Blackjack Messiah

by Ben Bequer

  “Yeah,” Terry said, “But it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

  I laughed, knowing it was Superdynamic’s final “fuck you” as he sent me off into the world.

  “Whatever. It’s gotta be tough cause there’s a bunch of archers all over,” he said. “I mean, we got another one on the team, you know. But I’d look and see if there’s anything else.”

  “I’m kind of stuck with it for the time being.”

  “Really?” he shook his head, giving me a closer once-over. “Shadowshaft. It’s, like, the worst name ever. Dude, I love how you’re rocking the mane. Wish I could grow it out, but check it,” he gestured to his receding hairline. “Rest of me’s god-like but this shit got nerfed.”

  Terry walked past, “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Nina’s crashed out,” Bajeera said, then turned to me. “Wait til you see her, bro. Bigass titties,” he said, cupping his hands over his chest. “I’m still trying to get me some of that nasty stuff, but maybe she don’t like black guys, you know?” he motioned to himself. He was the dark caramel of Indian or Pakistani descent.

  “I get lost in them,” he went on. “Like, I just fucking zone out. God, I love tits.” Powermaster gave him a disapproving look but Invictus shrugged, “Anyway, she’s sleeping, man. Roy’s out back practicing. You and him should get acquainted. Two archers, Terr, isn’t that fucked up? Probably the first time ever in superhero history.”

  “It’ll work out,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah man. If you’re anything as good as Roy, we’ll be rocking. I mean, me and Nina are the tanks, you and Roy are ranged. Powermaster and Dixie are CC and heals.”

  He paused, waiting to see if I followed. “From MMO’s, man. You know the archetypes, right?”

  “Video game archetypes?” I said, looking for Terry to save me, but he was satisfied watching us get acquainted. Then I recalled Ricochet and Templar’s game. “Is that like Dynasty?”

  “Oh, you know it?” Bajeera said. “Yeah, it’s how I stay frosty, man. MMO’s are against real people too. So you’re like fighting real fuckers all over the world.”

  “Like the twelve-year-old?”

  He laughed, “Man, fuck that little shit. Probably sitting in his mother’s basement, all fat and smelly.” He suddenly got serious, “By the way, don’t make fun of fat stuff around Dixie. She’s a little heavy if you get my meaning, but if you bring that shit up she’ll get all moody, and then machines don’t work, and lights start popping off. I mean, every time she’s on her period we lose internet for like three days.”

  “Enough of that,” Terry said with the first edge I had ever heard in his voice. A blonde approached, stretching with a yawn. She could only be Nina Haze

  Nina was like an Apogee-light, tough and strong. She was also gorgeous, voluptuous and sexy, just like Apogee. She wore tight blue jeans and high-laced leather boots, with a leather vest that pressed her ample bust upwards into the cleavage that Bajeera had trouble keeping his eyes off of. Her long blond hair was cut into bangs across her forehead, giving her a deceptively young look.

  “God, you’re loud,” she told Bajeera. “You must be Blackjack.”

  “I am,” I said, taking her hand.

  She scanned me with blue eyes so light in color they inched toward gray on the outer rims of the corneas, and I could tell she approved. I felt like a lightweight without my bulk, but it seemed like the ladies appreciated the slim look.

  “Whatever you do,” she said, not letting go of my hand. “Don’t listen to anything he has to say.”

  “Blackjack?” Bajeera said, a bit surprised.

  “Seriously,” she said. “He’s a first class ticket into getting thrown off the team.”

  Nina let go of my hand and went to a small kitchen.

  “Who’s Blackjack?”

  Powermaster shook his head in disbelief. “I told you he was joining us. Shadowshaft is a cover name.”

  Bajeera turned to me, nodding in approval. “Why not use Blackjack? It’s awful, but it’s better than Shadowpenis.”

  Terry and I shared a look. Apparently, Bajeera didn’t know who I was, what it meant to have me here. “Anyway, didn’t I tell you,” he said, juggling melons in pantomime again as Nina walked away. “Hey, you play Dynasty?”

  “Later,” Terry said, herding me back towards the stairs. “Let’s go meet Roy.”

  “That’s cool,” Bajeera said, shaking my hand again, this time street-style, cupping it with the other. “Come back up when you’re done and we’ll pile drive some of these little bitches.”

  I waited until we were halfway down the stairs before speaking. “He didn’t know?”

  “I told the team,” Terry said. “I don’t think Bajeera’s paying attention to our group meetings.”

  The rear of the firehouse was about two acres of open field with a highway overpass running behind it. A bare-chested fellow fired arrows with slow precision at a large, hay-filled target about fifty paces away.

  Red Quiver was an old hand at superhero work, and though he had to be in his late forties or early fifties, the guy possessed a musculature that would make Bruce Lee blush and head back to the gym. He wasn’t bulky or big, just lean and defined. Clean shaven with a salt and pepper buzz cut, the top of his head barely made it to my armpit. Every time he pulled back on the draw, his chest widened, splaying his impressive lats. He held the shot until he was satisfied with the aim and then fired. I looked at his grouping of a dozen or so shots and felt terribly inadequate.

  “Roy,” Terry said, walking up to Red Quiver. The archer had just nocked an arrow, and said nothing, aiming. After he released the arrow – another bullseye – the bow lowered and he turned to meet us. He saw me and nodded, moving to close the gap between us and shaking my hand.

  “Blackjack, huh? Nice to meet you,” he said, his Filipino accent smooth, but still apparent. He was making an effort to sound pleasant, but his face was stern, his gaze flat and unaffected.

  “You too,” I said. “Hell of a shot.”

  He didn’t acknowledge the compliment, nocking another arrow.

  “Do you have gear?” he asked.

  “We just came by to meet the team,” Terry answered for me.

  “Borrow mine,” Red Quiver said, offering me his lacquered English longbow. It reminded me of one I had made by hand ages ago, lost in the first battle against Pulsewave and the rest of Rising Sun.

  I took it without thinking, marveling at the work of art.

  “Make it yourself?” I asked. He nodded, a small grin horning in on his diffident attitude. The guy had flair, too. He had etched the entire bow with a carving knife, leaving a pattern of vines and leaves. “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “I can make you one if you like,” he said, nodding when I looked at him with disbelief. We had just met and he was offering to make a bow that I knew would take hundreds of hours of work.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Try it,” he offered, pulling an arrow from the dozens in his arrow bags.

  “Sure?” I said, taking the arrow.

  He nodded, stepping back behind me.

  I fired an arrow and got it near the bullseye. Mine was lost in a sea of his, mostly clustered around the center of the target, but the shot was a good one. I turned back to see Roy’s eyes, and I knew he could pick my shot out of the hay.

  “Wow,” I said, marveling at the bow.

  “Not bad,” he said, and I noticed him giving Powermaster an approving nod as if I passed some test.

  “Can I shoot another?”

  Roy nodded, “Be my guest.”

  I fired another dozen shots not really trying to hit the bullseye, opting to find a good firing rhythm instead and work on grouping my shots tightly.

  “He shoots by feel,” Roy said, responding to the unasked question on Terry’s face. “He’s not aiming.”

  “Old school,” I said.

  Terry was about to talk when an alarm shrieked from the fi
rehouse. I was confused, but Terry and Roy looked at each other grimly. “We got one!” Bajeera said, coming to a window and sliding it open. “Saddle up ladies and gents. Time to bust some heads!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Official/Unofficial status

  I came along in an unofficial/official status. I’d filled out all the paperwork and insurance stuff, so I was officially part of the team, but Powermaster didn’t want to rush things. Besides, I didn’t even have my suit or bow.

  Invictus’ suit was much like his casual clothing. He wore black leather pants with heavy boots and knee pads, a silver buckle with a middle finger splayed upward, and a tight black tank top. He carried a huge metal stick with him that he identified for me as a tetsubo.

  Nina wore what I had seen her in, the only difference was a leather jacket atop the vest and leather fingerless gloves. She sat in front of me, angled to the side, sparing me more than a passing glance.

  Powermaster was in his old blue and white spandex suit with its long cape. He was obviously on a work-out regimen, and far thinner at the waist than when we had first met. His mask covered the top half of his face but left his mouth and chin uncovered. The eye plates moved, which was equal parts fascinating and weird. He actually looked pretty sharp.

  Red Quiver’s suit, a burgundy leather affair, with both arms free save for a wrist guard on his right hand, and finger rings. He pressed a domino mask over his face, straightening it in the van’s mirror. He had two capped quivers over his shoulders, one in each direction, and another one strapped to his left thigh.

  The smell of burning diesel was strong in the van. The bay doors were unlocked, so I cracked it, and the fresh air made an immediate difference. Nina nodded in thanks when she saw. None of them spoke as we drove, even Bajeera was pensive, though none of them seemed scared. I sat in the back, dressed in civvies, with orders from Powermaster to hang back, help bystanders, and stay invisible. The only gear I had were my Asskickers.

  “Any word from fatty?” Bajeera said, chewing on a protein bar.

  “Nothing,” Powermaster said from the driver’s seat. “We should have enough firepower to handle anything.”

  “What are we dealing with?” Nina asked, almost bored.

  Roy reached over to the police scanner and turned it up. The police dispatcher was directing men, but from the yelling of the officers on the scene, all Hell had broken loose. Invictus reached for the handset, and I was sure Terry or Roy would object, but nobody said anything as he toggled the channel open. “KCPD, All-Stars 10-17. 10-42?”

  “Thank fucking god,” said a voice from the other end. “10-110.”

  “You speak cop,” I said, unable to mask my surprise.

  “Bajeera wore the badge for five years,” Nina said.

  He let go of the toggle and winked at me. “I’m a fucking onion, baby.”

  The van erupted, even Roy laughed, turning to bump fists with Bajeera, who reopened the channel to the police. “Dispatch, we’re five minutes out from Penn Valley Park. What else can you tell us?”

  “All-Stars,” the dispatcher said. “We’ve got some dinosaur thing leveling buildings. Alerting patrol to clear your approach.”

  As we rolled into downtown southbound via I-35, dust and debris rose in a decentralized cloud. Powermaster brought us to a staging area the local cops had set up, and a police captain joined us. “Thank God you guys are here,” he said. “We’ve formed a perimeter on the West at Summit and East at Main and from Pershing on the North down to West 31st. That thing is immune to gunfire.”

  “What thing?” Terry asked.

  “It’s like a dinosaur demon thing. Maybe thirty feet tall.”

  “More,” interjected another officer, who was nursing a nasty wound to the side of his head. “Maybe twice that, Cap.”

  The captain nodded, deferring to the other officer’s direct experience, “Tell them, Howlett.”

  Officer Howlett sat atop a police cruiser and made no effort to move. “It looks like a raptor,” he said, and I saw Powermaster and Quiver share a look. “Last I saw, it was near the skate park, headed Northeast towards the war memorial.”

  “Dark brown with bright orange markings?” Terry asked, and the cop nodded. “Thanks, officer,” he said as we all moved away.

  “Dealt with this before?” I wondered aloud, following the team as they broke into a light jog down the abandoned streets.

  “Yeah,” Red Quiver said.

  “Trick’s minimizing property damage,” Powermaster said, leading the way. “Nina, Baj, you guys taunt him away from the war memorial,” he paused, thinking a moment. “Back to the main park. We’ll trap him near the baseball fields. Quiv, you and Blackjack wait and follow him, make sure he doesn’t get distracted, and help the civilians.”

  The Kansas City All-Stars went into action, leaving me behind for a moment. I have to admit, I was geeking out, watching how pro they were. Powermaster ran forward with boundless energy, leading the charge, with Bajeera and Nina close behind. Red Quiver stopped, beckoning me forward, then raced after his teammates. I had tried a run earlier in the day, and it served as a warning that I was still convalescing, but their enthusiasm was contagious. I broke into a run, catching up to Powermaster moments later. “Weren’t you a scientist or something?” he asked as I came up to him.

  “Engineer,” I said, but I saw he wasn’t listening, instead, coming to a full stop.

  “See that pharmacy right there?” he said, digging an 8” tablet from one of his pouches, and pointing at a small mom and pop corner store on the map. If my bearings were right, the place was only a couple of miles away. “Ask the cops back there for a bike and get me,” Powermaster paused, thumbing through the tablet’s interface to a notepad listing. “Here,” he said, handing me the pad. “Get me this.”

  He chased after his team, taking two steps before the beastie turned the corner on us. It was an upright lizard monstrosity, more than fifty feet tall, with a massive head and jaws wide enough to engulf a man whole. It had brown mottled skin with long streaks of bright orange across the sides like open scars. The big bastard tore through the foliage, gazing lazily in our direction, then turning away from us, long legs powering it away with surprising speed. A long straked tail trailed behind, churning the ground and tossing mounds of earth aside.

  “Damn,” Powermaster said. “It’s bigger than usual.”

  “I can take it,” I said, clenching my fists. Power the boots up, put a couple of shots in a leg joint, and it’d be down for the count.

  But Powermaster threw his hands up, “No, no, no. This is different, okay? Get me that stuff and try to catch up with us.”

  I stared, gape-mouthed as the massive thing rushed away so fast it was gone in an instant.

  “Jesus!” he exclaimed, at the loud crash, and turned back to me. “Hurry!”

  Then he ran off.

  I thought about flying to the store with the boots, but I wanted to show Powermaster that I could follow orders, so I ran back to the staging area. The same guy we spoke with earlier, Howlett jogged up to me as I caught my breath. “You ok,” he said. “We got EMT’s”

  “I’m fine. Need a motorcycle or something.”

  “O'Connell! You got your ride?”

  Howlett led me to a small motor pool. Most of the vehicles were ambulances and a small tent where paramedics were triaging patients. O'Connell led me to his motorcycle and handed me the keys. “Treat her nice.”

  “Will do,” I said and rode off, back wheel tearing up the ground.

  I threw the pharmacy’s door open hard enough that the windows expanded in their sealed frames. The place was dark and quiet. Power was down all around downtown Kansas City, and though the main action was a couple of miles from here, I could hear the monster’s roar. The ground shook with every step it took, shaking dust and sediment loose from the old ceiling.

  “Hello?” I shouted into the empty store, and an older woman wearing a lab coat popped her head out from a back
office, her hands raised to fend off falling bits of the ceiling.

  “Hi,” I said. “I need-”

  “We’re closed, dear,” she said, returning to her hiding spot under a desk.

  “Ma’am, I need some medicine here.”

  “You’ll have to wait, then,” she snapped. “You realize there’s a monster rampaging-”

  “It’s about that,” I interrupted. “I need these,” I looked at the list of five medicines. “Looks like antipsychotic drugs. Powermaster sent me to-”

  “Powermaster, you said?” she said, rising to her feet. Her name tag identified her as Pinter.

  “Yes, goddammit!”

  The woman cocked her head with displeasure. “I’ll not have that language in my store, young man.”

  I clenched my fists into tight balls, then let go, counting down from ten. “I’m sorry, Ms. Pinter,” I managed, using her name to put her at ease. “It’s just that lives are at risk.”

  She strolled forward, hands at the hips and her faced pursed in disapproval. “No reason to take the Lord’s name in vain. Now let me see that, thing.” Ms. Pinter stopped, looking at the tablet as I handed it over, but the time-lock had engaged and the screen was blank. “It’s not working,” she said.

  I took the thing and swiped the screen to life, but it wanted a passcode. I sighed in frustration as Powermaster hadn’t given it to me. I hadn’t even thought to ask. It never occurred to me he would use a password. The thought of terrifying this already frightened old lady was the only thing that kept me from bursting into laughter.

  “Oh dear,” she said.

  I shook my head, “No worries, ma’am. I have a good memory. Clozapine 100 milligrams, Benztropine 1 mg, Haloperidol Decanoate 100 mg, Lorazepam 2 mg, and Fluoxetine HCL, and,” I paused, forgetting the last number.

  She smiled and took a pencil and notepad, noting down what I had said. “I’ll know how much. I think I know what’s going on.”

  “Do you?” I said, following her. “Those doses don’t look like they’d affect a thing that size.”