Man of Steele

by Alex P. Berg

Quinto came over to check on me. “Daggers. You doing okay?”

  “Okay?” I clapped him on the back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You seem out of it. Shay isn’t the only one who can read you, you know.”

  “It’s nothing. I’m a dolt. Don’t worry about me. This night’s about you. And I couldn’t be happier for you. You and Cairny are going to make the rest of us jealous, I know it. Couldn’t have happened to a better guy.”

  Quinto smiled. “Thanks, Daggers. It means a lot coming from you.”

  I nodded toward the table. “Quite a feat you pulled off, though. Cairny didn’t know until this evening? You didn’t even tell Rodgers?”

  Quinto shook his head. “I didn’t tell a soul. Well, that’s not true. I sent a message to Cairny’s folks. They gave me their blessing, even though they couldn’t make it.”

  A swell of chatter rose from the table as everyone settled into their spots. The waiters who’d distributed champagne exited as another crew laden with appetizers, bottles of wine, and pitchers of water followed in their wake. I wasn’t sure what exactly lay under the waiters’ trays, but it smelled earthy, savory, and delicious.

  Quinto held out a hand. “Should we join the others?”

  My stomach rumbled, and for the time being, its concerns drowned out those of my wallet. “Are you kidding? Let’s feast.”

  2

  I groaned and leaned back in my chair, my stomach stretched to capacity after finishing the last of a dark chocolate pomegranate mousse. After the first five courses, I’d promised myself I’d only sample the dessert, a promise I immediately broke. I’d wolfed down half of it before regaining my self control. Then the waiters swept by with another round of drinks and left the mousse lingering before me, tempting me with its decadent flavor.

  I’d tried to resist, but a man can only hold chocolate at arms length for so long.

  Captain Armstrong and his wife had just left, and the rest of the party had splintered into smaller groups. Many of them chose to stand and stretch their legs, possibly as a means to help their meals settle.

  Shay twittered with Allison across the table, who’d been abandoned after Rodgers left to chat with Quinto and Captain Knox. I glanced at the clock in the corner. It read quarter after nine.

  I placed a hand on Steele’s shoulder. “Shay?”

  “Yes, Daggers?”

  I nodded toward the clock.

  She took a peek. “Oh. Thanks for reminding me. Allison. It’s been a pleasure, as always. Time for us to head out, though.”

  We said our pleasantries while making the rounds, shaking a few more hands and clapping more backs along the way. I asked Quinto about the bill, but he insisted he’d take care of it. I didn’t pry. Maybe a close relative of his had bit the dust and left him a large inheritance.

  We retraced our footsteps, back through the Empress’s opulent entryway and out the gilded doors. We paused at the end of the red carpet, strokes of pinks and purples painting the sky despite the late hour. It was summer, after all.

  “Now for the million crown question,” I said. “You want to walk, or take a rickshaw?”

  Shay didn’t hesitate in hailing a cab. “I’m wearing heels. You should know the answer to that.”

  “Just thought it might be nice to walk off some of the six and a half pounds of food I’m currently giving birth to.”

  “If I’d packed flats in my purse, I’d be right there with you.”

  A rickshaw pulled up. We hopped in, Shay gave the man her address, and the cart clattered off.

  “Thanks again for reminding me about the hour,” said Shay. “I was having such a good time I might’ve forgotten otherwise.”

  “Well, my intentions weren’t completely noble.” I trailed a hand across her leg and gave her a suggestive squeeze, more toward the upper end of her thigh than the lower.

  “Really?” Shay lifted an eyebrow. “After all that food?”

  “Well, I did say I wanted to walk it off. Besides, I had three and a half cocktails, too. Those counteract the effects of the meal in the friskiness department.”

  Shay placed her hand over mine. “Jake, you know I’d be up for it most nights. But I have so much to do in preparation for my brother’s business school graduation party tomorrow. My mom’s expecting me at their apartment by seven, and it’s not like I can just show up. I’m supposed to bake two trays of gingersnaps before I arrive, mostly because my mother insisted we order flowers from the florist rather than full arrangements. Those are going to take at least a couple hours to put together.”

  “I can commiserate,” I said. “I’m cheap, too. It’s why I almost had a heart attack when we arrived at the Empress.”

  Shay smiled.

  I gave her leg another squeeze. “Still. I could be quick. Just saying.”

  “I know you could.” Shay gave me a wink. “But I’ve got more than one excuse, tonight. Mainly that I had fewer drinks than you.”

  I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  Our rickshaw clattered along, the sky deepening in color. A slice of New Welwic passed us by at the speed of our driver’s feet, a collection of the young and old, the rich and poor, the human and the not and everything in between. Compared to many of the couples that I saw, the mismatched pairing of Quinto and Cairny looked downright ordinary.

  Shay must’ve been reading my mind. “I’m happy for Cairny and Quinto,” she said, drawing my attention back into our cart. “I can’t believe they’re engaged, though. It seems like yesterday they started dating.”

  “It’s been almost a year,” I said. “Which isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough to get the measure of a person.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” The rickshaw wheels bounced over the cobblestones as we took a corner. Shay trailed her thumb over the back of my hand. “You ever think about our future?”

  “Of course I do. All the time.”

  “And where do you see us?”

  “Well…together, I hope. And you?”

  She nodded. “I’d hope so, too.”

  I chewed on the edge of my lip. “And…do you think it’s a realistic hope?”

  “We’re the ones who make the decisions about our futures, aren’t we?”

  Silence stretched for a moment, or at least what passed for it in a New Welwic rickshaw. Neither of us spoke amid the clatter of rickshaw wheels against pavement, the chatter of nearby pedestrians, and the angry shouts of a wine-soaked bum. Old me would’ve suffered a panic attack under similar circumstances, but present me felt oddly at ease with the conversation.

  “You’re not feeling…pressured by Quinto and Cairny’s engagement, are you?”

  “What?” said Shay. “No. I apologize if that’s how it came across. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s simply that we’ve never discussed…you know. Marriage. And not between us, specifically. Rather our general stances on it. Given your previous marriage, I guess I don’t know how you feel about it.”

  “I’m not jaded by the institution, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d be open to trying it again. I like to think I’d do a better job picking out the right partner this time.”

  The rickshaw slowed and pulled to a stop outside Shay’s apartment building.

  Shay leaned in and kissed me. I’d become so used to the slightly sweet taste of her lips, the scent of her lilac perfume, the feel of her warm breath as she exhaled through her nose as I kissed her back. The familiarity didn’t diminish the experience in any way.

  She pulled back. “The ceremony’s at noon tomorrow, with the party and lunch afterward. I should be in the office by two or three at the latest.”

  “See you at work, then.”

  She hopped off the rickshaw, gathering and lifting her skirt to keep it from dragging. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I said.

  She shot me one last longing look before heading through her building’s front doors.


  I sighed.

  The rickshaw driver eyed me. He looked mildly sympathetic. “Women, am I right? Where to next, pal?”

  I dug some coins out of my pocket and hopped out of the cart. “I’ll walk from here. I’ve got food to digest and topics to ponder.”

  3

  There was a time when the thought of turning down a rickshaw-based podiatric reprieve would’ve sent me into convulsions—roughly a year ago, if I was being honest. It seemed like eons past, though, and not merely because I’d overhauled my attitude toward burdensome activities and life in general.

  Walking wasn’t the chore it used to be. Thanks to Shay’s culinary guidance and her unwavering encouragement regarding exercise, I’d shed a good forty-five pounds from my heaviest, recently weighing in at an unheard of one hundred and eighty. That alone eased the knee and ankle pain I’d once felt after long days spent on my feet, but it wasn’t a mere lack of bulk that made walking more enjoyable. I’d actually started to like exercise. I felt better when I did it. More awake. More energetic. Sharper mentally and physically.

  I’d asked Shay about it once and she’d laughed at me, citing the relationship as established callisthenic science. After pointing out to her that callisthenic science wasn’t a thing, I’d relented, mostly because I could see regular exercise had produced the same effect in her. Not that either of us were in danger of becoming addicts, but we’d both derived enough ancillary benefits to want to keep active going forward.

  Fact of the matter was I’d changed a lot about myself for Shay, more than I ever thought I’d change for another person, and yet I wasn’t sure the changes were really as much for Shay as they were for me. Being healthier, more active, facing life with a positive attitude, tackling my personal demons of pride and jealousy and guilt. All of those things made me happier. The fact that they made Shay happier was a pleasant coincidence. And hadn’t she changed for me as well? She’d grown more accepting, yet thicker-skinned. She’d torn down the exterior walls that had kept her isolated, and she’d learned to put up with both my lovable and more irksome quirks.

  All those thoughts and more rattled around my head as I walked, heading up Layton Avenue before turning onto 3rd. The sky continued to darken following the sun’s departure, now an inky morass of navy clouds hovering over a background of royal purple. Lights sprang to life outside the apartment buildings and businesses that lined the street, the newfangled electric ones installed by Sherman industries. They’d outfitted at least half of the city’s streets by now, and last I’d checked they’d started retrofitting manors and statehouses with their electrical wires and glowing globes, too. Demand was high and kept soaring higher, which I appreciated from a progressive standpoint as well as a personal one. The hefty investment I’d made in Sherman Industries using the bonus I’d received following our gambling case had grown by an order of magnitude. If it kept on growing, I might have to find someone to help me with financial planning, not to mention to abandon my original retirement plan of begging on the street for scraps.

  I paused outside one of the shops that had already been shuttered, a place with the uninspired name of Third Street Jewelers. Thick iron bars covered the windows, but shiny baubles glittered through the gaps, lit by the artificial light of the Sherman globes: necklaces with fine chains, ruby and emerald and sapphire pendants, pearl-studded earrings. Come to think of it, I’d never bought Shay a single piece of jewelry. Not that she’d ever complained. She preferred to spend her money on experiences over tangible things. Fancy dinners, tickets to concerts or plays or operas. Clothes and shoes were her one weakness, but that particular flaw seemed almost universal for her gender.

  Perhaps I should buy her something. She appreciated surprises, at least ones that didn’t involve unexpected medical diagnoses or gratuitous nudity. Purple was one of her favorite colors. Maybe a nice amethyst necklace or ring? I peered through the glass, trying to gauge what the jewelers had in stock. The reflected light was brighter than what a lantern would’ve provided, but it still wasn’t enough. The necklaces hung at the back of the store, shrouded in darkness, and the rings all appeared to feature clear stones. Diamonds, most likely.

  A chill ran down my spine as I gazed at them, but I wasn’t sure why. Sure, Shay and I had finally discussed the prospect of marriage, but Shay had made it clear she wasn’t in any rush to tie the knot, and I believed her. We’d passed the point in our relationship where either of us thought it necessary to lie to the other to avoid bruised feelings. Maybe it was hesitation on my end, but that didn’t seem right either. When Shay had brought up the topic in the rickshaw, I’d felt surprisingly calm about the possibility. Besides, I’d been married before. A failed marriage, but that gave me experience in what behaviors to avoid. So why were the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end while staring at a set of diamond rings?

  I looked away from the display, glancing up and down the street. The sidewalks were busy, not packed but far from empty either. Rickshaws bounced up and down the avenue, and all the bystanders seemed to be in motion other than me. Seemed to be…

  I kept walking, heading toward my apartment by a more circuitous route than normal. I still felt the need to digest more of my meal, but that wasn’t my only motivation. I kept an eye on my surroundings, acting casual as I processed the passersby. A couple out on the town, a businessman heading home, a group of rowdy young men well into their drinks. I glanced behind me when circumstances gave me reason, trying not to give away my suspicions. Despite my efforts, nothing caught my eye. And yet the prickly hairs upon my neck refused to settle.

  Eventually I arrived at the foot of my building, still feeling unnerved but without any evidence to show for it. I’d been tailed numerous times, and tailed people myself even more frequently. I had a good eye for lurkers and miscreants, not to mention a sixth sense about when I was being watched. Right now, the latter had been engaged but without any of the other five senses backing it up. It unnerved me.

  “Evening, Detective Daggers. Care for a nightcap?”

  I turned toward the voice, belonging to one Mitch Murdock. His name, thick mustache, and workmanlike haircut all suggested he was a good cop in a world gone bad, but fate had dictated the man be a barista instead. A few months ago, he’d parked his coffee cart outside my apartment building. Apparently business was booming because he’d never left. I was partially to thank for that. I rarely brewed my own coffee anymore due to the convenience and quality of his.

  Mitch gestured toward me with a half-filled carafe. “I know it’s late, but that’s never stopped you before. I know your type likes to burn the midnight oil.”

  “Likes to might be overstating things, but we do nonetheless.” I stepped under his awning. “You trying to convert me into a twice daily customer?”

  “I would’ve already if you weren’t always over at your miss’us place. The usual?”

  I nodded. “Straight, black, and boring, just like me. Except for the skin color, but you know what I mean.”

  Mitch poured me a cup. I paid him from the remaining change in my pocket.

  I sniffed the brew, enjoying its earthy aroma, before taking a sip. Despite drinking it most mornings, the hints of chocolate and spice in the concoction took me by surprise. It beat the precinct’s dirty dishwater by a country mile.

  I sighed. “Someday, you’re going to have to tell me where you get your beans, Mitch.”

  “And risk losing my best customer to a press pot? Not likely.”

  I snorted and took a look around. The evening crowds had started to thin—surely Mitch would pack it up soon—but the lessened foot traffic wasn’t helping me identify the source of my unease. The breeze, until now non-existent, picked up, feeling deliciously cool as it ruffled my hair and wicked away the perspiration from under my suit.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the hairs on my neck had stood on end because I’d been surreptitiously approached by a cat or due to some invisible electrical field emi
tted by the newfangled Sherman Globes.

  I saluted Murdock with my coffee mug. “Thanks for the joe, Mitch. Don’t stay too late.”

  He smiled and nodded back. “As long as people are buying, I’ll be here.”

  I took another sip of my drink and headed inside, worried the caffeine would keep me up all night even though I knew it wouldn’t. Nearly two decades of swilling it had made me immune to its effects, if no less addicted to it.

  Up the stairs I went to the third floor. I paused outside my apartment as I dug inside my pocket for the keys. With the sun having set, darkness enveloped the hallway. With the advent of the Sherman globes, it probably wouldn’t be more than a few years before every building glowed with the light of day at all hours, if people willed it. For the time being, though, I had to remember where the keyhole to my padlock was.

  As I turned the key in the deadbolt, I felt more than heard the rush of air behind me.

  4

  I ducked and spun as the fist flew past me, cracking against the wood where my head had been a fraction of a second earlier. I instinctively reached for my nightstick, Daisy, though I wasn’t carrying her in my blazer. Not that it would’ve mattered if I had. A body crashed into me before I could blink, sending my coffee flying and me into the wood at my back.

  The door groaned, cracked, and splintered, the lock on the handle no match for the force of my body being slammed into it by a much larger dude. Air escaped my lungs in a wheeze as I sailed into my darkened apartment, my assailant’s shoulder driving into the soft spot under my ribs.

  I stuck my leg between his as I grabbed the back of his shirt and twisted to the side. The end result was exactly what I’d hoped for. The guy’s left foot bounced off my shin. He stumbled and fell, allowing me to rotate to the top. Somehow, I’d even timed it right. His head rebounded off the back of my couch with a thud as he toppled to the floor.

  My fingers itched for Daisy, but she was still in my leather jacket in the closet. I’d have to make do without. I clenched a fist and aimed a knee at my attacker’s neck when the second guy hit me, him even bigger than the first.