Chapter Two
I followed Sara out of the bedroom. She tossed me another beer as I passed the kitchen alcove. I kept going, out the front door and down to the path that led to the pond.
Moonlight lent everything a silvery sheen, particularly the water's surface. Sara caught up to me quickly. I glanced at her as she joined me.
"Damn, lady, you sure look wonderful by moonlight."
"Probably just the uniform," she said, smiling.
I looked again. "In this light it's barely noticeable."
"Yeah, I know." Now she was grinning at me. "Where are we going?"
"Well, I thought I'd take a walk around the pond."
"To get away from me?"
"No, not particularly. Just to think."
"You sure it wasn't to get away from me?"
Shrugging, I said, "Yeah, I'm sure."
She stepped in front of me and blocked the path, hands on hips. "Positive?"
Looking her over from head to toe as she expected of me, I said, "If you ask again, it will be."
I walked around her. Sara caught up again and we walked in silence for a bit. Moonlight has always fascinated me. Maybe it's the way it coats everything.
Abruptly, she asked, "How come you don't want me, Ed?"
I glanced at her silvery form.
"I want you. That isn't the point."
April's voice came from above. I was startled. Sara wasn't.
"Then take her," said April. "She's wanted you since the beginning."
April landed a few feet away and stepped toward us.
I searched her words and tone for accusation. There didn't seem to be any.
Nonetheless, I said, "And since the beginning, you never mentioned it."
"I thought it was pretty obvious."
"I didn't need obvious. I needed to know you'd be okay with it."
I finished my beer and looked for the trash can next to the barn. About a hundred yards, give or take. My toss missed the can by a foot or so, tumbling in the grass. Probably just as well. The trash can was fairly new.
"Well, now you know," said April. "Why didn't you ask?"
"Why didn't you suggest it? You're the one who seems to have needed a bit more."
Sara interrupted us. "Just hold on a minute, please. I'm still here, you know, and since I'm part of the discussion, I have something to say."
April and I looked at her.
"Go ahead," said April.
Sara took a breath, then said, "When Ed showed up a year ago, your world shrank to just the two of you for six months, April. You couldn't or wouldn't call it love, but there wasn't any other name for it. When you showed up one night, I thought the heat had passed; that maybe things would be normal for us again, with or without Ed."
She hesitated a moment before going on, "But they weren't, were they? You were afraid he'd find out. That he really wouldn't be able to deal with it. You even asked me not to tell him, and later you even let me think he wasn't interested in joining us. You've been keeping him away from the rest of us, so he wasn't likely to find out from anyone else."
Sara held up her hand to stave off April's interruption. "Oh, yes, you were. I don't know if you thought you were trying to protect his feelings or just keep him for yourself, but none of us has seen him more than three times in the last year, and there's never been time to really visit, for a number of reasons."
Sara turned to me. "Tell me, Ed... Do you even know where the rest of us live? Do you know our names, or how to reach us?"
I shrugged. "I know how to reach lab two and lab four. They know how to reach everybody else. I didn't need to know, Sara. I had other concerns."
"Other concerns..? You weren't even curious about us?"
"Sorry, ma'am. Super or not, you were all just other people to me, and I didn't feel driven to find extra company."
Sara just stared at me for a moment, then switched her gaze to April. Her voice became unsteady as she spoke.
"I should have guessed. You didn't keep him from contacting us. You couldn't have, if he'd really wanted to. You just allowed it to be inconvenient and unnecessary until now, when it finally suits your need for freedom. What do you think of that, Ed?"
Before I could answer, April stepped forward. Sara saw April's hand coming, but made no move to avoid it.
The slap never landed. April stood shaking with rage, or perhaps some other emotion, or perhaps many emotions, her hand only a few inches from Sara's face.
I saw tears on both their faces. For a long moment, the falling tears were all that moved in that moonlit tableau.
I stepped forward, putting an arm around each. "Whatever you're thinking of doing or saying next, DON'T," I said, "Just calm down and walk with me, please." They both looked at me as I took their elbows and led them on. "That's right, just walk. Don't talk."
We walked together for some distance around the pond. When the tears had dried and the snuffling had stopped, I ventured an opinion.
"You ladies had something together before I arrived. Looks to me as if you still have something together, otherwise you couldn't possibly hurt each other as you have this evening. Especially over something as trivial as a man."
That statement earned me some giggles from each of them. I decided to press my luck and continued, "Ha. Gotcha. Anyway, I was about to say that I think we've all approached this problem from the wrong perspectives, and I was wondering if maybe all we really needed was a chance to start this evening over. Maybe it was the tears, but all of a sudden I need something from both of you."
I paused to think of the best words to use and settled for, "I think I need for things to be more like the way they were when I met you."
"No, you don't," said Sara. She chuckled.
"Why not?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"Because there wouldn't be a man involved. You wouldn't be an issue."
"Yeah, I gathered that. Don't care. I've had my time without knowing the effects. Now that I do know, I'll stand aside before I hurt anyone further."
"It isn't your fault, Ed," said April.
"I know. I just said that. Fault doesn't matter, anyway. Done is done."
"We can't just forget the past year," said Sara.
"Remember it, then. Use it to forestall such things in the future, just as you would other experiences. Most things are either burdens or tools, depending mostly on how you carry and use them. This can be a shared experience or a wedge between you. I vote for the shared experience."
I leaned forward and softly kissed first April, then Sara.
"Alphabetical order, of course," I said, "Goodnight, ladies. Work it out."
We were almost halfway around the perimeter of the pond. I chose the shortcut and began "walking" across the pond as I used to do when practicing for control of my limited flight capabilities.
A few strides out and too late, I realized this must have appeared to be the height of ego on display and paused in mid-stride. When I looked back, they were laughing.
"Don't worry," said April, "We know who you aren't."
I shrugged, waved, and kept walking. About halfway across, I looked back again. They were gone. A flurry in the water made me yank my feet up. I watched a snake swim rapidly away, causing other flurries in the water.
I wasn't worried about the ladies. The whole thing would have eventually sorted itself out, anyway. There were only a few of them on Earth and the number of enhancees was only slightly larger. Sooner or later any rifts would heal on their own.
If I moved into lab four, I'd be put on a payroll and given something useful to do. I'd also be bumping into one or more goddess-blonde superwomen at least once a day, and probably three or more enhancees, most of whom were female. My immediate future presented no logistical problems.
The moon was almost straight above, glowing brightly, and I remembered what Sara had said, "You might even be able to get there by yourself."
It wasn't the first time I'd considered the trip, but just getting there would take me six days at my best accumulated speed. The whole first three days would be constant acceleration and last three days would be spent decelerating. Repeat the process to return. Two weeks of solid boredom, just to reach the nearest rock in space, plus any time on the surface.
I could build some sort of personal craft, with solar-powered radio & TV and some books. Without re-entry concerns, it would last indefinitely, but my interest probably wouldn't.
A longish voyage had to have some meaning or at least some distractions along the way. Old Route 66 had more interesting scenery than a continuous view of space.
Oh, yeah, the first day or two would be full of new sights and wonder. Earth, turning slowly beneath your feet, the stars all around, the moon ahead.
A grand adventure, etc.., for a little while. Then what? Bo-ring. Hell, no. It wasn't the destination as much as the trip itself. It had to include a shared experience, something to make it an adventure.
I picked up my beer bottle and trashed it on the way in, this time making the shot at the trash can from maybe 30 feet. The clock over the hallway said it wasn't even 9:pm yet, so I took a quick shower and dressed for a visit to Dallas. I needed some music and chatter and a few games of pool.
The note I left on the fridge said, "Dear Auntie Em; Kansas sucks. I'm going to the big city to become a pool hustler and I'm taking the dog in case I run out of sandwiches. Love, Dorothy."
Fresh beer in hand, I then lifted off in the general direction of Dallas and flew for a few minutes. Parking wasn't a problem. I settled on a 3rd-floor rooftop in the West End to check out the action in the streets below.
A mix of over-dressed, under-dressed, and strangely-dressed people seemed to be wandering aimlessly from bar to bar down there. My khaki shirt, jeans, and boots would blend just fine.
I was looking for a clear area behind the building to drop myself to the sidewalk and start mingling when I heard voices directly below.
Looking down, I saw a guy with a knife facing a man and woman who appeared to be dressed in matching western outfits.
I stepped off the edge of the building, lowered myself to hover directly above the guy with the knife, and let my beer bottle drop. It missed his head when he moved, but it smacked his shoulder hard enough to get his attention and splattered all over the sidewalk.
He was swearing mightily in Spanish when he looked up. I waved down at everybody from about ten feet up, standing on air.
"Howdy, y'all! Especially you, shithead." I pointed at the knifewielder.
His eyeballs got big and his rattle of Spanish ended in "Madre de Dios!"
"Idiot," I said, "She'd send your ass to hell for what you're doing tonight."
I drifted down to stand a couple of feet from him, holding out my hand.
"You can give me the knife and run or you can try to cut me, but if you try to cut me, I'm going to use it to carve the word "stupido" in your forehead."
He was a kid, maybe eighteen, wearing the usual "I'm so bad" baggy-pants gang-rags that make those who wear them look like drab rodeo clowns.
He was momentarily frozen, his little brain struggling to understand what he'd seen. I snapped my fingers to hurry his decision. He looked at my hand, then dropped the knife in it and ran.
I closed the cheap knife, wadded it, and tossed it at him. He screeched when it hit him. Finally hit something tonight, I thought.
I started kicking the larger bits of beer bottle into the gutter. The man and woman were staring at me.
"Could have been worse," I said, "But I don't drink the expensive stuff."
After a moment, the man approached me.
"I seem to owe you a beer," he said.
"I wasn't hinting, there, I was just cleaning up a bit."
He laughed.
"I know you weren't." He stuck out his hand. I took it. "Chuck," he said.
"Ed," I said.
"This is Doris," he said, waving his lady to join us.
I shook her hand, too. Her grip was casually stronger than his.
They were in their thirties, both about five-ten, brunette, and dressed identically in jeans and western-style shirts. While they seemed comfortable together, they didn't ring quite right in my mind. They didn't fit together, somehow.
He had developed just enough belly to overhang his belt. What little I could see of Doris was lean and solid. She carried herself regally, like a fitness queen.
Doris didn't seem all that happy to meet me.
"Got a favorite place?" asked Chuck.
"Nope. I was just going to find a place to shoot pool, kill time with a beer or two, and blow off a little steam. I've had an unusual day."
"You make an unusual entrance, too," said Chuck, but he seemed to be trying to take my unusual entrance in stride. Doris seemed unimpressed, too.
Neither of them asked any questions about it, so I figured they were trying to be polite. Most of the world had at least heard of superpeople, after all. We all finished the job of kicking the bits of glass into the gutter.
"C'mon, then," he said, taking Doris' arm and leading off. I tagged along.
The first stop was a country-style bar. Chuck bought a round and left me with Doris, saying he had some "bidness" to attend to. He was back shortly, all smiles.
He sat down, grabbed his beer, and took Doris' hand in his. I caught a motion and saw that he was tapping on Doris' hand. At first he seemed to be keeping time with the music, but a pattern emerged. It was Morse code.
"...back/money/twof/twor/one/five..." -- the hand stopped moving.
I looked up, saw Chuck looking back, and I nodded to indicate the area just beyond their hands, where a woman in a miniskirt was standing. He looked, then grinned approval.
Doris also looked, then looked back at me blankly. I didn't think she bought my redirection of attentions. The Morse code didn't continue.
The music was too loud for easy talking, as is often the case with house bands who play too loudly, thinking it will cover their mistakes. (It doesn't, guys. It just makes the mistakes louder, too.)
I motioned that I wanted to check out the pool table and ambled over there. There were four next-up sets of quarters. It would be an hour before I could play.
When I glanced back, Chuck was gone again. Doris was looking at me with the same expressionless gaze as before.
I decided it was time to move on and made my way back to the table to finish my beer and say goodbyes. I had just sat down by her when all hell broke loose.
There were two gunshots from the back of the club. Chuck came barreling out of the back with two guys chasing him.
A guy near the side door reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun and a guy by the front door reached behind one of the decorative hay bales. He came up with a shotgun and aimed directly at Doris and me.
I grabbed her hair and pulled her head down past my lap as I backhand-tossed my half-full beer bottle at the front-door guy and kicked my chair away. The bottle hit his head and knocked him down, but not before he fired.
The blast hit my arm and chest, rocking me back a bit and shredding my shirt. Doris was on her knees behind our table. She shoved me out of her way and took aim with a semi-auto pistol.
Her first two rounds hit the guy by the side door, punching him into the street. The shotgunner was trying to get up. Doris put two rounds in him, too, laying him out, then she looked back at the guy in the street. He wasn't moving.
It was only then that she yelled, "Chuck!"
A number of people who must have thought the event was over must also have thought she yelled, "DUCK!"
Heads and bodies flopped back to the floor all over the room. I looked around for Chuck and spotted him on the floor. He waved at Doris and pointed toward the back of the bar. She covered that direction as she took a small radio out of her purse and edged toward us past tables.
There was blood everywhere around Chuck when I got to him. The two guys who had been chasing him were also down.
One had a hole in his chest, the other seemed to have no apparent injuries until I pushed him off Chuck. His head flopped rather loosely. A broken neck.
Chuck was bleeding from a hole just above his belt buckle, but he appeared otherwise unhurt.
I felt behind Chuck to see if the hole went all the way through. It didn't. Grabbing some napkins and a cigarette pack off a nearby table, I pulled the clear wrapper off the pack, then stretched it over the wad of napkins and used it to seal and put pressure on Chuck's wound to slow the bleeding.
Doris circled over to us, kicking at the bodies of the guys who had been after Chuck. No responses from either of them.
"How's Chuck?" she asked.
"Shot once in the gut," I said. "He'll live, I think."
After another glance at us, she started toward the back of the building again, this time in hunting mode. Chuck took over with the napkins and pressed a revolver into my hand.
"Cover the front," he said, struggling to breathe, "We're cops."
Within moments some cop cars pulled up in front. As soon as uniforms came through the door, I quickly put the gun down and went back to holding the napkins.
There was a loud boom from the back, followed by two quick bangs.
"She got him," said Chuck, grinning again.
He seemed very happy about it. The medics arrived and went to work on him. Chuck passed out.
Doris came striding out of the back of the bar, gold badge held high to identify herself, and came to where Chuck was being tended by medics. She conferred with them a moment, then turned her attention to me.
"I'll have someone take your statement," she said.
As she turned away, I grabbed her elbow to stop her.
"Guess what, Doris? You have the social grace of a fucking stormtrooper. Chuck's hit and I took a damned shotgun blast meant for you and all you can think to say is 'I'll have someone take your statement'. What the hell's your problem?"
Doris glared at me, then at my hand on her arm. I guess I didn't let go fast enough to suit her. She chopped downward on my arm with her free hand.
Until I actually felt the pain coursing up my arm, I was prepared to laugh at her feeble effort. Afterward, it was all I could do to hide my surprise and minor agony. She continued glaring at me.
"Yeah," she said, "I'm one, too, and you're part of a police investigation."
She called a clipboard-equipped uniform over, pointed at me, and said, "He's ready to give a statement."
The cop looked at my shirt in amazement.
"I think they got me," I said, "How's that for a statement?"
He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Looking around, he then indicated that we should go over to the bar. I waited as he set up a multi-part form.
The bartender stood nearby.
"How about an Ice House?" I asked.
The bartender gave me an "up yours" grin and jangled the keys.
"Cooler's already closed," he said.
"So open it."
"I don't think so."
I looked at the cop.
"Officer, I think he's hiding something in the cooler."
I reached over the bar for the cooler's padlock and twisted hard, yanking the whole sliding top off the cooler.
"Huh," I said. "Guess not." Looking at the bartender, I asked, "How about an Ice House now that you're open again?"
"Get it yourself," he said.
His voice wavered, but he didn't move.
Huh. Whatever. I pulled a beer out and opened it. A couple of cops came over to investigate the noise behind the bar.
Mine tapped his clipboard and said, "We'll investigate your suspicions, sir. Let those guys take care of it. Let's get this done, okay?"
"Sure. Hey, barkeep, you ever hear about the mouse who gave an eagle the finger? He was real brave, just like you, but he still wound up as birdshit."
"You don't scare me none."
"Then you're not very bright," I said, "You think I'm a cop. I'm not, and I've had a pretty shitty evening, full of people being unpleasant."
I gave the cop a statement of events as I remembered them. Afterward, I asked when I could leave. He said to check with the detectives.
There was a rush of wind and all of a sudden April and Sara were coming through the front door. Everybody stared at them, but nobody tried to stop them. They strode up to me.
"That used to be a nice shirt," said April.
"I'm glad you used to like it," I said.
"Are you under arrest?"
"Only if I try to leave, I think."
"I'll tell you when you can leave," said a voice.
Doris approached us. She stopped to confer with another detective for a moment, then said, "Okay, it's all yours, Collins." Then she joined us.
April asked, "How's Chuck?"
"He was hit, but it's clean. He'll survive."
"Bad, but still good," said April, "Glad to hear it."
"Is this the drug ring you worked on three months ago?" asked Sara.
"It was. The ring was disbanded tonight. This guy's one of my witnesses."
"Bear that in mind when you give me a hard time," I said.
With a sharp look at me, Doris said, "We'll talk later."
"If you're into bondage, forget it," I said.
I grabbed another beer and left them there so I could put someone's leftover quarters in the pool table.
As I walked away, I heard Doris say, "Okay, ladies, time to go. We're busy here. We don't need spectators."
Say what? I thought. I'd never heard anyone speak to April that way. Well, nobody who wasn't either brain damaged or stupid, anyway. As I racked the balls I listened. As I sank the balls I listened some more.
April was saying, "... and he may be very upset, we don't know..."
Doris said, "That sounds like a personal problem to me, ladies. This is a crime scene, not a chaplain's office, and, as I mentioned earlier, we're busy here. Beyond that, why should your personal lives mean anything to me?"
I slammed my stick on the table and said, "They shouldn't, Doris. April. Sara. And anybody else who may be within earshot. Not a thing."
I walked up and handed the bartender my empty beer bottle, glaring at him until he gave me another one. I thanked him on general principles.
Turning back to April and Sara, I said, "I left you two to get yourselves organized, not to follow me around. I'm sure she called you about your wayward enhancee, but I'm not in the mood to be discussed like a stray child."
"You," I said to Doris, "You got your statement, so do whateverthehell else you have to do and let me go. Fair's fair, lady. I thought you were in trouble, so I stopped a mugging. Tell me it wouldn't have complicated your setup here if you'd had to deal with that kid. I had no idea you were cops. I also had no idea what you were dragging me into in this damned bar."
To everybody, I said, "I wanted out a while to do a few beers and to shoot pool and give friends time to get past something. I'm not lost, okay?"
About halfway back to the table, I turned and said, "One more thing, people. If you're going to discuss me, have the decency to do it in another county. I could hear a mouse fart at a hundred yards before I was enhanced."
I heard titters, then giggles, then soft laughter behind me as they envisioned a mouse breaking wind. Good. That would take the edge off all the other words without losing their intent. I finished my solo pool game.
April and Sara left. Doris came over to the pool table and stood watching me pocket the last few balls. She wordlessly put three of the quarters in the table and pushed the plunger, then racked the balls.
"Be gentle with me," she said, chalking her cue.
She grinned like a cat.
"I'll just do my usual thing," I said, breaking the rack, "You do yours."
"Don't you worry. I will."
I made five balls, then got a bad bounce off a side pocket and scratched.
As I handed her the cue ball, I asked, "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" Doris asked, snapping a couple of quick, easy shots into pockets and lining up her third shot, "Playing pool? I like to play pool."
"Not long ago you acted as if you couldn't stand me. Now you're here. Why?"
Her third shot was good, too.
"Good cop, bad cop," she said, "I'm in charge, so I get to be both."
She snapped a fourth ball into a corner pocket and lined up her fifth shot.
"How very wonderful for you," I said, "But the question stands."
Doris shot softly to stay set up her next shot, but the ball stopped at the very edge of the pocket. I chalked up and looked over the table.
"I don't know," said Doris, "And detectives don't like not knowing stuff."
"Heh. Guess not. Seven, side."
The ball fell. I aimed for the next one. I made the shot. Only the eight ball left. A long green with a bit of angle. The eight rattled around in the pocket and climbed back out again.
"Shot too hard," I said.
"I'd say so," said Doris, "You should have had that."
She quickly tapped in two and lined up the last striped ball for a long walk down the rail. It went in.
Doris turned to face me.
"Are you up for a bet, hero?"
"Ha," I said. "If I say no, you'll say I'm chicken. If I say yes, you'll bust me for gambling. What's the right answer, officer?"
Doris looked rather coolly at me.
"Say no, and I let you go right now."
I waited. Doris leaned forward and whispered, "Say yes, and... How about the winner gets the loser? How would that suit you?"
I sipped my beer as I looked at her.
"You don't know me from George of the Jungle, Doris, and twenty minutes ago I had the distinct impression that you wanted me questioned, then shot. Why don't we just finish the game and call it a night?"
"Thought so," said Doris rather quietly.
Her demeanor had changed greatly by the time she'd stepped to within inches of my face. I looked into her eyes and saw the miles-deep resentment there.
"What's the matter, stud? I'm not blonde enough for you? Not strong enough? Not beautiful enough? Maybe I'm just not good enough for you now that you've been with one of them?"
I put my hand to her face and said, "You have no idea how absolutely wrong you are about me, Doris. You have your bet if you want it."
Doris said nothing, but her eyes were welling up as she turned back to the table. She lined up for the shot, apparently taking her time.
Suddenly there were flying shards of black and white pool balls in the air, accompanied by what sounded like a rifle shot. Most of the bigger pieces either embedded themselves in the table cushions or the opposite wall.
Her stick had splintered and what was left of it was quickly fragmenting between her wringing hands. There were wet spots where she'd leaned over the table. I made a point of not noticing them as I went to look in the corner pocket.
I dug the biggest pieces of the eight ball I could find out of the plastic pocket liner and tossed them on the table.
"I guess enough of it was in. Your game, Doris."
The bartender and a couple of other cops had dropped at the sound of her "shot" and were only now getting up, staring at her incredulously.
Doris looked at the remaining half of her cue stick, set it self-consciously on the table, and wiped her hands on her jeans.
She took a moment to gather herself, then turned to me and said, "Let's get out of here."
I nodded agreement.
Once in her car, she called in a sitrep and got one back about Chuck. She looked down at herself and said, "First things first. I need to get the hell out of this Dale Evans outfit and you need a new shirt."
"Sounds good. Lead on, ma'am."
Ten silent minutes later we were in the University Park area in front of an old brownstone house. She seemed tired as I followed her up the steps and into the house, but I thought the fatigue was likely more emotional than physical.
Doris put her purse down and indicated various directions as she said, "Bathroom's down the hall on the left, kitchen's through that door. Want anything?"
"I'm fine," I said, "But you don't seem too happy. Bet or no bet, would you rather I just drop by the office tomorrow?"
Doris just looked at me for a long moment, then dropped herself into the armchair and rested her face in her hands.
"You want to leave? Go. I won't stop you."
I stood waiting in the center of the room. After a little while, she looked up.
"Don't talk," I said, "Listen. I'll choose my words according to the meaning I wish to express or convey. Innuendo is foreign to me, Doris. I seldom choose the wrong words, I never bother saying anything I don't mean, and I resent it all to hell when other people decide my words mean something other than what they mean according to a dictionary. That includes pretty cops who are wrapped up in feeling sorry for themselves for still-obscure reasons."
After a moment, she said, "I've made a point of knowing who the enhancees are around here. Your file said you quit school in the tenth grade, but you don't sound like a tenth-grader to me."
"Could it be you only picked up on negatives that would feed your need to justify disliking me on sight? Based on the fact that I'm an enhancee?"
"Selective perception? Maybe in your case, I think."
"Do you remember reading anything positive about me in that file?"
"I didn't have time to give it more than a glance," said Doris.
"That's an excuse. Your emotions are filtering your perceptions."
"It helps with the job. Cops don't meet the cream of humanity, you know."
"Crap. It isn't helping you with anything, on or off the job. I'll bet you can count your best friends on two fingers or less."
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