Hero Stalker

Part Sixty-Six

The man behind the counter spent three minutes scrutinizing my old Bayton Community College ID card before he decided to hand over the cigarettes. The people behind me grumbled.

"What took you so long?" Valerie shouted when I joined her in the back of the store. She set down Needles and lit up, completely ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign.

"Long line." I said. "Weren't you trying to quit smoking?"

"Gloria, I'm no quitter."

I joined the other girls at the front desk, dishing out salmon tzatziki rolls, Portland rolls, Watermelon Surprise rolls, tofu almond rolls, and our special: the Healing Hearts roll. Half the profits would benefit the victims of the hospital attack. The other half would go towards Valerie's new car.

As I bent down to retrieve some sushi rolls from the bottom of the case, the other girls at the counter started giggling. "Oh my God!" one of them squeaked.

"Ms. Dodson?" a man said. Him again? I rolled my eyes and stood.

David Randolph leant over on the counter, his dark blue eyes sparkling. His tight black tee-shirt showed off his lean, muscular arms. The jeans hugging his tight ass probably cost fifty times more than what normal people paid for denim. "Any fun plans for the afternoon?" He stuffed a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar and winked at me.

Was this all about Dan picking on his car at the Speedway? You'd think a billionaire wouldn't have time for this petty nonsense. And thinking he could buy me? I'd have slapped him in a heartbeat if that wouldn't cost me my job.

"Buy something or leave." I told him.

He blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Buy something, or get out. And the sushi is all that's for sale."

He looked confused. Like the idea I wasn't a whore had trouble sticking in his brain. "Fine. Be that way. I'll see you later." Then he walked straight out the door.

If I saw him later, I'd grab my costume, knock him out, and call the PCD. Rich entitled bastard. Maybe some time in a cell would teach him how to treat women.

"Are you crazy?" Maddy, one of the teenagers, asked me. "He's rich."

"He's a misogynist."

She didn't seem to understand that word. I sighed and started making up a sample tray. I needed some fresh air. The rolls I carried out to distribute around the crowd vanished in thirty seconds, leaving me with a small window of time to walk around before the girls would notice.

The sun hung low in the cloudless summer sky. The streets of the historic district teemed with merchants and screaming children. Balloons hovered above the crowd, the smell of fries and grease filled the air, and the humidity lay over us like a blanket. The air wouldn't cool until evening, when they set off the fireworks. Next to the Centurion Expo, that display was my favorite part of Harbor Day. And by then, my speech would be over.

I stopped at one stall to admire an amber pendant, bought some fried Oreos from another, and watched an artist draw caricatures at a third. A bottle-breaking game was handing out plastic swords as prizes, and kids were hitting each other up and down the street. One pre-teen had reduced a younger child to tears. I thought of Patricia.

Back in the store, customers flew in and sushi flew out. Sweat dripped down my forehead as the air conditioning leaked out the front door. The endless dance of packing sushi into boxes, fiddling with the cash register, and recording sale after sale on the iPad plugged in under the counter nearly lulled me to sleep. Then sixteen-year-old Alexis spilled coffee on me.

"I'm so sorry!" she said as I ducked into the back of the shop.

"It's okay. I just have to go check on the installation at the expo." But first, I had to write her up for ruining merchandise. You couldn't hide anything from Valerie.

I changed in the back of an unlocked moving truck and used my remote to send my invisible purse flying towards the Tower. No way would I leave it out in public for the hours-long expo.

My legs threw me up on the roof of the store.

The people in line by the Sushi Queen's doors gasped as I leapt over the crowded street. If I ran at top speed, I'd probably put my foot through a historic roof. Besides, the buildings clustered together, making any and all jumps easy.

So I went slowly, conscious that every eye was on me. Cheers rose from the crowded streets. If I'd been down there, I'd have cheered too.

As I ran past Venue Two, an old shipping warehouse turned soundstage, David Randolph's voice blared from the speakers inside. "The Infinite Dawn line isn't just about building the car of the future. It's about making the future available to everyone!"

Everyone who has the money to buy a brand new car. I glanced through the warehouse windows to determine the CEO's position, launched myself onto the Venue Two's roof, and sliced open a hole with the blades on my feet.

Crash! My feet and a bunch of shingles dropped on the hood of an egg-shaped silver car. At least, I think it was a car. The audience—investors in suits near the front, spectators dressed for summer in the back—stared at me. "This Venue Three?" I shouted.

A lone man in the back started cheering. The whole audience joined him.

Randolph dug his fingernails into his palms. "No. It is not." His strained voice echoed over all the speakers. Someone had just learned what uncomfortable felt like.

"My bad. Honest mistake." I drew the grappling gun off my left hip and fired at one of the crossbeams in the roof. The hook wrapped around it and stuck fast. Pressing the second button yanked me off my feet. I swung up into the cross beams, cut another hole in the roof, and stood on top of the warehouse while the wire coiled back into the gun. It only took a few seconds.

Then I was back off and running.

"What took you so long?" Femme asked me when I walked through the double doors of OldTown Hall. She wore shiny silver cuffs stuffed with knock-out needles around her ankles and wrists, and brace full of throwing stars wrapped around the normally-bare top of her leg.

"You said two o'clock. It's one thirty."

"I said before two. You could interpret that a lot of ways. I suppose I just expected you to interpret that as early as possible."

"Yeah!" Pulse shouted. "I've been here all day." He lay on the tiled floor, legs propped up against a pillar, playing a game on his phone.

"I have a job."

He sneered. "I have a better power than you."

"Hey!" Femme said sharply. "We're in public. I want tomorrow's headline to read 'New Centurion Takes Oath', not 'Centurions Bicker Like Teenagers'."

"How about 'New Centurion Is A Total Bitch'?" Cypher strode down the hall, his floor length yellow cape billowing out behind him. His boots clicked on the marble tiles. "Hey, Shadowcat. What did I ever do to you?"

"What?" I stared at him. Had he convinced himself I was Harpy again?

"That was petty and rude. Uncalled for. I just came to say hi!"

It hit me. The blue eyes, the brown skin, that smile . . . not to mention how quickly he'd showed up at the Speedway. I'd heard that rumor on The Worldley Fewe dozens of times, but I'd also heard he was a woman or an alien.

David Randolph. I had accidentally befriended the richest man in Bayton.