by Mark Gardner
“Pardon?” Anne mumbled. Bree had been telling her something, and she missed it.
“I’ll ask Doctor Globe to let you leave.”
Anne smiled. “I need to stay here with you.”
Bree’s smile dropped. “No!” she cried out. “I don’t need you! You’ll leave tomorrow.” Bree turned and walked out of the room.
Anne knew that when Bree set her mind to something, she always got it. She looked back at the hospital beds, and the two comatose bodies. I’ll find a way to free both of you, she thought and left the cold room toward a future she was only now admitting scared her.
Joaquin sat awkwardly on the chair while Mr. Jabbar filled in his Sudoku. On the desk was a neatly written recommendation with Joaquin’s better picture pinned to it. Mr. Jabbar pushed his glasses higher on his large, sweaty nose. He stole glances at Joaquin from time to time, but they were short and unrewarding.
“So, Frank tells me you need work.”
It was a question, but Joaquin didn’t get that. He cleared his throat.
“Yeah. I’m...I’m lookin’ for a job.”
“You worked in a store before this?”
Joaquin shook his head.
“So why you think you’ll be good?”
“I’m quick. I....”
Joaquin shifted on his seat again. He didn’t really know what to answer. He was good with threats, good with a knife, when he stuck it up in people’s faces, good with his fists, but when he punched someone in the gut. He was fast with guns but only when he shot for real. Quick, yeah he was—but with stealing wallets.
“You know you look like a thug that once came in here, tried to rob me. Frank’s soft spot for you don’t mean you’re not a thief.”
Joaquin put his hands up in protest. “Nah man you got me all wrong. I just want a job.”
“No. I don’t like your face. You tell Frank my position is filled.”
“What the fuck man, you ditchin’ me cause I’m black or something?”
Mr. Jabbar stood up. He was a much larger man than he gave out to be. His meaty hand pointed at the door.
“Out of here, now. No thugs, or gangsters, or junkies, or liars. Strict store policy. You go look for a job elsewhere.”
Joaquin stood up too, fists flaming with the pressure he was putting on his bones from squeezing. He knew it would be like this. He wasn’t good at this shit. He was a superhero. He shouldn’t have listened to Massey.
Joaquin loosened his tie and stuck out his jaw before he stormed out of the office. He didn’t remember coming into this store before or robbing it. Passing the liquor, Joaquin pinched a bottle of whiskey. They fuck him, he fucks them in return. That was his policy.
“Hey, put that back down!”
Joaquin’s head snapped toward the cashier, who started to scream in Arabic. Joaquin charged for the door.
A loud click-click! made him turn around. Mr. Jabbar stood with a shotgun in his hands pointed at Joaquin.
Cast Die
Detective Frank Massey pushed against the door to the Seattle Police Department with his elbow trying to prevent the paper coffee cups from tipping over inside their cardboard holder.
He greeted some of the officers as he made his way to the desk of a young woman. Massey placed a cup in front of her. She glanced first at the offered coffee and then to the person offering it. She jumped out of her seat and stood with her spine straight, her chair rolling away.
“Detective Massey!” she exclaimed.
“Easy there Officer Patterson! I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m sorry, sir—” she stuttered. “I, uh, mean, Detective Massey. It won’t happen again.”
Massey broke out a wide grin, laughed wholeheartedly and earned a shy smile from Officer Betty Patterson.
“I suppose it’s better than you shooting me on the spot because I startled you.” His smile faded slightly. “Do you have anything for me? I know I shouldn’t have asked it of you but...”
“No, sir. It wasn’t a bother, really.” She tilted her head to the side and focused on something in the clutter of her desk. “Actually, there was a call for you from a Colonel Burkins. He wanted to know when you were in, but I told him I didn’t know.” She picked up a pink sticky note and held it out to him. “He left you his number.”
“Did he mention what he wanted?”
Betty shook her head.
“Alright.” His warm smile returned. “Keep up the good work, Officer Patterson.”
Massey walked into his office and threw his overcoat and blazer on a hanger. Burkins had no doubt called about Massey’s recent trip to Canada. Burkins was the perfunctory who issued Massey the appropriate paperwork, after he assured the Colonel that he was making an inquiry to the whereabouts of a dangerous criminal who had fled Seattle. It wasn’t precisely a lie, Massey thought. He had pursued Joaquin and Kristof into the wilderness, and he was thankful for the odd bit of luck that his car drove up the road at the exact same time Joaquin needed to be saved. Massey’s bosses had photos and video of the flumes of smoke and the heavy gunshots from that day. When everyone had a high-resolution camera and video capabilities on their smart phones, nothing was private anymore. He’d assumed he’d be brought in for a debriefing.
Massey dropped into his office chair’s familiar embrace, and decided that the shifting leather and creaking metal shouldn’t be the only sound in his office, so he turned on the old radio perched on the edge of his desk. It seemed to tune in more static than actual stations, but the one station it did receive faithfully was Q-Thirteen. They had their 80’s retro top twenty chart playing the most repetitious songs of the time. Massey wasn’t a fan, but he enjoyed a nostalgic trip like any other man did.
“You’re listening to Q-Thirteen’s Retro World of the 80’s Mega Chart. You tell us what you miss, and we play it for you on the spot! Call now or...”
Frank furrowed his eyebrows. He had heard the name Q-Thirteen somewhere. Sure, he listened to their station and watched their TV channel, but the name was oddly familiar from somewhere else. Somewhere important.
He walked back to Betty’s desk who diligently sorted papers and typed new information into profiles.
“Officer Patterson, do you recall something about Q-Thirteen?”
Betty looked up from her computer screen, fingers poised over the keyboard. “The news station?” she asked.
“Yeah, but not like that. Anything that you might have heard about it, maybe around here?”
She thought for a moment, drumming her fingers absently on home row. Massey hid his smile at the sight of Betty scrunching up her face while she thought. When she had it, her entire face lit up.
“Maybe a month or so ago, this guy was here. He actually asked about you. I only know that because I was standing right beside him.”
“To whom did this man speak?”
“Officer Wallas, I believe.”
Massey thanked Betty and rushed through the precinct. He spotted the sandy blond-haired officer propped against a file cabinet, talking to his partner.
“Wallas,” Massey barked, “can I have a word?”
The younger officer nodded to his partner and followed Massey back to his office.
“Do you remember someone from Q-Thirteen coming by here to ask about me, maybe a month ago?”
Wallas pondered the question for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Yeah, some guy with a camera came in here looking to talk to someone about the robberies we were investigating at the time. He said he had more information, mentioned something about that kid you were looking for, the one with the piercings.”
“Joaquin?” Frank’s heart thundered in his chest. No one at the precinct knew Joaquin was living with him. He was still a wanted criminal.
Wallas nodded and continued. “The same guy, yeah. I was about to call you, but then this Andy kid disappeared. I ran him through the system and the name “Andy Kitz” popped up for one charge of trespassing in 2014. He wasn’t working
for Q-Thirteen either because we checked with them too.”
“Do you have his address?”
Felix nodded. “I can get it for you right away. Is his case reopened?”
“No, no. I’m just curious that’s all. Get me his file, will ya?”
Wallas nodded and left to retrieve the file.
Frank put his coat back on and just as he was about to leave, his phone buzzed. He answered it without looking at the caller ID. When the speaker was close to his ear, he heard Joaquin’s angry barks and Mister Jabbar’s curses. Massey scowled at the noise on the other end of the line. Wallas had returned waving a manila folder with the Seattle Police Department logo on the cover.
Frank grabbed the file from Wallas’ hand, sidestepped the bewildered man and rushed out of the department.
When Massey stopped his car in the parking lot in front of Jabbar's convenience store and jumped out of his vehicle, he had only one thought racing madly in his head: I hope Joaquin hasn’t harmed anyone.
When he entered the store, however, the scene was entirely different from what he’d pictured.
Joaquin sat on the floor, hands on the back of his head, legs prostrate. Jabbar Junior was holding the phone and hiding behind the counter, and Mr. Jabbar was holding a shotgun—pointed at Joaquin’s face. Massey’s eyes went from face to face, trying to determine who was the most pissed.
Clearly it was Joaquin who was screaming about his impervious skin and how Jabbar could shoot him ten times over, but he’d still be fine because he was a fucking superhero.
Jabbar, on the other hand, screamed, mixing English and Arabic about how Joaquin was nothing but a lousy thug and how come Frank decided it would be a good idea to send a thief to work at his family store.
Frank stuck his pinky fingers in his mouth and whistled until his lungs hurt. The pair stopped bickering, and Jabbar Junior dropped down unconscious behind the counter.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
“He tried to rob me!” Mr. Jabbar yelled.
“Fuck you bitch, you denied me mah job, 'cause I look like a thug!” Joaquin retorted from the floor.
“I said you are a thug! A thug I’m about to shoot if he doesn’t pay for the broken bottle!”
“Fuck you! You said I was a thug. And you broke that bottle yourself, you pay for it, you pussy!”
Jabbar shoved the shotgun closer to Joaquin's face.
“I don’t like lying little shit thugs like you!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you more!”
“ENOUGH!”
Frank gestured for Jabbar to put away the shotgun. He pointed toward his badge and the storeowner complied.
“Get up, Joaquin.”
The boy scrambled to his feet. His shirt was a mess; his suit jacket sleeve was torn and hanging loose.
“You control this kid, Frank. I don’t want him near my store again, or I shoot him.”
Massey sighed. “Hussein, don’t be like that, eh? How long have we known each other? Ten, twelve years?”
Jabbar nodded his head in agreement. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you bringing useless gangsters to me. I appreciate your help but you have to respect me on this. I don’t do such favors.”
Mr. Jabbar returned the shotgun to its place behind the counter, went to pick up a broom and sweep the shattered glass and whiskey off the white floor.
“I won’t press charges,” he declared, his back to Frank.
Frank nodded and gestured to Joaquin to leave.
“Thank you,” he called out as they left the store.
Anne grasped the bar across the door and looked over her shoulder. Major Globe stood in the hallway, his face pinched like someone had stolen his favorite toy. His hand rested on Bree's shoulder, and when the little girl looked up at him, his face forced a toothy grin.
Bree smiled and waved. It looked to Anne like she wanted to rush forward and hug Anne goodbye, but the ever-present hand on her small shoulder kept her rooted to the spot. Anne repressed a shudder when she thought of how innocent Bree looked in her nightclothes. Pink pajamas. Her slippers even had bunny ears.
But, Anne thought, she is no innocent little girl. She couldn't think of any logical argument Bree might have used to convince Globe to let Anne leave. Anne knew—Bree used her powers to compel Globe to comply.
It was sad really. Under Anne's tutelage, Bree was progressing. She’d started talking, and had agreed to let her parents return to their lives. After she did something to their minds so they wouldn't come looking for her.
Everything was starting to feel better, Anne thought as she pressed down on the bar to open the door, then that day at the cabin in the woods.
A shudder ran down her spine, and Anne walked out the door for the first time in a month. She had no allies, but if she’d learned anything in the last 800 years, it was that she was a force to be reckoned with.
Joaquin climbed inside the police car and slammed the door shut. Frank kneeled by his window, and Joaquin rolled his eyes, fumbling with the button to roll it down. When nothing happened, he looked at Massey. Massey held up his remote and pressed a button. Scowling, Joaquin rolled down the window. He looked into Massey's eyes expectantly.
“If it would’ve been anyone else they would have pressed charges, and you’d be on your way to jail right now. I promised to keep you safe, but you gotta put in the effort too, Joaquin. I can’t pull you out of shit like this all the time. Last week you trashed a car’s front hood. This week you nearly got yourself blasted with double-ought.”
The boy threw his hands up. “I did what you told me to do! But he knew man, the moment I walked in he was aware of what I was.”
“And what’s that?”
“A thug.”
“Are you, though?” Massey paused for effect. “I thought you were a hero.”
“Heroes do shit, man, they don’t lay about the place and look for shit jobs.”
Joaquin stared through the window, ignoring Massey’s frowned stare. A group of teenagers en route to Jabbar’s store were relocating a packet of cigarettes between them in a vain attempt to hide it. The shared laugh, in parts sinister, in parts mischievous, gave Joaquin a flashback to his street days in the moments prior to getting into a hell of a trouble. The trio sneaked toward the back of the narrow brick building. Joaquin sat up in his seat, craning his neck to see what they were up to. The packet of cigarettes was out again and a single smoke was leaning halfway from the red cardboard. A hooded girl with yellow streaks in her hair was flexing her fingers like a magician would, maneuvering them in a beckoning way as if to ease the cigarette out completely through her sheer determination. Joaquin’s mouth was agape.
The girl was a super, just like him! He was sure of it.
Massey caught the distraction and turned to follow Joaquin’s line of sight. To Joaquin’s surprise the old detective just shook his head, seemingly missing the girl’s display of ability. Massey stood up straight, walking around the car to the driver's side. He reached in through the window, picked up a folder from the backseat and tossed it to Joaquin.
“Just promise me no more shit like this today.”
Joaquin ignored the teenagers and returned Massey a scowl that could only mean something like Yeah? Fuck you, and that was enough confirmation for Massey.
Joaquin's eyes fell on the file. “What’s in the folder?”
"It could be nothing," Massey replied as he started the car. “It could be an ally." He shoved the shifter on the column into drive. "Let’s go find out.”
Andy took out his earplugs and let them swing freely while he tried to stick in the key to his apartment.
He walked into the total darkness and threw the pizza box he was carrying onto the table he knew by heart was to his right.
You have to be harder on them, Andy. Lester might decide that you’re no longer interesting. He might find you boring and decide to take your place.
“Oh, now you show up. I was beginning to
think you’d finally left me alone. Now shut the fuck up again.”
“I don’t think that’s the proper way to address someone.”
Andy jumped back and hit the light switch.
There were two people in his apartment that he didn’t invite, nor left there earlier. One of them was an older guy with a badge and the other...
“You’re Joaquin!”
Joaquin puffed up his chest.
“That’s right, bitch.”
“You’re a fucking super. You’re Hero Two.”
The cop stood up from Andy’s busted-up couch.
“Let’s be easy on the name-calling and the title-giving. I’m Detective Frank Massey.”
Andy clapped his hands in excitement.
“Holy shit! I can’t believe it’s you two! I’ve been looking for you for months.”
“We know. It was high time we met. I was told you came to the precinct with information about the robberies.”
Andy pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Yeah, to tell you Joaquin was a superhuman, and that other guy too.”
“Kristof?”
“Yeah, that’s his name. He was Hero One in my list.”
“Where do you know these things from, Andy? That’s your name right?”
Andy stood up and showed them the computer with the Last Regiment opened and running in full.
“That’s what I do. I research people like you, Joaquin.”
Joaquin pulled back a step. “Why?”
Andy laughed at his naivety.
“Because you’re fucking legends, man. You are the future!”
“What does this hub of yours do?”
Andy took the mouse in hand and clicked a few images and videos. “It collects data on supers around the city. We’re working to extend the network to other towns and states, but it isn’t very easy to find trustworthy people.”
