent act of aggression from the world of the supernatural. What made more sense was that this being was some sort of hit-ghoul that had been sent to capture or kill her. When you’re being hunted its best to keep the lowest profile possible. This meant no traceable credit card purchases, no arrests and absolutely no appearances on the evening news.
Freya had very few dealings with the worlds of gods or monsters over the past few centuries, so she was still very much in the dark about who had sent this being after her. While there were many who would argue that she did her best work in the dark, a playing field where she could not see the pieces moving around her was not a situation she was very comfortable with. So until she had some solid answers Freya planned on staying as invisible as possible.
While traveling, she avoided any destination that required her to buy a ticket. This kept her name off any travel records and hid her movements from anyone hunting her in cyberspace. In the past, she had made a number of appointments with clients who had found her through her website. She always verified the legitimacy of her customers by using a number of online services. After she was attacked, Freya realized that she could be tracked at any given moment by someone hacking into her site and accessing the online calendar that she thought was visible only to her.
Since leaving the hospital, she had been very careful to cover her electronic tracks. She even kept her phone turned completely off. Some of the more paranoid men she had become acquainted with called it “going off the grid.”
While she didn’t watch a lot of movies, there was a similarity between Freya’s approach to life and many of the characters that Vivian Leigh gravitated towards. She definitely had a Scarlett O’Hara quality to her personality. When it came to unpleasant decisio
ns and thoughts, she would channel the “I’ll think about that tomorrow” aspect of Ms. O’Hara’s nature.
In order to stay under the radar, she adopted the same travel strategy that Ms. Leigh had brought to life as Blanche DuBois from A Streetcar Named Desire. “Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” was the battle cry of this journey. There is probably a formula somewhere in bowels of MIT that calculates the mathematical relationship between how kind a stranger is in relation to how one looks in a short skirt. In this case the numbers were definitely on Freya’s side. In short, finding rides was not a problem for the goddess.
The men who picked her up were generally more than willing to take her to dinner or provide a place to sleep. For the most part, they did so without asking for more in payment than a pleasant kiss on the cheek and her phone number. Men were much different when they were trying to play the part of a hero instead of simply being a sleazy “John.”
On this evening, her thumb had caught the attention of the hero du jour. His name was Brock. He was a project manager for a small start-up in Albuquerque, New Mexico that was a subsidiary of a multi-level marketing company. Even among the wide variety of men she had known both personally and professionally, Brock was a tad different. Well, she referred to him as different. He enjoyed classic Kung Fu films, the philosophy of Zapp Brannigan, FILK music sung by William Shatner and the band They Might Be Giants. In other words, he was a geek. He may even have been their king.
Brock picked Freya up in Albuquerque. In truth, he was just heading to the corner 7-11 for a Big Gulp when he noticed her at the side of the road with a duffle bag and a sign that said “Glendale, Arizona” in her hand.
He figured that they probably had Big Gulps in Glendale as well. Besides, he was the boss’s son. Even though he had only been on the job for a month, nobody would say anything if he took a long lunch that included crossing state lines with strange women. So, he pulled up next to her and opened the door.
