Seven Wonders

by Christopher, Adam

  And speaking of slipping away – letting the Cowl go, after he'd handed his sorry ass right to them? What the fuck was going on there? Well, he'd find out, soon enough. He was one of the team now. He'd press for some answers, and then maybe press for some changes. Things were different now the Seven were the Eight.

  Tony raised himself slowly upwards until he balanced on his toes. Peering over the top of the shelf, he got a clear look. Two guys, one disheveled, too-thick black coat and dirty baseball cap, long hair, goatee. The other was dressed in a mismatched combination of basketball and baseball gear, all baggy and street and gangsta. He waved a tiny gun over the counter at the store attendant, who stood back, as far as possible, with his hands raised tightly by the sides of his face.

  The gunslinger was getting more and more agitated. If the attendant didn't start cooperating, the robber would start to panic. It was a classic scene Tony had seen countless times, played out on late-night TV police shows that consisted of nothing but security camera footage of robberies. Apart from the incident at the bank, Tony had never actually been directly involved in any kind of crime, no matter how bad he thought San Ventura had become. But, unlike the Cowl's bank job, this was nothing. This was two jerks getting money for dope.

  Easy.

  Tony glanced around and found the security camera. It blinked above the counter, providing a clear view not only of customers, but of the cash register and the attendant, keeping tabs on both. Tony licked his lips. As a member of the superteam, he now had to protect his identity. He was in street clothes, and one public performance had been enough. If another little show joined the recording from the bank, which no doubt would eventually make it first online and then on TV, Tony would be feeling the heat, not only from the Seven Wonders but maybe the Cowl too, if he was, apparently, still at large.

  The idea that the Cowl might approach him and make a counteroffer entered Tony's mind and tickled his funny bone for a second. It was all he could do to keep from sniggering in the quiet store.

  Tony held his breath and rolled his neck. If he was going to do this, he needed to take out the camera first to prevent identification. He nodded to himself. No problem. The shop was pretty small, which meant he could make it to the counter, taking out both the camera and the robbers in just seconds. The two guys doing the stick-up had picked their moment well, as the store was also empty of other customers, which meant the only person Tony really had to watch didn't get caught in the fight was the attendant. And really, in these situations, Tony knew he could make compromises. Sometimes bystanders got hurt. That was part of living in a city caught in the perpetual battle between crime and justice.

  Right?

  The companion of the gun-toting robber was getting jittery and nudged his friend. His friend didn't seem to like this and swore loudly, waving the gun in front of him like he was trying to get rid of a bad smell. The other man backed off a little then leaned in, whispering something, and checking over his shoulder. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hooded sweat top, fists clenching and unclenching within, stretching the spongy fabric already worn thin and shiny.

  Tony shook his head. Fucking crackheads.

  The store attendant still didn't move, though in defiance or fear, Tony wasn't sure. He couldn't smell much − the dust and grime around the shelves and the BO-reek of the robbers blocked out any hint of sweat or fear pheromones from the cashier.

  There was a pause, a split-second beat when the moisture in the air seemed to hang, the posture and body language of the robbers changing slightly, relaxing almost. This was it. Their patience had come to an end, and the next event would be the hammer of the gun striking the cap on the end of the bullet, and then it would be game over for the attendant. It was now or never.

  Tony skidded as he ran, losing his balance as the thin soles of his Chucks burnt into the ancient linoleum of the shop floor. He compensated, but it cost him a few milliseconds. Accelerating to two hundred miles an hour in the space of a dozen feet, he realized the near-trip had set him off course. He corrected, ankles rolling as he pushed himself at an angle, aiming for the space between the two robbers. From there he could clothesline the pair then jump up over the counter, taking out the camera on the way before sweeping the attendant to the ground and out of the path of any bullet that managed to leave the gun. As he approached the counter at superspeed he realized he could really have done it all from afar, shooting the camera and the crooks with a bolt of energy, but… well, now he was here, maybe a hands-on approach would really be faster and less likely to go wrong.

  His path correction ran true. His superpowered synapses processed the incoming optical data at a colossal rate, telling his muscles to raise his arms at just the right time. The backs of his forearms connected with the necks of each of the robbers, one on the left, the other on the right. The pair didn't have time to register the attack and crumpled instantly.

  Tony was going too fast, again. He realized the fact and tried to slow, but he hardly felt the impact on his arms, the thought arriving too late that he'd probably reduced their cervical vertebrae to fragments. The main perp hadn't fired his gun though. Tony saw the store attendant directly in front of him, completely motionless. At the speed he was going, the entire world was almost frozen in place, hardly even moving at more than one frame a second.

  As the crooks fell, Tony hopped up, his knees crashing into the front of the counter. He gained just enough height to reach up and slap the security camera with the tips of his fingers. The cheap black plastic box exploded, bright sparks and dark shards radiating outwards at a snail's pace. Tony kept going, now airborne and unable to stop. Instinct made him cover his face with his arms, even though nothing could scratch his diamond-hard skin, as he crashed into the cigarette stand that adorned the store's rear wall. Most of the display came down around him, but the wall was thick and he'd lost some momentum by jumping upwards. Consequently, his face was only embedded an inch into the white-painted concrete when he hit it. Tony pushed off instantly, feeling suddenly the heat against the soles of his feet as the bottom of his shoes melted.

  The universe accelerated as Tony slowed. The store attendant was now lying on his side behind the destroyed counter, eyes blinking as the dust and debris clouded around him. His hands were raised above his head and when he looked at Tony, his mouth was open in fear. Tony felt the world lurch as he returned to normal speed.

  "Hey, it's OK, I'm not here to hurt you." Tony reached down to help the man, but the attendant whimpered and shuffled backwards a little, cracking his head against the counter. Tony sighed. The cops would be here soon as his attempt at foiling the robbery hadn't exactly been discreet. There was no time for this. He leaned over and grabbed the man's arm, pulling him to his feet. The attendant's eyes screwed shut but he made no attempt to pull away. Tony drew him up to his face, and noticed tears running from the corners of his scrunched eyes. Dust or fear, he couldn't tell.

  "Come on, snap out of it. You're safe." The man opened his eyes, but there was nothing behind them, no light of understanding. He was Hispanic… perhaps his English wasn't that good? Tony fumbled for a moment over a handful of bad Spanish before giving up. Of course he knew English. The attendant just looked blankly at him as Tony realized he was holding him by the collar, not just to his toes but almost an inch off the floor. He muttered an apology and set him down. The man's mouth began working as soon as his feet hit the floor.

  "Anything, anything you want, take it, take it…" The attendant turned around, rolling himself along what was left of the counter and to the register, murmuring his offer over and over again. Tony folded his arms, not quite sure he had heard right.

  The register shot open with the familiar clatter of small change and a digitally simulated ping of a machine fifty years older. The attendant turned, hands full of green bills. He pressed them into Tony's folded arms, ignoring the fact that nearly all fell to the floor. Turning back to the register, he swung back with another two handfuls
, then another. And now coins. Money scattered all over the floor. Cash register empty, the attendant turned around again, pressing himself back against the counter. He screwed his eyes tight, raised his arms above his head in surrender, and began to softly sob.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Tony didn't move, arms still tightly folded with bills stuffed between them, as he regarded the weeping man. He'd tried to help him − hell, he'd done more than try, he'd taken out two dopeheads and saved this guy's goddamned life. Now he was crying and throwing cash on him, like he thought Tony was some kind of superpowered robber. How could someone be that weak?

  Well fine. Fuck it, let him deal with the bodies. Tony went down on one knee, scooping up the bills on the floor. He waggled the fistfuls of dollars in front of the attendant's face, but the man's eyes remained closed, and his mouth moved in some silent prayer. Tony sighed, and swore, and sighed again. Fuck this shit. He stuffed the money into his jeans, gathered up the rest of the loose cash, and filled his back pockets. He walked out from behind the counter, stopped by the fridge and took two bottles of water, and left the store with the panicked attendant and two dead bodies and wrecked tobacco stand and counter.

  It was hot outside, and Tony was hot from his little exertion. He pressed one of the bottles to his forehead as he walked, and realized he'd taken the wrong brand.

  He'd tried to help, and he wasn't welcomed. Well, wasn't that nice? San Ventura could go to hell. This motherfucking town owed him, dammit. He'd had to talk to the Seven Wonders about how to… adjust the city. Change its outlook. Teach the citizens a little respect.

  He flipped the lid off one of the bottles and took a long swig as he walked back to his apartment.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  "Good evening, San Ventura. You're watching The Shining City Today Tonight. I'm Sarah Nova and these are your headlines this Tuesday evening.

  "The business community is in shock after Conroy Industries announced its chairman and CEO, Geoffrey Conroy, will be taking unexpected and indefinite medical leave.

  "The police crackdown on the Omega gangs has been totally ineffective, says the chief of the San Ventura Police Department Captain Charles Gillespie, as he called for closer ties between local law enforcement and the Seven Wonders.

  "And a third suspicious fire in Tempest County has local residents worried that an arsonist is on the loose. Our man Dex Brubaker is on the scene and has been talking to locals.

  "Our top story tonight: members of the San Ventura Chamber of Commerce are meeting this evening after Conroy Industries announced its chief executive, Geoffrey Conroy, is to take indefinite medical leave, starting immediately. Speaking on an unscheduled conference call with investors just hours ago, Conroy Industries' CFO Bruce Anderson revealed that Mr Conroy, whose business concerns include Conroy Computer Inc. and the Big Deal chain of home appliance stores, had been absent for the last week before submitting notice of leave, although sources close to the company have revealed to The Shining City Today Tonight that Mr Conroy has not been at the company for nearly two weeks and is believed to be seeking treatment for an undisclosed ailment somewhere out of state.

  "Geoffrey Conroy is a major contributor to the mayor's Keep San Ventura Beautiful charity trust and to the San Ventura Police Benevolent Fund, and just last month made a sizeable personal donation to both. Mr Conroy also sits on the board of directors of a number of California's Top 50 companies. The Chamber of Commerce is expected to meet with executives from Conroy Industries later tonight to request assurance that their CEO's absence will have no effect on the company's short-term commitment to San Ventura, where they are the largest single employer. CI shares were down three points at the close of play.

  "The Omega gangs are 'out of hand', says police chief Charles Gillespie. Speaking with the mayor on the steps of City Hall, Gillespie today said that the criminal gangs – who take their name and colors from the symbol worn by the Cowl – are entrenched in several poorer areas of the city, terrorizing residents and causing millions of dollars' worth of criminal damage. Gillespie took the opportunity to publically call on the Seven Wonders to take decisive action, as the problem was now beyond the capacity of the SVPD to deal with effectively.

  "Investigators tonight are looking for a suspicious car seen driving in the Tempest County area following the latest of a string of arson attacks…"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  San Ventura mornings in summer were generally foggy, the hot air sweeping off the desert inland mixing with the cool air from the Pacific, the resulting condensation dumped right on top of the coastal city. For those up early enough, before the thick gray mist was burnt off by the Californian sun, it was a pleasant relief from the egg-frying temperatures overnight. The cooler temperatures brought joggers, commuters, and old people out for a walk through one of the city's many parks. Early morning in San Ventura was the best part of the day.

  Tony stood at the kitchen basin, looking out of the small window at the mural on the flat cinderblock wall of the building opposite. The ocean scene was a peculiar mix of Sixties surfer art and traditional Japanese illustration. It was beautiful, and perfectly positioned to be enjoyed from the row of apartment buildings that lined this side of the street. That it hadn't been whitewashed by the city wasn't too much of a surprise. San Ventura had a strong art community, and while the mural was probably listed on a chart of graffiti problems, the city council would have given a tacit agreement to not get around to erasing it for, oh, thirty or forty years.

  "Hey," said Jeannie, padding into the kitchen. Tony turned from the window and smiled, then reaching out, took her hands and spun her around to embrace her from behind. With his arms around her waist, he planted a kiss on the back of her neck.

  "Hey yourself." He said, then: "Time for tea. Hot and black!"

  Jeannie shook her head and laughed. "The one time of the day the temperature is livable, and you want a hot drink? Are you sure your superpowers don't include retarded in the head?"

  Jeannie pulled away, and Tony smiled knowingly at her as she turned back around. He held a finger upright in a mocking gesture of silence, then grabbed the electric jug. After filling it from the faucet and replacing it on its base, he touched its metal side with his hand. Almost at once, the sound of boiling water echoed from inside, steam billowing from the spout. Five seconds later he had poured the water into a teapot, the side of the still disconnected electric jug glowing a faint orange.

  "Wow!" Jeannie's faked surprise made Tony laugh. Mouth wide, she raised her hands to her face in pretend shock, then almost jumped on Tony in a bear hug. "You're my hero! Superhero tea-maker extraordinaire!"

  "Whatever." Tony laughed and they kissed. After a while he extricated himself and moved to the sink to finish making his tea. He glanced up out of the window instinctively. Now there were a couple of black vans parked in front of the mural. It briefly crossed Tony's mind that this was odd, as it was a no-stop zone, but he also knew that parking violations in this part of town were not uncommon.

  "I'm on the afternoon shift at work today," he said, still looking out of the window. "How's your head? You feel like doing anything this morning?" The bruise on Jeannie's forehead was fading fast but he knew that a bump like that took a while to come right.

  Jeannie leaned back against the counter. "Yeah… no… maybe. It's early! How do you manage to be so alive after just two hours' sleep, anyway?"

  "Tea and apples!" Tony opened the small fridge and took out a small red apple. "They can make up for a lot of lost time, you know. People think coffee is the answer. Uh-uh." He waggled his finger again. "Apples. Tea. A magical combination."

  Tony stirred the teapot, and the apartment front door exploded inwards. He dropped the apple and jerked his other hand, overturning the pot and sending scalding hot liquid across the bench and splashing Jeannie's bare feet. "The fuck…?" was all he managed before the shouting began.

  The door had come completely off its hinges and was buckled at t
he center, and lay at an angle like a makeshift skateboard ramp. In the corridor beyond, Tony could see a black-clad, helmeted man step backwards, pulling a two-handed battering ram out of the way as two similarly attired comrades rushed in. These ones were carrying formidable automatic weapons, their laser-assisted sights firmly pressed against their protective goggles, eyes expertly trained along the stub barrels. Four letters in bold white advertised their affiliation across each armored chest.

  SVPD.

  Tony blinked. Yesterday, superheroes. Today… this?

  Behind them, lingering for a moment longer just around the edge of the doorway, were two plainclothes police – detectives; a man, dark and Latino, and a platinum-blonde woman − with black Kevlar vests strapped over their shirts, regular pistols held close and at the ready. Both wore clear protective eyewear.

  "San Ventura Police Department! Do not move! Do not move!" The command from one of the armored police was screamed at Tony's direction, and seemed perfectly unnecessary. Tony was frozen in shock, hand and arm still outstretched from when they had been holding his freshly brewed tea. He blinked away the dust from the shattered door and glanced over his shoulder, towards the kitchen, but Jeannie was nowhere to be seen.