Lafferty, Mur (3 page)

The image of White Lightning, buff and ripped in his tight costume, with a sphincter sitting atop his shoulders, made Keepsie laugh.

The night wore on and Keepsie kept busy, trying not to relive her afternoon’s adventure any more than necessary. She gave a few more details to Peter, Ian and Samantha, but left out the bit about Doodad planting something on her.

"So I said that the villains clearly come from Washington DC," Barry’s companion said as Keepsie handed Barry another banana daiquiri. She didn’t recognize the man, and she eavesdropped as she made change for Barry's ten.

"What makes you think that?" asked Barry.

The man’s voice slurred slightly, but his eyes were bright. "They're making them in Washington to battle the terrorists, and the experiment went wrong!"

Barry shook his head. "So, why do the villains come here where the heroes are? Wouldn't it be easier to go somewhere that doesn't have heroes?"

His companion lapsed into a brief silence. "They're from Washington, I tell you," he said, and dug into the burger Michelle sat in front of him.

"What do you think, Keepsie?" asked Barry as she set the man's beer down.

Keepsie opened her mouth to answer, but froze when something on the staircase outside caught her eye. Barry followed her gaze and swore loudly.

All conversation in the bar ceased as every eye turned to stare at the tall, glorious visitors. The heroes stopped as they got inside the door and looked around, frowning.

White Lightning (Corn Squeezins, Keepsie thought, and smiled slightly) lead the group inside and stared at Keepsie. The Crane joined him. He was a man around forty years old with white wings and the power to stretch any part of his body. He had been the dreamboat of the Academy, but Keepsie guessed that would end as soon as White Lightning became more popular. The other was an Academy scientist; shorter and older, she wore slacks and a lab coat with the Academy insignia on the breast pocket. Her short brown hair neither flowed nor gleamed.

“Dr. Timson, it’s been a long time,” Keepsie said, after a moment of silence.

“Laura, we’re here to make sure you’re all right. The Academy is obligated to pay the medical bills of anyone hurt during a powered altercation.”

They didn’t look like they were there to check on her. Why would she need muscle for that? “Took you long enough,” Keepsie said. She checked the clock on the wall. “The attack was at least six hours ago.”

“We were just concerned, Laura. White Lightning had to file his report; he didn’t have your full name. It took some time to find you.”

Keepsie laughed. “The Academy is right across the street from here. The sign for my bar, ‘Keepsie’s Bar,’ is right outside.”

“Yes, you are called Keepsie now, aren’t you?”

“You knew that when I applied at the Academy, Doctor.”

“Secret identities are for heroes, Laura.”

An annoyed rumble passed through the bar. Keepsie chewed on her lower lip a moment, then said, "I guess you'll have to go arresting every Christopher called Chris and every Michelle called Shelley. I didn’t know that nicknames were illegal." “Very well, Keepsie,” Timson said, “We came for another reason; we need to talk. Do you have an office?" She looked around.

"This is a bar."

Dr. Timson sighed and stepped forward to close the distance. The patrons of the bar made no pretense of their eavesdropping. "We need your help. The villain Doodad has stolen an object of some importance from the Academy. After hearing about his attack earlier today, I think that Doodad targeted you specifically. We think he planted the device on you for, ah, safe keeping, so to speak. We need it back.”

Keepsie grinned, delighted. “You want the help of a Third Wave power? I never thought I’d see the day. That’s awesome!”

Dr. Timson smiled back, looking relieved. She took a step forward, “Yes, very much so, your talent would be of great help right now.”

Keepsie leaned forward, still smiling. “No.”

Tension in the bar increased. Keepsie squirmed inwardly, there was no backing down now. Not in front of her customers and friends.

The heroes glanced at each other, but only the doctor spoke. “White Lightning said you might react this way.”

White Lightning met Keepsie’s eyes without flinching.

“He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. What did you think my reaction would be, doctor?”

“Well, I expected you to want to serve your city. You seemed quite dedicated to that, once.”

“You know, you people just don’t get it. You say you want to educate people with powers, to teach them to use their power for good, to help people.

Maybe the Third Wavers can’t fly or shoot laser beams, but we’ve still got powers no one else has. And you wanted us to register those powers so you could track them.”

Timson opened her mouth, but Keepsie continued. “You gave us hope that we’d be heroes once we registered. That one day we’d put on a costume, serve the public, be worshiped. But Third Wavers are just not powerful enough for you. No hero license for us. But when you realize you need us, you come asking for help in the name of goodness, or God, or country.”

She paused, enjoying the looks on the heroes’ faces. “Well screw that.

You have people who can talk to animals or run faster than cheetahs or call lightning to hit people and deafen their hostages. You don’t need me.”

“Hell yeah!” shouted Ian, pounding his empty glass on the bar. Everyone took up his cheer.

Timson stood impassively.

When the noise had died down, Timson spoke in a tight voice. “Keepsie, I don’t think you understand. We need you. We need that piece you’re protecting.”

“Hey Ian,” Keepsie said. He grinned. “Suddenly they need me. Would you come if they ever needed you?”

Ian made a face. “Maybe to keep the city’s janitors busy.”

“What did they say when you applied at the Academy to obtain a hero’s license?” she asked.

Ian didn’t meet her eyes, the shame apparent on his face, but he spoke clearly. “After they tested my power they told me that I was disgusting and unsanitary and clearly couldn’t fight for the city, simply on the basis that the cleanup costs would be monumental. They said they would never need something so foul. But they gave me my very own hero name. ‘Feculent Boy.’”

“Wonderful. Flattering,” Keepsie said, facing Timson. “And you, yourself, told me my power was so weak it could never be of any use to anyone. You need to be careful what you tell the young and impressionable, doctor, it may come back to bite you.”

White Lightning’s face reddened and Keepsie felt giddy at the risk she’d taken. Years of bitterness, pouring out of her. It felt good. She didn't think he would attack her, but lightning in a basement bar would be bad for business.

Timson looked at Ian. Her lip curled and she swallowed, saying, “Not everyone has what it takes to be a hero.” She tried to continue, but boos and hisses from the bar patrons drowned her out.

“You are extremely lucky that you just ended up with a bitter man instead of someone truly evil, Timson,” Keepsie dropped the honorific purposefully. “Ian is a good man. And he’s the most powerful Third Waver I know. And you guys dumped him in the gutter.

“So let’s get down to business.” Keepsie leaned forward on the bar.

“What will you give me for doing this favor for you? My own license? Money?

The respect they get?” She waved her hand at the heroes.

Timson cleared her throat. “There is the greater good to think about-” she began, and the bar booed her loudly again.

Keepsie laughed. “Does White Lightning use his powers for the greater good, or does he get money from my taxes so he can protect everyone?”

“Including you!” White Lightning said. “I saved your sorry life today!”

Keepsie snorted. “And now I owe you? Does everyone in Seventh City owe you? No. We pay our taxes and that pays your salary. And really,” she added, looking his perfectly shaped body up and down, “I really can’t respect anyone who names himself after moonshine."

Her audience laughed and White Lightning clenched his fists.

“I offered you my services once,” Keepsie said to Timson. “You said no. I moved on. No takebacks. Now, are you going to order a drink or am I going to have to ask you to leave?”

“Keepsie, the object belongs to us,” Timson said. “You can’t keep it.”

Keepsie slammed her hand flat on the bar. “That is where you are one hundred percent wrong, Dr. Timson. You said it yourself, keeping something safe is the only thing I do well, and if keeping it makes life tough for you, then I will be proud to keep it. Thanks to my ‘useless’ talent, there is no way you can take it.”

The heroes stood uncomfortably as she stepped out from behind the bar, walked over the door, and put the CLOSED sign in the window. She opened the door and waited.

“There are ways we can make you give it to us,” White Lightning growled.

“No, there aren’t.”

“Kinda losing your ‘hero’ routine there, aren’t you, dude?” Ian said. He got off his bar stool and started rolling up his sleeves. Peter put his hand on Ian’s arm as White Lightning stepped forward.

“Try it, little man,” he said.

“Don’t,” Peter said. After a pause, Ian sat down again. Dr. Timson put her hand out as well to stop White Lightning. She gave Keepsie a long look and then motioned the heroes to leave.

Keepsie had only heard such applause in her dreams.

Peter watched Keepsie down drink after drink, at first celebrating with her, and then, as she got drunker, becoming more concerned.

Peter, Ian, Keepsie, Michelle and Samantha sat at the bar in relative quiet. Most of the customers had left, each pounding Keepsie on the back or hugging her. "Give 'em hell, girl!" said Barry as he left.

Hell indeed. While it had been quite cathartic to watch Keepsie use her minor talent (that of allowing no one to take what she owned) to confound the pompous heroes, it seemed to be a bad idea to make enemies of the strongest people in the city, possibly the world. Peter didn't like the look that the heroes had given Keepsie on their way out.

Peter hoped Keepsie was done drinking; Patricia, the waitress with the power to sober people up, had the night off. Peter had assumed he'd left his dragging-drunken-friends-home days back in college.

Ian and Samantha were no help. They had kept up with their host, matching her drink for drink. Michelle had slowed down after a few drinks.

“This feels so weird,” Keepsie said. “It’s not like I’m evil. I never wanted to be evil. It’s like we’ve always been told that heroes are good and the people that fight the heroes are bad. Am I evil? Do I need a laugh now? An evil laugh?”

Ian snickered. “I don’t think so, Keepsie. Not letting the heroes fuck you like a drunk prom date isn’t a bad thing.”

“So what were they after, anyway?” Samantha asked.

Keepsie didn't respond. “It was just so cool to see them grovel. They've been so -” she groped for a word, screwing up her face with effort, "superior for so long."

Samantha didn't pursue her question. “Well, they are stronger than we are. Do you really hate them so much?”

“I didn't have high hopes for the Academy,” Keepsie said, pouring more vodka into her glass and spilling a bit on the bar. “My talent is passive, after all. But sheesh, what Third Waver didn’t dream of joining the Academy on the off chance they say, ‘Why yes, we do have a large stash of doubloons to guard, here’s your costume, welcome to the Academy!’”

They all nodded.

"When Michelle and I talked about opening this bar," Keepsie said, frowning, "we just wanted a place to go where we could get away from them. I was really pissed off, guess I still am, but I didn’t figure I’d end up evil.”

“I had a hunch,” Michelle said, grinning at Keepsie. “You have those dark thick eyebrows, you clearly cheat your customers, and you’re just a hair above eating babies. When we got kicked out of the Academy, I knew you’d head toward villainy. Why do you think I stuck around so long? I’m protecting the world from Keepsie the villain!”

Peter was familiar with this story. Keepsie and Michelle had met when they applied at the Academy on the same day ten years earlier. They had been rejected immediately after a quick test each, and had gone looking for a drink together. The closest bar had been two blocks away and was a hero-worship area, signed pictures all over the walls, an old costume of Pallas’s, and other memorabilia. They had decided then to start their own bar, close to the Academy, to cater to First and Third Wavers.

Ian picked at a spot on his chin. “It’s a gray area. We’re not good or bad.

It's not like hoping the good guys lose means you hope the bad guys win.”

“Exactly!” shouted Keepsie, banging her hand on the bar and making them all jump. “That’s what I’m saying! Do I want this city run by Doodad and his little spidery things and smoke bombs and shit? No. But do I want these freaks to screw up the city and take all the credit and get a salary from my tax dollars? They can’t even give themselves reasonable hero names! I mean, White-fucking-Lightning? Come on!”

“However,” Samantha said quietly, fixing her brown eyes calmly on Keepsie, “who says we can’t work apart from them? We can’t work with them as heroes, but why can’t we work for the same goals? And if we happen to trip them up in the meantime, well, then…” She grinned.

“Who says we can’t do it?” Michelle said, staring at her. “Are you nuts?

The government, that’s who. The cops do their jobs, the heroes do their jobs, and us proles go about our daily business and kiss their asses. Without a badge or a license, we’re vigilantes and rogues setting ourselves up to be arrested by people stronger than us. Everyone knows that, where the hell have you been?”

Samantha's cheeks colored. “I wasn’t sure. I never registered with the Academy.” "Hey, really?” Ian asked.