Coryphée

Meghan tossed the black plastic bags onto her bed and sat on the chair next to her desk. “That should be the last of it.” She ran her hands through her hair and gathered the tresses into a bunch. With a few deft moves, she had a band wrapped around the pony tail. “Now, to get to work.”

She dumped the contents on the sky blue bedspread and sorted the items. “Leggings over here and the top over there.” Both items had a navy blue theme with a charcoal color combination. “Hard to believe I found them at different thrift stores.” The next pile was socks, gloves, and a wide belt. “My pouches should clip on the belt.” She bent down and picked up the thin fabric. “This will be my mask.”

Meghan held the cloth over her eyes and wrapped it around her head. A few flips later and it was tied in place. “I shoulda grabbed the marker first.” Turning, she lifted the lower edge over an eye and fumbled over the desk. She picked up a large marker and pulled the top off with her teeth. Removing her thumb, the fabric snapped back over her face. In a slow motion, she outlined both eyes, then removed the fabric. “That should work.” Pulling scissors from a drawer, she cut out the small dots. She exchanged the cutting device for a lighter. Three seconds later and the frayed holes were singed. Her smile brightened and she bounced her eyebrows. “It worked.”

Over the next hour, she attached the different pouches on her belt. Next, she put various items in the newly provided spaces. “Zip strips, marbles, jacks, and pepper spray.” The sounds of snaps closing followed each word. “And a backup battery for my cell.” The last pouch closed. “That should do it.”

“Meghan. Dinner.”

“Coming, Mom.” Meghan pulled off her mask and dropped her belt as she left her room.

An hour later Meghan was back in her room. She had a wig, similar to her hair color spread out on a pillow. Several blankets rolled up and placed on her bed. The bed spread floated over the layout and landed on the bed. “Tuck here and there. Crumple this up. Voila!” Meghan straightened from the bed and spread her hands wide. “Looks like me.” She put her hands on her hips and turned to face the mirror. A few tugs on her belt and her lips curled up at the ends. “The next episode of the Coryphée will be written tonight.” Thumbing the button on her phone, she checked the time. “I just have to wait a few more hours.” A heavy sigh escaped as she plopped in the desk chair.

Turning a page in her notebook, she read her homework assignments. She flipped the chemistry text book open and scribbled a few items next to her homework. Scanning the questions, she checked her answers. Next, she did the same process for trigonometry. A few of her answers were re-written. Last, came English. Her report was typed, double spaced, and had all the notations completed.

“504 in progress,” the flat voice said over the police scanner. “22^nd and South Mallard.”

“WOW!” Meghan slapped her gloved hand over her mouth. “That’s on the next block.” She darted her eyes to her bedroom door. “I need to get out there.”

Standing on her chair, she stepped to her desk and slid the window open. The wire faking the sensor stretched as the opening widened. First, her left leg went through the window, then the right. She shimmied and pushed past the sill, and was absorbed by the night. Her gloved hand reached up and pulled the window closed, stopping at the last half inch. “So I can get back inside tonight.”

Meghan skipped out of her lawn and ran down the street. “The extra time in PE is paying off.” Her feet fell into a comfortable stride as she turned the corner. “This is Mallard.” Her head swiveled up and down the road. A loud thump came from her left. “This way,” she said through her smile.

Leaning her head down, she pumped her legs faster. “Got em.”

Two dark figures were on either side of a light gray car. One held a baseball bat and swung at the passenger window. Instead of a thump, the sound a glass breaking reached Meghan’s ears. “I told you,” the dark figure said. His baseball hat jerked forward as he spoke. A jacket covered arm snaked into the shattered window and touched something inside the car.

“I don’t think so.” Meghan ran into the man on the street. She pushed as hard as she could with her hands. The momentum added to her force and the man sprawled across the asphalt. As she stopped, she clenched her fists tight and turned to face the thief on the other side of the car.

“Bitch.” The thief dashed around the front of the car and came up with a hand held high and behind him.

Krav Maga, here we go. As the dark skinned hand came at her, Meghan stepped to her left, taking her closer to the car. Her knees bent in unison, making the swinging appendage pass overhead. She pivoted her hips and sent her right fist into the pudge that stuck out over the waistband of the thief’s jeans. Her fist kept going, taking the thief off his feet. As she retracted her arm, the young man doubled over and fell to all fours. He spat up something and rolled over to his side with a loud groan.

“It worked! Oh my God, it worked.” Meghan shook with adrenaline and her face flushed as her eyes widened behind her mask.

“Stupid cow!” She felt the rough hand slap the side of her head and push. The force carried her into the roof of the car, sending pain to her head and tears in her eyes. Staggering forward, she shifted and pivoted to face the first thief. “Dumbass ho ain’t gonna do shit to me.” The man’s face shone in the street light and Meghan saw a tattoo on a cheek and a gold front tooth. The tanned white face stood in contrast with the black baggy jacket and orange baseball cap. A fist jabbed in on Meghan, making her nose sting and warm fluid flowed over her top lip. Stars danced in her eyes as she brought her ribbon thin arms up for defense.

She blocked the next four blows, wincing at the contact, and sent in a kick of her own. The sole of her black sneakers connected with gut of her attacker and she pushed. The force sent the man against the car, where his hands flew back, exposing his torso to her. Her next two punches nailed the lower ribs of the thief. The second punch made a cracking sound and the thief howled in pain and dropped to the road.

Jumping, she shouted, “I did it. I did it.” She rubbed her mouth and saw the blood. “Oh God.” Her gut tightened and she bent at the waist. Gasping, she supported herself on her knees. “That hurt.” She struggled to an upright position.

“FREEZE!”

The blinking red and blue lights pulled her eyes. Then the three police officers with guns pointed at her pushed all the pain away. “I’m the hero. I thwarted this robbery.”

“Save it, lady.” A burly looking woman cop stepped forward. “You’re the one wearing a mask. Plus, let’s face it. As skinny as you are, no one will believe you stopped these two.”

“That’s right,” the thief holding his ribs said. “She had that baseball bat when Jonny and I stopped her.”

“WHAT! NO!”

The Hero

My name is Melanie Danner and I’m a craptastic superhero. Honestly, other people call me the superhero. I struggle to hold my life together with duct tape. Since The Event, three years ago, I’ve had ten jobs. Several of these jobs lasted only a few hours. To be fair, I lost plenty of jobs before The Event. I have crappy luck with my alarm clock. Only recently have I broken down and purchased one of them old fashioned ones that you wind up. That has been the only thing to get me up on time. Hell, I use them so much, I bought five of them when I scraped up the money.

I used to work at Garver Shipping. In fact, to date, that has been my longest stint of employment. I was there five months when The Event hit. Granted, if it weren’t for The Event, I would have been fired. Instead, it gave me the excuse to be late, along with everyone else. So, I dragged it out another three months. Right as I got fired, I  purchased my first, and best, wind up alarm clock. It afforded me the opportunity to be on time for the bus that always ran late, regardless of the driver.

While waiting for the late bus, I decided to walk the three blocks to the next stop. It passed me half a block out and didn’t stop. I ran. That was how I figured out I could move fast. I overshot the next three bus stops and rolled to a devastating, and disastrous halt at another bus stop. Yeah, I really need a car. Standing up, I dust myself off and fix my hair. I step into the convenient store at the stop and pick up a bottle of water and a candy bar for later. Interestingly enough, two thugs ran into the same store. They had shoved their heads into pantyhose, blurring their features. They brandish pistols and threaten the guy behind the counter and the other two people in the store. The blue and white bus pulls up and I drop my stuff and head for the door. If I go longer than a week without a job, I’ll be evicted. Thug One decides I have to stay and see the entire robbery. Placing a hand on my shoulder he shoves me. The weird part, I didn’t even feel it. He falls backward onto his keister. It didn’t dawn on me then, but that was when I had the super strength.

His buddy sees me and levels his gun at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bus pull away. I sigh and level my eyes at Thug Two. There was no thought process, just action. My hand touched the gun and I bend the barrel at an extreme angle. His eyes widen as he looks at me then his gun. “You made me miss my interview,” I said and punched him in the face. He flew through the glass window, over the sidewalk, and into traffic. I don’t know what happened to him, and at the time, I didn’t care. Did I say I’m a crappy superhero?

Thug One struggled to his feet and aimed his gun at me, too. He was more of a danger to the nearby items than me, the way his gun was shaking. I felt my back teeth grind, a bad habit when I’m frustrated. “You have two choices. You can stand here and end up like your boyfriend out in the road. Or, you can run away.” I’m pretty sure he never ran that fast before. By the time I got to my interview, they had filled the position. Whatever.

My mother always said to look for the bright side of things. A man put a sign out for help wanted in front of his butcher shop. I applied and he hired me right on the spot without so much as an interview or even a job description. He walked me to the back and handed me a jacket. I had to work in the cooler cutting meat. By hand. It took me two days to figure out it was my strength that was allowing me to cut through the cold meat. Once the job got easier, I took it up a notch. It took me a month to get the butcher to a point where he was ahead. Once he was, I had to slow it down a bit to keep my paycheck at the right amount. Three months later my bosses nephew showed up asking for work. Guess who got the ax. I got two month’s severance, which was nice.

The first place I decided to go was the bank. Smart, right? No. I get there and find the armored car being held up. The man doing the robbing didn’t have a mask, just some type of colored glasses on his eyes. His clothes were simple black and fit him well. Honestly, if he wasn’t robbing the armored car, I might have dated him. Which would have automatically made him a looser.

Anyway, I walk up to the situation and the skinny man turns and points this little ball thing at me. “Lady, you might want to step back. I won’t hesitate-” I punched him. It was a reflex. My BS detector went off inside my head so I swung, sue me. He flew back several yards and crashed into a cement wall. It surprises me when he stumbled forward, but kept his feet. There wasn’t even a mark on his face. He shook it off and pulled something from a pocket. It looked tiny, but he did something and big blue beam hit me in the chest. I felt weightless, for the first time in my life, and then slammed into the armored truck. My head hurt and it was hard to breathe. Everything I looked at had a blue tint to it.

“That was for punching me,” the man said. “I have to say, I’m surprised. You’re stronger than you look. Plus you took an oscillating plasma laser and are still intact.”

“Just lucky, I guess.” I shifted my arms by my side, which felt like 500 pounds. Pushing was another thing. Breaking free required both my arms and legs. When I did get free, I fell on my face. Literally. On my face. It was a good thing I was in jeans and sneakers. If I land another office job, I’ll have to spend a fortune on a wardrobe. I struggled to get to my feet, but the guy grabbed me by my collar and yanked me up so my feet dangled in the air.

“Who are you?” He looked me square in the face as the spit flew from his lips.

“Nonya.” I punched him again. He clipped the truck as he flew away. Whatever he had in his hand was sent sailing in another direction. Thinking fast, at least for me, I ran after him. He slid through the parking lot. When he stopped up against a curb, I bent over and punched him again. It was wicked awesome to see his face as he opened his eyes and I was there with my fist back. Surprised followed by cringe. I guess you had to be there. Anyway, he didn’t get up right away.

The guards vouched for me to the cops and the bank gave me $500 for stopping the robbery. Yay, me.

I ran across him a few more times. The newspapers called him Over Lord. Egomaniac was more like it. There would be months with him nowhere near and then he’d show up and do something stupid. Most of the time, the regular cops would fend him off. More recently, he carried a belt with lots of stuff dangling from it. Now the cops jump straight to S.W.A.T. or something.

As time passed, I managed to get other jobs. I started my most recent job last week. It’s an office job, so the pay is better. Plus, the boss has said that if I take half of his workload, I’ll be gainfully employed for the rest of my life. Not sure I want to be a personal assistant for the rest of my life.

So there I was, running late. Like usual. OK, not usual. It was only five minutes late. Normal is fifteen or more. Traffic was stopped dead. I saw a parking spot at a pay-n-park so I took it. A few days before, I discovered I could fly, so getting to work won’t be an issue.

Walking three blocks, I see people running from their cars and down the sidewalk. “If that ain’t a sign, I don’t know what is.” Weaving through the crowd I see blinking lights of cop cars. Somebody says something over a PA system, but I can’t make it out. A gap in the running people and I see him. Over Lord, douchebag extraordinaire. His head jerked and I saw his lips moving. Having dealt with him in the past, I know he tries to be a drama queen and sly at the same time. Eventually, he’ll figure out those two things don’t mix well. When his shoulder flinches, that’s when I know.

Scanning the stuff nearby, I figure I can toss one of the abandoned cars if need be. I opt for a small one cause I can lift and throw it. The car is lighter than expected, so my throw is off. It connects with something that Over Lord launched at the suit he was talking to and blew up. “Hopefully that is covered by insurance.”

The force of the explosion knocked be sideways, and I trip on the curb. A snap sounds and I have broken the heel of my shoe. “Great! I was only a few minutes late before. Now, I have to limp and buy a new pair of shoes.”

“You’ve been warned before,” I shout, pointing at Over Lord. That’s when I see the chipped nail. Bastard. “I am now officially late for my job and I’ve only been there a week. I just hope my boss is delayed by this traffic jam.” Two cars separate me from him, and I single handedly shove them to the side. “Brainiac, you’re smart enough to know this is stupid. Just get a job, like the rest of us. It lets you buy stuff.”

“Where would the fun in that be?” Douchebag’s hands flew over his belt. “I enjoy our tête-à-têtes. They are so invigorating and get my blood flowing.” His shit-eating smile reached his eyes as he turned away from me. “Besides, we both know what they will use their devices for. I’m just being honest about the whole thing.” When he turned back around to face me, he threw something, maybe the size of a softball. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I blasted it out of the air with my eye beams. The wind gusted, taking the dust and smoke with it. I hate smelling like smoke. It lingers for hours.

Over Lord looked at me. “Eye beams? Really?” He shook his head, and I think I saw his eyes roll.

I cleared the smoke in front of me. “They dry my eyes.” My blouse is stained and there’s a rip in my pants. “Son of a bitch! I just bought these.” The growl built up in my chest and went out my mouth as I charged forward. Aiming for the cheap seats, I let him have it.

There was something around him when I hit him. It looked orange and he was still standing there, the smug look begging to be wiped from his face.

“Force field, bitch,” Over Lord said. The gleam in his eyes irritated me. He imitated a five-year-old and said, “You can’t hit me.” Then he made a mistake and turned away.

Screaming, I lunged at him and pinned his arms to his sides. My hands didn’t touch, but I kept at it. He started dancing and flailing like a little girl. It did make it hard for me to get my arms around him.

I got two fingers hooked, then the entire hand. Once I locked them together, I squeezed. This had to work like a tube of toothpaste with the lid on tight. Something would give.

“NO!”

The bear hug was starting to hurt my arms. It felt like when you touch a sunburn. The orange glow thingy blinked and then went away. My arms encircled Over Lord’s bird chest and I heard a loud crack, and he started crying. It wasn’t me, so I assumed I broke his ribs. Good. He deserved it for making me late and ruining my clothes.

His head hung into his chest, but he’d done that before and punched me. Fool me once, shame on me. To make sure he was out, I slammed him into the road. I’ve never seen a person bounce on the pavement before that moment. He wasn’t moving anymore.

I checked my cell and saw I wasn’t that late. If I worked it right, I could use this fight as an excuse. Cops swarmed towards me, and I don’t like cops. Except for Mike. He’s nice. I made my way to a side alley and left.

Once I landed in the alley, I made my way to the front door of the Tribune building. Flashing my badge to the guard, I tapped the button for the elevator. No one else got in, so it went to floor eight. In my office, I opened the desk and pulled out my backup shoes and shirt.

A reporter stands there open-mouthed and staring. “What do you want?”

“Uh,” she said and shook her head. “Hank said you would cut my check.”

I tapped on my keyboard and looked at the email. “OK. He’s approved it. Give me a second.” Pulling out the checkbook, I fill in the amount. Out of the corner of my eye, I see she keeps staring at me. “Here you go.”

She reaches out and takes the check. “You’re her.”

“I’m who?” Closing the checkbook, I look at her.

“You’re The Woman.” She leaned on my desk. “You just beat up Over Lord. Again.”

I folded my hands on my desk and painted on a plastic smile. “I am. What of it?”

“I knew it.” She slapped my desk. “I knew it. Oh my God.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“I have to eat.”

“But. But. But.” She stood and paced to the door and back. “You need a costume.”

“I’m not really a superhero, so no.” I looked over at my computer screen. “Don’t you have a deadline?”

“Oh shit!” She bolted from the room.

---

Continuation

The Ring

Kent Howard dropped from the fire escape ladder. He landed with flexed knees and turned. Walking to the opening, he pinched his nose shut as he passed the fly-ridden dumpster. A shiny object grabbed his eyes on the ground, next to the China Panda restaurant’s back door. Bending over, he snatched it off the wet pavement. Rubbing it on his worn jeans, he brought it closer to his face for inspection.

It was a silver-colored ring. The setting carried a round orange stone the size of a fingernail. “I need to get to Mick’s and get this pawned. Get Vince off my back about the bet I made. Maybe get extra and give it to Sandra for the kid.” The hole looked bigger than any of his fingers, so he slipped it on his right thumb and spun it. After the first complete revolution, it stopped with the jewel on top. The ring shrank in size and latched to Kent’s thumb.

“What the fuck?” Kent gripped the ring and pulled. It didn’t budge. “Shit. How’m I supposed to pawn it now?” He looked around for anything to help, but this was an alley between apartment buildings and stores. Anything useful here was in a dumpster or had a price tag. “I’ll get something later. Maybe some ice or cold water at the fountain in the park.”

Kent continued on his path but kept his thumb tucked into his fist. Outside of the alley, he turned and walked towards the bus stop. Glancing down the street, he saw the twenty-four was slowing down to stop. Picking up his pace, Kent reached the sign as the bus halted and opened its doors. He slid his pass through the magnetic reader and it beeped once. Shuffling through the aisle, he sat in the first empty seat facing forward.

The bus rolled through the city, stopping at every other block. Kent randomly tugged on the ring, it didn’t budge. Stealing glances at the people around him, he licked the ring. His tongue deposited a good coating of saliva on his thumb and the smooth metal of the ring. Using his t-shirt, he wrapped it around the ring and pulled. Nothing happened. “Shit!” He looked at the person next to him. Her head nodded and swayed with the bus and her eyes were closed.

“Downtown,” the electronic voice said over the speakers inside the bus. Kent reached up and touched the bell strip, signaling the driver to pull over at the next stop. When it did, Kent hustled off the bus.

Making his way to the intersection, Kent crossed with the crowd and headed into the large park. He worked his way through the morning runners and cyclists. Following the sidewalk, Kent stopped at the large fountain. Glancing around, he stuck his hand in the water at the base. It was cool on the surface and colder as he reached down putting his elbow into the water. He kept his eyes scanning around and waited. “That should do it.” In a smooth motion, Kent pulled his arm up, dried his hand on his shirt, and tugged on the ring. Still nothing. “Dammit!”

Rolling his hand over, Kent looked at the underside of the ring. “Hmmm..Perhaps I could cut it.” He sat on the basin of the fountain and thought about who would have the tools to do it. “Nope. I don’t know anyone that could cut this without cutting me or breaking the ring. Plus, how would I sell it?”

Kent stood from the fountain and traced through the park. On the far side, he stood near a bus stop in front of an outside restaurant. A television aired the afternoon news. “With the high-tech robberies that have been happening most of the morning, people are wondering where is Topaz.” Kent turned and watched the broadcast. “As you can see, the heavily armored robbers walked away from the small branch with the ATM tossed over their shoulder.” The footage shows large figures pull an ATM from a wall in a shower of sparks. One figure hefted the device up on its shoulders and walk, then run, from the scene. The video is replaced with an image of Topaz in his costume. “It is speculated that Topaz is on a mission, either in another country or possibly off-world.”

“Weird,” Kent said. “Topaz is normally on top of these things.” He shrugged and stepped to the bus as it stopped. Going through the regular routine, he took a seat and rode in silence.

“Market Street,” The female sounding electronic voice said over the speakers. Kent stood and waited for the bus to stop. He peered out the large windows at the throng of people moving on the sidewalk.

“Fuck!” Kent’s mouth formed the word, but he didn’t put any voice behind it.

The bus lurched to the stop, and the doors opened. People milled out of the back door, pushing Kent with them.

“Kent,” a voice called over the bustling noises of Market Street. “Kent! Get your ass over here.” A man wearing a white t-shirt with a dark suit coat over it and jeans hooked an arm towards Kent.

Kent continued walking and moving with the flood of people off the bus.

A shrill whistle from the man and two other figures moved towards Kent. The one wearing dark glasses and a porkpie hat reached a hand out and intertwined it in the t-shirt Kent wore. With a strong yank, Kent changed direction and stood next to the man with dark glasses. His bald-headed companion stepped in behind Kent.

“Vince wants to see you.” Dark glasses flashed an oily smile and moved Kent toward the wall of a building.

Kent stumbled from the last shove and put his hands on the wall.

“What do we have here?” A thick-fingered hand clamped on the wrist of Kent’s left hand. “This isn’t your style, Kent.” A round-faced man with a gold tooth in his smile locked eyes with Kent. “You owe me two g’s and you have a pretty ring like that.”

The bump in Kent’s neck bobbed. “I just found it this morning, Vince. I promise.” He licked his lips.

Vince cocked his head. “And I suppose you were on your way to sell it.” He let Kent’s arm go. “Then you were headed my way. Like a good boy.”

“Sure, Vince.” Kent straightened and massaged his wrist. “Mick would give me top dollar for it. Let me go and I’ll be right back with your money.”

“Sure you will,” Vince said with a snort. “Street trash like you gets money in their pocket and they can’t spend it fast enough. I have a better idea. How about you give me the ring and I’ll consider your debt paid in full.”

“But it’s worth more’n what I owe you,” Kent said. The man with dark glasses laid a heavy hand on Kent’s shoulder, his fingers dug deep into Kent’s shirt and skin. A grimace flashed across Kent’s face.

“Interest.” Vince jerked his head toward the corner and turned. The man with dark glasses pushed Kent in the direction and the bald-headed thug followed behind them.

When the group reached the corner, they turned and ducked inside a back door. Bald head stayed outside and leaned against the wall.

Dark glasses shoved Kent to a chair, then pulled a knife from somewhere. Kent’s knees bent, putting him in the chair.

Vince snapped his fingers and held out a meaty hand. “Give it.”

Kent swallowed hard again. “You see,” he said with a stammer. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it off.” Holding up his right hand in a thumbs-up gesture.

Vince tilted his head and squinted at Kent. With a quick motion, he snatched Kent’s wrist in hand, making his fingertips meet. “We’ll see.” He gripped the ring and pulled. Kent hissed sharply in through his teeth. The ring didn’t budge.

“Ahhhhhhhh,” Kent shouted. “You’ll break it.”

“What exactly is your point?” Vince locked his eyes with Kent’s. “You owe me.”

“Boss,” Dark glasses said. “If you break it, it’ll swell. Then it’ll never come off.”

“Cut the metal.” Vince forced Kent’s arm to the table, palm up.

With a cracking voice, Kent looked up at Vince. “You won’t get as much for it.” His breath caught in his throat.

“I have a better idea.” Dark glasses handed his knife to Vince, handle first.

“What?” Kent’s face drained of color and he pulled back.

Vince shifted his grip and pinned Kent’s wrist to the table, leaning heavy on the arm. “Blood washes off.” Teeth showed large in Vince’s grin as he took the knife.

“No no no no,” Kent pleaded and pulled back, using the table for leverage.

Dark glasses stepped forward and put a fist across Kent’s jaw, stunning the sitting man.

Vince lined the beveled edge of the knife with the back edge of the ring. “Here goes everything,” he said with a laugh and inhaled. Pushing on the handle, Vince grunted.

Kent yelled.

And nothing happened.

“What the fuck?” Vince gritted his teeth and pushed harder. “What the hell is this?” He looked up at Dark glasses.

“I keep a sharp knife,” Dark glasses said. “Maybe you ain’t pushing hard enough.”

“It ain’t even cuttin’ him.” Vince stopped cutting and showed the bloodless, line-less thumb of Kent. “Not even a mark.”

“What?” Kent leaned over his hand and looked. His jaw slacked and his eyed widened.

“Turn it point down and stab.” Dark glasses mimed stabbing downward. Vince nodded and switched his grip and raised his knife hand above his head. Shoving it towards the table, he let out a loud noise.

“Nnnnoooooo!” Kent closed his eyes

THUNK!

CLINK!

Kent opened his eyes. His thumb was still attached. No mark showed on his thumb. Yanking his hand back to his chest, he flexed all his fingers.

“Your knife broke,” Vince said, staring at the piece of metal in his hand. “Piece of shit.” He flung the hilt and handle across the room, making it clatter to the floor.

“That’s not possible,” Dark glasses said. “That thing has been with me in the desert. It’s got a lot of blood on it.”

“I don’t care.” Vince ran his coat sleeve over his mouth. “What do we do now?”

Kent stood and moved for the door.

“No you don’t,” Vince lunged at Kent’s back, wrapped his sausage fingers into the collar of Kent’s t-shirt, and pulled.

Kent gasped and twisted around, flinging a fist back at the heavy man holding him. A dark orange glow covered his fist as it connected with Vince’s jaw. Vince’s form lifted from the ground and slammed into the brick wall. Listing to one side, the heavy body slid to the floor and didn’t move.

“Holy shit,” Dark glasses said and moved in on Kent.

Turning, Kent aimed at the slim figure of the thug. His glow covered knuckles connected with the bridge of the Dark glasses nose. In one strike he broke both the plastic shades and the cartilage of the nose. Dark glasses bounced on the floor and stayed where he lay.

Kent rushed the door as the bald-headed thug opened it. Without stopping, Kent pushed the man back, sending him sprawling to the pavement. Kent ran until he reached the main walkway. He dived into the nearest bus and scrambled for a seat.

***

During the ride, Kent kept looking at his ring. The glow stopped as soon as he sat in the hard plastic seat. He shook his hand several times, all to no avail.

When the bus exited the market district, Kent got off at the next stop. He transferred to another route and worked his way back to his apartment.

As he stepped off the bus, he saw a dark-skinned man with an athletic build lurking at the mouth of the alley. “Crap.” Kent kept his eyes on the ground and moved into the alley.

“Excuse me,” the athletic man said. “Do you live around here?”

Kent kept walking.

“Look,” the man said. “I’m not a cop. I’m looking for something. It’s important to no one but me. I’ll even pay you for it.” The man held out a roll of bills. Kent stopped and looked at the wad of money.

“What are you looking for?” Kent lifted his eyes to the face of the man.

“It’s a ring. Been in my family for years.”

Special Delivery – Mistaken

Listen to the Audio version.

---

Kurt Jeffries exited the hospital. Reaching a hand up, he touched his earbud. “EMT Jeffries on lunch.”

The electronic voice of dispatch responded. “Understood, EMT Jeffries. You will be listed as unavailable for the next hour.”

“Excellent,” Kurt said as he lengthened his stride. “Now that my paycheck is regular, I’m going to treat myself.” His legs elongated a few inches allowing him to go faster. The bright sun warmed his face and the gentle breeze ruffled his spiky auburn hair.

Kurt turned at the next intersection and walked four blocks. “There.” He nodded and went faster. “The Sunlit Patio. Marsha says it’s a great place.”

“Oh my God!”

“That guy is falling from the sky!”

“Somebody do something!”

Hands thrust towards the falling man. Kurt directed his vision skyward and saw the dark figure getting bigger. His hand darted to his ear. Before he reached the small knob, the dark figure expanded. Large wings extending from his backpack slowed the descent. The form shifted to land on booted feet in front of Kurt. A gloved covered hand jabbed a finger into the pliable chest of the EMT. The clenched mouth under the midnight blue cowl spat, “Give it to me and no one gets hurt.”

People around Kurt panic-ran from the area. Someone shouted, “It’s Strike! Run!” An open space akin to that of a schoolyard fight appeared around the two figures.

Kurt’s eyes blinked as he held up both hands. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I don’t know what you want, mister.”

“Yes you do. Now hand it over.” The masked man’s features turned black as he jerked Kurt, making his teeth click. “You just took Songbird to the hospital and she gave it to you. This thing doesn’t lie.” He waggled a small circular device with a red blinking light. “It pointed me to you.” Holding it flat, the display showed a green arrow pointing at Kurt. A dark growl exited from the tight lips of Strike

Kurt swallowed hard. “There’s been some kind of mistake,” Kurt said, his eyes still wide and sweat forming on his forehead. “She didn’t give me anything. I just carried her to the hospital.”

The finger poking Kurt in the chest curled and joined the others in the fist. “It seems you want to do this the easy way.” A crimson glow encased the fist.

Kurt arched his torso backward and grabbed the cement sidewalk. The blast from the fist rocketed over his chest, dragging intense heat with it. Both of Kurt’s feet left the ground and collided with the Strike’s chin.

Strike went airborne in a tight arc. His arms and legs splayed as he slammed into the pavement. Dark cracks spider-webbed from under his shoulders.

Kurt scrambled to his feet. A quick glance around showed him people had spread further away. Extending an arm up, he stretched to the cross bar of the light post and pulled. Rising from the pavement, he shifted to grab another light post several yards away.

“No you don’t.” Strike got to his feet and aimed his glowing fist at the light post. The red streak blasted the metal to bits, making the pole fall to the asphalt.

Kurt hadn’t reached the next post, so floundered as the perch under his feet fell. He hit the road and sidewalk with a smack. His body returned to its normal height, and he groaned.

Strike approached the prone form of Kurt. With a heavy boot, he rolled the EMT over onto his back. He lowered himself to his haunches and glared down into Kurt’s face. “You have the device and I want it.” His heavy hands patted the fat cargo pockets on Kurt’s left leg. “What do we have in here?” Thick fingers gripped the flap of the pocket and lifted. The sound of separating velcro pierced the air. Bandages, medical tape, and angled scissors spilled onto the sidewalk. “Nothing.” Shaking his head, Strike curled his right hand into a fist. In a swift motion, he punched the side of Kurt’s thigh, hitting a nerve cluster.

“AAAAHHHHHH!” Kurt clutched his leg with both hands and curled into the fetal position. “I told you,” he squeezed out through clenched teeth, “I don’t have anything.”

Strike swung his right hand back and let it fly at Kurt’s head.

Kurt’s arm intercepted the blow. At the same time, his right hand balled into a fist and enlarged to the size of a bowling ball. His body thinned as he increased the mass of the skin-colored sphere. Rolling with the blow, he clocked Strike on the center of the face. The force sent the villain sprawling backward, and he stopped sliding when he hit a wall.

Kurt lurched to his feet and limped toward the groaning figure of Strike. “What ever it is your are looking for, I don’t have it.” His hands reached for the straps holding the backpack on Strike’s body. Wedging his fingers under the straps, his flexible body undulated and popped the buckles. He repeated the process on the belt at Strike’s waist and flung it to the side.

Strike let out a moan as he moved to sit up.

Kurt reached a hand forward and spread it wider than an open newspaper. He wrapped Strike’s torso and arms into a bundle. With gritted teeth, he hooked his fingers under the edge of Strike’s cowl. “Normally when they shove you into the Prism, they let you keep your mask. The cops know who you are, but that is all. Perhaps I’ll reveal who you are right now.”

Strike moved his head to keep the fingers away from the mask, but it was useless. Several people moved in closer with cell phones out and activated video recordings. Chants of Unmask him unmask him filled the air. In a fluid motion, the cowl peeled away, and Kurt tossed it to the crowd.

Strike kept moving his head, but Kurt grabbed it and held it in place. Lights blinked and flashed in his eyes, making him flinch.

“I don’t wear a mask.” Kurt leered into the face of Strike. “I’m an EMT and I save lives.” With a jerk he let Strike go. Police sirens grew louder and one car stopped at the curb.

***

The next day, Kurt slumped into the waiting room chair. The email said he had an appointment with Amanda Charles, shift manager.

“EMT Jeffries!” Amanda Charles called down the hallway.

Kurt sighed as he stood from the chair. “I lasted a month.” He dragged his feet as he made his way to the door. Nudging the door wider he walked inside the manager’s office. With a slight shove, he shut it behind him with a resonating click. His feet caught on the thick carpet, but he kept upright. An odd fragrance danced in the air, making him wrinkle his nose.

“I assume you know why you are here today,” Amanda said. “It’s about the incident yesterday.”

“I guessed as much,” Kurt said walking closer to the desk and took a seat. He kept his eyes on his shoes and gripped the armrests of the chair. “I should have given him the item, but I didn’t know I had it.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, waving a hand. “You are allowed, and encouraged, to defend yourself. Even use your special abilities to do so.”

“OK.” Kurt looked askance at the thin woman on the other side of the desk. His legs shifted, making a squeaking noise on the faux leather.

“It’s about you unmasking Strike,” Amanda said. “Or should I say, Walter Harris, the former editor-in-chief of the Tribune.”

“I see.” Kurt licked his lips and kept his eyes on Amanda.

“I have to write you up for unprofessionalism. It is just a formality and I’ll be remove it from your file at the end of a year.” She rotated a piece of paper and slide it towards him with a pen in her other hand. “Just sign.”

Ignoring the pen, Kurt picked up the piece of paper and read it. The top half was a standard form with his name and other work related information. The bottom half had three typed paragraphs stating what the offense was, his punishment, and repercussions if something happens within the… “Probationary period? I’m currently in a probationary period. My ninety days isn’t up, yet.”

“About that,” Amanda said.