Playing For Keeps

by Mur Lafferty

  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 us. 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.

  “Never.”

  “You know, I don’t think I know what your talent is,” Ian said, leaning unsteadily towards her.

  Samantha didn’t look up. Her hair obscured her face, and she muttered something low.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” Ian said. Samantha remained silent. “Look, Sam, I probably have the worst talent ever. You saw them when they looked at me. I make people sick when they see what I can do. What kind of talent is that for a good guy? Yours can’t be worse than mine.”

  “How old would you guys say I am?” Samantha asked, looking up and brushing her hair back. Gray streaks stood out against her curly brown hair and fine lines marked the soft skin around her eyes.

  “Oh, no, I’m not going there,” said Ian. “That’s up there with, ‘do I look fat?’”

  “All right, I’ll ask it another way. Do I look twenty-two?”

  Ian glanced at Peter who shook his head. “Um, no?” Ian said.

  “I’ll be twenty-two next week. My particular power comes with a rather strong curse. I can know anything, I’m fairly sure. But each piece of information costs me, I figure about a year off my life. When I was going to apply to the Academy, I decided it was worth it to use one of those years. I found out that if they had taken me, I would be dead of old age within a year. My information would be so useful that the cost to me would be acceptable in their eyes. I discovered my power when I was twelve, and I used it several times for stupid stuff—I won a lot of bets on sports games and elections—until I woke up one morning and discovered that my joints ached and my hair was gray.

  “No one else knows about my power except my parents. I just came here because it was a bar where the heroes didn’t hang out. Once I discovered what they would have done to me, I cancelled my plans to apply and have been living off the money I made with my bets.” She raised her glass to her lips and sucked at an ice cube.

  No one spoke. Keepsie screwed her eyes shut, apparently trying to focus. “Shit. That really sucks.”

  Peter smiled. “Succinctly put. Would you mind if I got you some water?”

  She shook her head.

  Ian hopped off his stool. “I’ll get it, I gotta whiz anyway.” He staggered toward the bathroom.

  “It’s brave of you to tell us this,” Peter said. “Who’s to say one of us isn’t an Academy agent? Or someone working with Doodad? There are a lot of people who would love to get their hands on your particular talent.”

  “Oh, there’s no Academy agent hanging out at Keepsie’s,” Samantha said, grinning. “What do we have to hide? Patricia’s sobering power is not in danger of taking over the city. And Peter, are you planning on smelling your way to villain-hood anytime soon?”

  Peter smiled thinly. He didn’t like to talk about his power very much; the power to determine private information about someone by smelling them had always felt shifty and perverted to him. He tried to avoid using it at all costs.

  Ian came out of the bathroom and headed into the kitchen.

  More somberly, Samantha said, “I got tired of keeping the secret, I guess. I don’t have any friends besides you guys, and I got tired of lying to you.”

  “That’s beautiful, Sam,” Keepsie said, hugging her.

  “Dear Lord,” Peter mumbled. “Ian, where is that water?”

  Ian didn’t respond. Peter and Michelle exchanged glances and slid off their stools, leaving Keepsie and Samantha to proclaim their undying friendship to each other.

  Ian came out from the kitchen just as they reached the door. His mouth was set in a flat line and he had lost all pretense of drunkenness. “Did you know what Keepsie can do? I mean, like how powerful her ta
lent is?”

  Peter shook his head. “All I know is people can’t steal from her. I’ve never seen it in action.”

  “I have,” said Michelle. “Who was dumb enough to steal from her?”

  Ian grimaced. “You’re about to find out. And she’s no help right now. Let’sjust hope her talent works when she’s bombed off her ass.”

  Keepsie had passed out on the bar, Samantha making a messy pillow for her with bar napkins. Peter sighed.

  Ian motioned for them to follow into the kitchen. “I was getting her water when I saw this.” He pointed at the floor beside the supply closet.

  A large cardboard box sat to the right. “Lost and Found” was written in black marker on the side, and various books, backpacks, umbrellas and other discards lay inside waiting for their owners. Everyone knew Keepsie’s lost and found was safe, because anything lost in the bar became the property of Keepsie, and therefore stayed there until she allowed it to leave.

  The man sitting in front of the box apparently did not know this. He was the most plain and nondescript man Peter had ever seen, the everyman, the perfect spy. Or the perfect villain.

  His brown hair was just a little too long, with enough dirty blond in it to make it look sad and forgettable. His hazel eyes seemed to switch between green and blue as he looked at them with a steady gaze. His age hovered around thirty, but Peter could see him looking younger or older with little effort.

  The man sat on the floor with one arm reaching inside the box.

  “Dude. It’s Clever Jack,” Ian whispered.

  The most notorious villain since Seismic Stan grinned up at them and waved with his free hand. “Hi there. Can someone go get Keepsie for me? I’m kind of stuck here.”

  * * * * *

  Ian and Peter made small talk about Keepsie’s afternoon while they waited for the very irritated Patricia to arrive. Michelle had found the waitress’s cell number on a phone list in Keepsie’s small office.

  “Huh. So she did have an office in the bar,” Ian said.

  They had called Patricia, apparently interrupting her on a date. After they impressed the importance to her, she finally said she’d come, but she had better be able to clock in overtime, and she was owed a day off.

  “Sure thing, whatever you like,” Michelle said.

  Samantha made her apologies and said good night, begging drunken tiredness. “Tell me everything that happens tomorrow night, right?” she asked. Peter nodded.

  Patricia arrived twenty minutes later, looking as if she had been drinking about as much as Keepsie had and did not appreciate being summoned. She stumbled a bit on her high heels and accepted Peter’s steadying hand with bad grace.

  “You’re going to make this up to me, right?” she asked.

  “Yes. We wouldn’t ask you to—”

  “I know,” Patricia said, “You told me on the phone. It’s ‘really important.’ Incidentally, my date with Marc Sneed, an executive with Seventh City Bank and Trust, was kind of important too!”

  Ian scowled at her. He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her, protesting, to the kitchen door. “If your date with Money-pants is more important than a villain who is currently stuck in Keepsie’s kitchen, with Keepsie passed out and unable to free him, then you just go right on back to him. Why don’t you let the Academy know about this on the way, and maybe you’ll get a better job there than you will have lost here!”

  Patricia’s eyes got wide. She peeked into the kitchen, the color draining from her cheeks. She walked over to Keepsie and placed her hand on the back of her head.

  A strong whiff of alcohol permeated the air, as if someone had spilled a bottle of vodka on a hot radiator. Keepsie raised her head off the bar, scowling.

  She smacked her lips a couple of times. “Isn’t it your night off?”

  “Hey, don’t look at me, I’ve got a date to get back to,” Patricia said, taking her coat from Peter. “Now, before I go, does anyone else need me? I’d like to be left alone for the rest of my evening.”

  Peter gave Ian a look.

  “No, man, I’m cool,” Ian said.

  Peter raised his eyebrows. “You’re prepared to deal with that?” He pointed to the kitchen.

  “Fine, Dad, whatever,” Ian said.

  After sobering Ian up, Patricia headed for the door. “Enjoy your battle with the villain, but don’t get into too much trouble. I need this crappy job where my bosses call me in the middle of my night off.”

  “There goes her raise,” Michelle said lightly.

  Keepsie rubbed her face. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on? I mean, I appreciate the lack of hangover tomorrow, but Patricia’s not someone we want to lose.”

  Ian looked at Peter. He took a deep breath.

  “Keepsie, that thing that the heroes were trying to get. Where did you put it?”

  Keepsie’s eyes narrowed. “In the Lost and Found box. It’s still there.”

  “Oh, yes,” Peter said. “Only I believe someone has tried to steal it from you. I have to commend your power, Keepsie, I didn’t know it was so effective.”

  Keepsie’s eyes widened. “Who would be stupid enough to—”

  “Clever Jack,” Ian said in a low voice.

  Keepsie gave a low whistle. “Whoa. I didn’t know he was back in town.”

  “Peter thinks he’s, like, working with Doodad or something,” Ian said. “I don’t think Doodad told him not to steal from you, though.” He grinned.

  “He’s in there right now? Stuck?” Keepsie asked.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Peter said. “That’s why we had to sober you up. This is all you, Keepsie.”

  “But we can’t fight a villain!” she said. “Then again, I’ll be damned if I call the Academy to help. If I set him free, he’ll have that thing Doodad gave me. And if I don’t, he’ll be stuck in the kitchen. Colette won’t like that.”

  Peter smiled at the thought of the boisterous cook having to step over Clever Jack every time she needed to leave the kitchen.

  “Well. We could talk to him,” Ian said after a pause.

  They gaped at him. “You do know who he is, right?” Keepsie asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, I’ve heard the stories. But they can’t all be true, can they?” Ian asked, looking uncomfortable as they all started shaking their heads.

  “I’ve seen him in action, he’s the real thing,” Peter said. He winced at the memory. Clever Jack had a passive power much like Keepsie’s. His incredible luck kept him alive in any circumstance, giving him the dexterity to dodge attacks and attempts to capture him. This power also allowed Clever Jack to be impossibly accurate with any weapon. Peter had seen him throw a steak knife and pin two police officer’s hands to a wall, one on top of the other. He had escaped handcuffs without incident and gunfights without a scratch.

  How had Keepsie’s power caught him, then?

  “I think,” Peter said, “you need to tell us what happened today, and what this mysterious item is.”

  Keepsie sighed and told them the story of her capture, the drop Doodad had made, and her attempt to figure out what it was.

  She held her thumb and forefinger together to make a circle. “It’s just a ball bearing about this big; no seams, no obvious use.”

  “Doodad’s mechanical power is probably what drives it, whatever it is,” Peter said. “Why did he plant it on you just to have Clever Jack steal it back?”

  “Hell if I know,” Keepsie said. “Maybe they’re not working together after all. Maybe we should talk to him.”

  They groaned.

  “I know, but we have to do something,” she said. “Besides, he asked for me.” She stepped forward and put her hand on the kitchen door.

  Her friends remained motionless. Keepsie looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  4

  Keepsie took a deep breath. She’d had Patricia’s sobering services before, but it was always disorienting to lose a good strong drunk in the span of two seconds. It wa
s rather like a deepsea diver surfacing too quickly, although there had been no apparent risk of catching the bends with sobering up in an instant.

  She had no idea what she would say to Clever Jack, but she pushed on the door and entered the kitchen.

  He sat exactly where her power had trapped him. His arm was stuck inside the Lost and Found box, and he looked up at her, smiling.

  “Ah, so you’re Keepsie. I wasn’t sure which one you were,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but you’ve already got it in a pretty tight grip.”

  Keepsie didn’t laugh. “Yeah, I was the one outside trying to enjoy a little celebration. What do you want?”

  “Hey, calm down, I’m not the enemy. My friend Doodad dropped something today, I’m just trying to get it back for him.” Damn, but he was friendly.

  Keepsie felt her friends’ presence behind her and took a deep breath. “I don’t think you understand me. I know what you’re trying to steal, but what is it? What do you want with it?”

  Clever Jack looked at Keepsie as if she were slow. “Oh, that’s not important right now. The important thing is that you get me out of this box. I just need to get Doodad’s toy back and I’ll be on my way.”

  “So first I’m being used by the heroes, then the villains?” Keepsie frowned.

  Clever Jack looked offended. “Now why did you have to go and use that word for? I thought you had no love for those hero-types, and here you are putting down myself and my friend Doodad.”

  “You’re the one trying to steal from her, at least the heroes had the decency to ask first,” Michelle said, stepping forward.

  Keepsie glared at her. “What?” Michelle whispered, looking wounded.

  “This is Keepsie’s show,” Ian whispered to her. Michelle stepped back, glaring at Ian.

  “True, but it was never hers to begin with,” Clever Jack said. “It was Doodad’s. He loaned it to her.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Keepsie said. “If he gives it to me, it’s mine. No take-backs.” She thought for a moment. “So how did Doodad know about me, anyway? And how did the heroes find out that I had the—whatever it is?”