“I work out almost every day and watch what I eat,” he said, “not that I have much of an appetite these days.”
“How’s your uncle?”
“Uh, I didn’t email you because it wasn’t an emergency and we said only in an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?”
“George died two months ago.”
“Oh, no. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine now, but it was tough at first. Mrs. Sahbiny and a couple of my uncle’s friends help me with the arrangements. I’d have never been able to do it on my own.”
“You should have called me. We could have talked.” Nora slipped her hands through Steve’s coat and embraced him.
He said, “I wanted to call you several times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It wasn’t an emergency and I may have started crying. I didn’t want to break down on the phone.”
“You big dummy, you should have called me.”
“I almost did one day, but then somehow his body got lost on the way to the crematorium and I was too stressed to call.”
“You poor guy. Enough time has gone by, I think our secret is safe and we’re out of danger, so you can call me and email me anytime you feel like it. The nightmare is over. You do believe it’s over, right?”
“Yes,” Steve said, “only one last thing to do.” He put his free arm around Nora and they walked to the river’s edge. The sword was heavy in his hand. “Do you want to do it?”
“No, he was your best friend. You should do it.”
“We’ll split it up. You throw the scabbard.” Steve brought the sword up, one hand on the hilt and one hand on the scabbard. He pulled the sword free—slowly, respectfully. There was blood, dry and dark, smeared about in a pattern of swirls, beaten and shaped by the storm that night. He handed the scabbard to Nora.
She stepped away and cocked her arm. “Bryan, you were the coolest.” She threw it as hard as she could into the river.
Steve stepped several paces to the left. “Buddy, you know how I feel.” He took two practice sweeps and hurled the sword on the third. It spun in the air far out into the Harlem River.
Nora said, “Now it’s over.”
“There’s one more thing,” Steve said. He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Remember this?” He held out the antique paper with the Chinese characters written on it.
“Is that the recipe?” She asked.
“I don’t know. It’s the paper that was in the bottle. When you brought the powder back from your Grandfathers, I assumed the paper identified it as rhino horn. It never occurred to me that it was a formula or recipe. It was under my bed for months. Did your grandfather say it was the recipe?”
“I don’t remember. You may be holding the secret to the powder in your hands. What are you going to do with it?”
Steve placed the paper back in his wallet. “Bryan would want me to hang on to it. Who knows what miracles of science and medicine it holds. It could lead to a cure for cancer.”
“Any thoughts about making more and powering up?”
“I’m not even tempted. I like my hair too much and even if there were no side effects, I still wouldn’t be tempted. What’s the point of getting that strong?”
“There is no point.” Nora hooked Steve’s arm and they started back to where they’d parked. “Like you and Bryan said, there are no super villains.”
Steve nodded. “No such thing as super villains.”
BETTER TO DIE A HERO
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BETTER TO DIE A HERO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Van Dagger writes out of Seattle Washington. Please leave a comment at www.twitter.com/mvandagger or a review at www.amazon.com.
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Better to Die a Hero Page 24
