Lafferty, Mur (2 page)

“You shitting me?” Carl said, wheeling his loaded hand truck to the stairs. “You OK?”

“Of course,” she said, sniffing. “The city’s newest, egotistical hero, White Lightning, personally rescued me from certain death and insulted me in the process.” She slid past him on the stairs and opened the unlocked door.

Carl stopped the hand truck midway down the steps to stare at her. “Did you say 'White Lightning'?”

She grinned up at him. “Yep. He flew away so fast I didn’t have a chance to tell him he named himself after mountain corn squeezins.”

Keepsie went inside and turned on the lights, Carl’s laughter still booming on the stairs.

Unlike most bars, which depended on a Saturday rush, Thursday’s were Keepsie’s busiest night of the week. Her bar was popular with the locals; although it didn’t have the usual hero memorabilia covering the walls like a lot of Seventh City’s bars did, it did have the best bar food in the city. It was also the cleanest, with the best service in town. These made it a hopping place of business normally, but tonight was special. It was Third Wave Thursday.

Keepsie didn’t put up any banners and she didn’t have any specials, but it was an unspoken truth that the third generation of people with strange superhuman powers, named the Third Wave, gathered to drink together on Thursday. It was their night of solidarity.

Her staff had closed the bar in perfect condition, as always, the night before. The various little victories Third Wave citizens could claim were precious, and she appreciated each of her staff’s talents. Keepsie’s talent was not one that she could get paid for, which had always bugged her, but she was happy to hire a chef with super-cooking ability and a waitress with the inability to drop a bar tray.

She had little to do to open except check Carl's delivery and sign his invoice. She readied the kitchen for the chef and then checked the clock: good. Michelle, her assistant manager and closest friend, wouldn't be there for another five minutes at least, and the rest of the staff wouldn't get there for fifteen minutes after that.

She didn’t relish telling Michelle about the afternoon.

She sat at the bar and pulled the ball out of her pocket. It was made of a dull metal and seamless like a large ball bearing. She rolled in around in her hands, listening for any noises inside. She heard nothing.

Why had Doodad dropped an oversized BB into her pocket?

The front door opened and Michelle walked in. Effortlessly beautiful as always, Michelle exuded the passion of her Jamaican father and the temper of her Irish mother.

“Hey lady, did you hear the news?” Michelle said, her dark eyes shining with excitement. She brushed past Keepsie and hung her coat and purse on a hook behind the bar.

Talking to Carl about the attack had been easy; he wasn't her friend, someone she saw daily, someone who knew the same people she did. He also wasn’t someone who saw the villains as rock stars. Michelle’s interest bordered on illegal, but a bill that Third Wavers had called the “Hero Worship Bill,” which would make villain sympathizing a crime, had yet to get out of committee.

Keepsie bit her lip and slipped the ball into her pocket. She followed Michelle into the kitchen.

“I didn’t hear the news,” Keepsie said truthfully. “But-“

“Doodad fought this new hero guy, even grabbed a hostage!” Michelle could hardly contain her glee. “Then the hero rescued her and made Doodad crash.”

“Do you think Doodad’s hurt?” Keepsie said, knowing which part of the story Michelle wanted to focus on.

“There’s no word yet, but they took him away in an Academy ambulance, so I think he’s still alive. They usually take them away in a regular ambulance if they’re dead.”

The villain Seismic Stan had died five years before in a battle with Pallas, the city’s oldest hero. But Keepsie didn’t remember an ambulance.

"Guess you didn't get my message?" Michelle asked.

"No, what was it?"

"I left it on your cell’s voice mail, telling you to take another way into work because the news was all about the reindeer games going on with Doodad," she said, tying an apron around her waist. "You must have been on the phone."

Keepsie gritted her teeth. "No, my cell phone just sucks. Thanks, though. Listen, I-“ "So did you see any action?" “Yes, actually, Doodad-“

“Oh man, you saw him?”

“Michelle!”

Her friend finally stopped talking. Michelle was not someone who was offended when you told her to lower her voice or stop interrupting. She smiled expectantly.

Keepsie suddenly found it difficult to talk. “I was the hostage.”

“Holy shit! Are you OK?”

Keepsie busied herself with stocking the already-stocked pint-glass tray.

"Yeah. I mean, I got the shit scared out of me, I was nearly electrocuted, the hero humiliated me, I think my hearing is damaged and I may have cracked a rib.” She lifted her shirt to view the blossoming bruises on her torso. “The good news is that Carl got caught in traffic too, so I wasn't too late to meet him." “Jesus. Why you?”

Keepsie lowered her shirt and sighed. “He planted something on me. I don’t know what it is.” She pulled the ball out of her pocket and showed it to Michelle.

“Why would he-oh,” Michelle said, her eyes growing wide. “He wants you to keep it.”

Keepsie nodded. “My thought too. But who does he want me to keep it from? And does he really think I’ll give it back to him after this afternoon?”

“I guess he does,” Michelle said thoughtfully. “He’s hot, but he’s also smart. He probably wants it back at some point. And he probably thinks he can get it.”

“Well, he’s in the Academy jails now, so he’s not coming for it any time soon. That’s a relief.”

“Poor guy,” Michelle said.

Keepsie glared at her. “Can I get some sympathy for at least a second before you go all Stockholm Syndrome on me and are sorrier for the villain than his hostage?”

Michelle hugged her gently, mindful of her ribs. “I do love you, lady. But I still wouldn't kick Doodad out of bed for eating crackers."

Keepsie laughed at last. "Fine, fine. This guy wants to screw up the city, scare people, take hostages, and you want to reward him with sex." “Someone needs to reward him for giving the heroes hell,” Michelle said.

“And I volunteer to take one for the team. Two, if he’s up for it.”

The door opened and other staff began to arrive, and Keepsie composed herself. She slipped into the kitchen and dropped the ball into the Lost and Found box that sat beside the supply closet. It would be out of the way there.

And safe.

Keepsie didn’t have a power that would help her tend bar, or cook, or fight crime. Her power was quite passive, but it serve to be useful to her.

Anything she owned, she kept. It was that simple. No one could take anything she owned away from her. And if they tried, they abandoned quickly their desire to steal.

She had never considered it might be useful to someone else. She had been unable to get a job in security because no one trusted her enough to give her all of their belongings. The items in question had to belong to her, and no one would trust her without her official hero license. Doodad had given her his metal golf ball, clearly for her to protect from anyone else.

Why did he think she was going to give it back to him?

When the bar opened at five o’clock, it filled quickly. She greeted the regulars by name.

Her patrons talked about Doodad's attack. People had heard about it but apparently no one had seen the televised news. Keepsie said a quiet prayer of thanks.

As she tended bar, Keepsie kept out of the discussions.

"The heroes are a menace to the city. Hell, arson doesn't even do as much damage to property as one of those hero battles," said Geoffrey, a florist.

Vincent, Keepsie’s busboy, dishwasher, cleaning crew -and anything else that had to do with dirt -bussed a table and nodded to him, his black hair falling into his eyes.

"What are our cops doing these days, anyway? Unemployment is up because the cops don't have anything to do," said Stella, a human resources director. "And the damn villains can't be that hard to catch. Hell, heroes do it."

"What you do when a villain shows up is wait for the damn hero to save your ass," Barry said. He was First Wave, a generation ahead of most of Keepsie's patrons. He’d come into his strange power late in life after an accident had severed his legs; only then had he realized he could regrow his limbs. He stared into his daiquiri. "Face it, no one has powers to match the villains except for the heroes."

"And no one talks about this, but I remember. Did anyone notice how we never had villains until we had heroes? If the goddamn government hadn't messed with that drug, we wouldn't be living in a city where you can get a building dropped on you," said Len "Goddamn Government" Wise.

The bell above the door tinkled, and Keepsie looked up. She smiled and waved as her two favorite regulars, Peter Ross and Ian Smith, walked in.

Peter was a tall man in his thirties and dressed in a way that hinted that he still got his fashion tips from his mother. He took a seat at the bar beside Samantha, a newcomer to Third Wave Thursdays. Ian, a pudgy man with stringy blond hair, loved arguing with Samantha more than he loved poking fun at stuffy Peter. He eagerly grabbed the seat on her left.

Samantha was older, Keepsie guessed around 45, and had gray streaks in her red hair. She and Ian launched immediately into a heated discussion about whether the Academy should have to pay for property damage. Keepsie grinned; they hadn't even said hello to each other.

Peter motioned to Keepsie, who finished pouring a beer for a man who looked uncomfortably out of place. "What can I get you, Peter?”

“Tanqueray and tonic, please.” Peter said. He lowered his voice. “Are you all right, Keepsie?”

Keepsie blanched. “What are you talking about?”

“I went home early today because of the hero battle; my company’s building was damaged. I saw the news.”

“I’m fine. Can we talk about it later?” Keepsie said, and went to make his drink. She avoided his concerned gaze as she poured the gin. Ian and Samantha were arguing loud enough to distract her from her embarrassment.

“I’m telling you, Sam,” Ian said, slapping his hand on the bar. “They’re flying around, busting up buildings and shit, hurting civilians, and then they have the audacity to expect us to give them our tax money so they can go on and do it again tomorrow!”

Samantha remained calm. “I’m not saying that they deserve worship, but the recent villain attacks are far and above anyone’s ability to deal with except for the Academy. No one knows where they came from, but they are definitely a force to be reckoned with.” She took a sip of her beer.

“Ian’s right, Samantha,” Peter said. “I had one of the heroes thrown into my building today. He took out one wall of windows and injured ten of my coworkers. You won’t see that on the news.” "Holy shit, man, are you OK?" Ian asked.

Peter smiled thinly. "I don't rank a window office." He cleared his throat and glanced at Keepsie.

“The Academy will make sure the injured are taken care of, and they also cover the building repairs,” Samantha said.

“And what if someone dies, can they bring them back to life?” Ian said.

“Can they regrow someone’s severed arm?” He raised his beer to Barry, a couple of seats down, who grinned and toasted him back.

Samantha raised her hands, giving up the argument. "You’ve got me. I don’t think they have any heroes that can do that yet." “And what about that hostage Doodad took?” Ian said. He grinned as Michelle walked by with a tray of empty pint glasses. “I’ll bet you wish it was you up there, huh?”

Michelle laughed. “No, sadly. But man I’d give anything to meet Doodad.”

Peter stared at Michelle for a moment, his jaw slack. He recovered quickly. "Doodad snapped her up off the street and carried her away, but, as the news tells it, White Lightning saved her." Keepsie glanced up; he wasn’t looking at her. “I don’t think she was hurt.”

Ian, not catching on, groaned. "White Lightning? Who the fuck is that? A new one?"

"So it seems. But from my office, it more looked like White Lightning attacked Doodad while he held the hostage, causing the villain to drop her. She nearly hit the ground before he caught her."

Michelle handed Keepsie a check and a credit card. “She’s a little bruised but she’s OK, right Keepsie?”

Ian gaped. "You?"

Keepsie glared at Michelle. "Thanks a lot." “Whoops, I figured you’d told them.” "You OK?" Ian asked.

"Do I look hurt?" Keepsie said.

"That's not what I meant," he said.

Keepsie grimaced. "I'm… fine. A little bruised, and I'll probably never fly again, but," her voice took on a sarcastic edge, "I got to meet a real hero!"

Samantha smiled, but most of the others looked concerned.

Michelle finished the credit card transaction for Keepsie. “Well, they were bound to find out anyway. And they would have been pissed if you hadn’t told them.” She took the slip and card and headed back to her customers.

Keepsie sighed and watched her go.

Ian snickered. “What, is Michelle mad you got to meet Doodad and she didn’t?”

Keepsie forced a grin. ”Actually, I think she is.”

Peter still looked concerned. “Keepsie, did anything else happen?”

Keepsie dropped her head and fiddled with the bar rag. "He was a real bastard. The hero, I mean. I mentioned to him - well, he figured out I was Third Wave. And after he let me down he pretty much treated me like crap." “Fucking heroes, think they’re better than all of us.” Ian clenched and unclenched his fists rhythmically. He took a deep breath and relaxed. "He's just an asshole, man. A flying asshole."