Originally posted July 5, 2011
I pressed the papers against my head, willing them to disappear. I couldn't believe it. I'd been served. Worst day ever. OK. Maybe in the top ten. It was about to break the first five, I just didn't know it yet.
When I still wore a cape, short boots, and called myself Kid Harrier, I accidentally locked myself in a meat freezer overnight. I had been tracking down a trail that led me a room full of frozen carcasses, left for me by a serial killer. The scene freaked me out and I let the door swing shut behind me. I sat with five partially eaten corpses in the cold and the dark for twelve hours before my then girlfriend, American Promise, another hero, put the pieces together and rescued me.
Whenever I think that I've learned about the cape & cowl trade since that time, someone will remind me of the night we went after DEMON gunrunners. It keeps me humble.
I wasn't even the one that discovered the shipment. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, El Alacran had noticed a few vans and a moving truck gathered on a dock. Paz called us all together and we waited, not long enough. It would have made since to give everyone enough time to finish offloading the cigarette boat onto the waiting vehicles. Yukiko could have disabled the trucks with a few well-placed arrows. We could have pulled all the Kings in and the spooks would have known not to mess with us. I got greedy. I wanted to bring in the DEMON agents as badly as I wanted the remaining gang members, a threat to the barrio I had begun to consider as mine.
I waited for one crate to make it ashore, just one. I recognized those packing materials, then I attacked. Yukiko and Paz followed my lead, to save me from the embarrassment of moving in alone, they would tease me later.
Yeah. We all laugh about it, now.
Things went well at first. El Alacran waded through the gathering of thugs, swords flashing. Yukiko hung back, providing cover with the unwavering accuracy of her long, lopsided bow. I kept Kokoro sheathed. I didn't need to use it on the Kings. It would have come out if the Malefacia of DEMON started popping demonlings from thin air. They didn't. They decided to run, instead.
I heard the engine of the craft gun; Watched as a few thugs threw off the lines. I drew my sword, made the gestures, lifted into the air. I was the only one of the three of us who could fly and I pursued the "go fast boat" as it headed out into the river.
The power of flight provided me by the kami, the spirit, inhabiting Kokoro isn't very fast. I need to maintain a physical and mental pose to activate and sustain the ability. The sword will withhold its gifts if I don't get it all just right. It's not the easiest stance to keep up, but I found myself gaining on the small boat.
I think I saw the Malefacia smile as she gestured with a spell of her own. I braced myself for a magic bolt of energy or a horde of tiny little demonic forms falling from the sky. Instead, the craft faded into a deep fog. I pulled up, unsure where the boat had headed, uncertain of the direction back to shore. My sword threatened to drop me into the cold, early summer waters of the river below as my panic rose. A mist obscured the area around me in every direction. I had lost my way.
It would take me another five minutes before I remembered my phone's built in compass. I delicately coaxed it from a belt pouch, careful not to let my concentration slip. Eventually, I found my way back to shore; to Shiroi Hana, El Alacran, and a handful of captured Kings.
Yukiko, fortified by her Japanese manners, didn't say a word. Paz made up for it by teasing me in English, Spanish, Dutch, and her developing Japanese, all the way home. The harassment continued until we received the call from Eddie. He had found Gustavo Torres' partner in crime, dead in an alley. Estacio Gonzales would never tell us how he stole the gauntlet of power from his fellow Kings. We would never learn what happened that he activated the weapon and accidentally killed young Tobias Glenn. The thought of that 12 year old future dying because some punk decided to get high and show off to a buddy stuck in my head for a long time. It turned out that Estacio decided to get high one time too many and ended up another OD victim claimed by the West Side.
I headed to bed.
Eventually, I had to wake up. I usually call on a technique called "restful meditation" to skate by on less than four hours of shut eye. Last night, I needed to crash out on the futon, not caring when the sun rose. I made my way downstairs just as the first of the lunch time crowd started to arrive. Paz showed mercy, wishing my nothing but a buenos dias before setting a perfect cup of Cafe Cubano in front of me. The cute 30-something at the bar wasn't so kind. After asking my name, she slid over the papers. I was getting sued.
Try as I might, the papers wouldn't disappear. I wished for the power of "make it all better," but the talent eluded me. The slumlord who wouldn't put a decent lock in the entrance to his building was suing me for damages suffered. The MCPD was off the hook for this type of stuff. Registered but unsanctioned, with deep, deep pockets, I was a perfect target for some landshark who wanted a couple of million dollars US to repair a hole Eddie and I blasted in his wall. The cost included pain and emotional suffering. Not enough, I figured.
I opened my mouth to tell puzzled Paz what just happened when my phone rang. The call pushed my bad day into the top three of worst days ever.
Not recognizing the number, I answered, "Chance Thomas."
"Listen carefully, Mr. Thomas," said a modulated voice. "We have your sister."
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