The City That Heroes Built

by Daniel Pierce

  “Hide,” she said. She continued running. I kept my head down, closed my eyes and didn't move or breathe. I heard a pop, and the sizzle of Chain Lightning's electrical field. She stood at the end of the alley, took a couple steps in, and with a loud crackle disappeared. I heard another pop down the street as she exited the electrical system in pursuit of Jen.

  I stayed in the garbage for longer than I should have. Terror and shame pinned me down. It took too long, and a call from Fiver, for me to recover. I stood as I answered the phone.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  I looked out of the alley. The street signs were not illuminated, the nearest light being destroyed on Chain Lightning's arrival. “Hang on.” I walked close enough to see the names of the cross streets and gave them to him. He arrived a couple of minutes later, running up to me very fast. Fast for a person running, maybe faster, but not supra-fast like Liberty. He pulled up in front of me and caught his breath.

  He rubbed his thighs. “I've got to stop wearing jeans to these fights. Where is Jen?”

  “I couldn't keep up, so she told me to hide and she ran off.”

  “Yeah? Good on her. Which way did she go?”

  I pointed. “We were turning every time Chain Lightning jumped into the electrical system. She may not still be heading that way.”

  “I think I know where she's heading,” Fiver said. “Go that way for a block and follow 8th. Just walk and stick to the shadows, no need to stand out, and you don't need to rush.”

  He ran in the direction he pointed. I followed and turned on 8th Street. Within a few minutes, he was heading back my way.

  “I think she got away,” he said.

  “How do you know?” I asked. I felt terrible. Between my cowardice, fear, teleportation nausea, and early stages of survivor guilt, I was a wreck. I felt like Fiver could see it all on my face.

  “Why don't you text her and ask,” he said. “Come on, Murphy's isn't far, and we'll never get a cab or uber here.” We started walking. Neither of us said anything in the fifteen minutes it took for us to get to the bar. The temperature had dropped, leaving me shivering by the time we arrived. Fiver unlocked the front door and let me in. Despite having my choice of seats, I went to the same table where we always sat.

  Fiver brought whiskey. I drank with him. I didn't have any calls or texts from Jen, but Cal reported Simon was stable and he'd made contact with the healer. By our third whiskey Cal walked in.

  “Simon's safe,” he said. “Healer is back home, but she's pissed and says you owe her.”

  “Yeah, she sent me a list of demands. We're going to need to go to the bank when this settles down,” Fiver said.

  “I'm crashing,” Cal said. “You want to go?”

  “Yeah,” Fiver said. “Can you take Tom?”

  “You want to crash on my couch?” Cal asked. “I can't be bothered to get you all the way home.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  “Okay, I'm going to take everyone to Fiver's and then we'll jump to my place,” Cal said. “If you feel sick after the first jump, just stay put, we'll be at mine a second later.”

  We all stood up. Cal grabbed Fiver and me. The bar disappeared and we were inside a huge apartment. Two seconds later, a different apartment, equally as large.

  I don't remember falling asleep.

  June 29 - June 30, 2021

  I woke up to Cal talking on the phone.

  “No shit, I'd be pissed, too. I'd blame you, too. Yeah, so head to the bank today. Take Tom and Jen so you can rotate first base.” He looked over at me. “Yeah, he just woke up. Alright.”

  “Hey, can you go grab an overnight bag and your car? Fiver needs a ride.”

  “Uhm. What?”

  “Taxi home, grab a change of clothes and a toothbrush. Drive to Murphy's and get Fiver. Somewhere in there, bring Jen along, too.”

  “We're taking a change of clothes to take Fiver to the bank? Where's the bank?”

  “Vegas,” Cal said.

  “Please tell me we're going to knock over a casino.”

  “Settle down, Sammy Davis. It's totally legal. I made that up, I don't know if it's legal. Fiver's really good at cards. He'll explain on the way there.”

  I struggled to get off the couch, but called a cab and went home. Jen wasn't answering my texts. I showered, threw a change of clothes into a backpack, and went to get Fiver. Jen texted while I was driving.

  I'm fine. Exhausted. Talk to you soon.

  Fiver was waiting inside Murphy's wearing a suit and tie. He was talking down an angry East Coast Steve.

  “Dude,” Fiver said. “Dude. Chill out.”

  “Okay, you're not funny, and I'm not going to chill out,” Steve said. “I'm out a lot of money.”

  “I'll get you money,” Fiver said. “Money's not a problem. I'll have a hundred grand tomorrow. Look, my ride is here. I'll see you tomorrow night and I'll have cash.”

  He ushered East Coast Steve out and locked the bar. Steve stormed off. Fiver and I got in my car.

  “So, Vegas?” I asked.

  “Vegas, yeah. Traffic should be decent midweek. Wake me up when we get there.” He closed his eyes and fell asleep. He slept through the stop for fuel and the In N Out in Barstow, and stayed asleep until I nudged him as we came over the hill on the 15 and Vegas sprawled out in front of us.

  “Oy! Wake up.”

  Fiver blinked and shook himself awake.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “We're staying at the Mirage,” he said. “I like the pool there. But we're playing at Caesar's to start. You got a Red Bull?”

  “Cooler in the back,” I said. “Am I supposed to be wearing a suit?”

  “Nope, we want to look like we've never met before. I'm wearing a suit because I knew you'd come dressed like you were going to sit around in your living room all day,” Fiver said. “So, here's the plan. While you get yourself a room, I'm going to sit down at a blackjack table with a thousand dollar limit and a hundred dollar minimum. You come in to the casino and sit to my immediate right. If that seat is taken, you ask me to move because I'm in your lucky chair. I'll move over to your left. If we can't find the right combo of seats, you find a place where you can sit first base, all the way to the right, and I'll sit to your immediate left.”

  “That's your gambling secret?”

  “If I touch my glass, you stand. If I play with my chips, you hit. If I say, I think you should double down on something, do it. If I take insurance, you take insurance.”

  “Glass, stand. Chips hit. You insurance, I insurance.”

  “If I want you to double down on something, you do it. And you're going to need to drink,” he said. “We're going to play erratically, the drinking help explains that. Other than that, we're two strangers that are meeting for the first time at a blackjack table.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Are you going to tell me how this works?”

  “We're going to get really lucky when we double down.”

  “That's the whole thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you've got ESP or something?”

  “Something,” he said and left it at that.

  Outside of Caesar's, he gave me $2500. “Two for playing, five hundred for your room.” I dropped him off and parked the car at the Mirage. I checked in and walked over to Caesar's. I found him where he said he would be, playing blackjack at an otherwise empty table. It was a little past three in the afternoon, and the tourists in town had gathered around the tables that surrounded the gorgeous dealers in sexy outfits. I counted about $10,000 in chips in ten stacks. I took the seat to his right.

  Fiver bet $1000, I bet $100. I watched his hands, and kept up with his drinking. His card playing advice didn't help me. I burned through $1600. Fiver went up to $25,000. His double downs always pulled good cards, and his insurance was dead on. We didn't get blackjack more often than expected or anything like that, but Fiver won more than he lost and he won the big hands. We mad
e small talk, and pretended to be meeting for the first time. He pounded vodka Red Bulls, and insisted that I join him.

  When he reached $25,000, he told the dealer he'd like to move to a table with higher limits. I asked if I could tag along and watch him play, and he of course agreed. We were directed to a table with a $10,000 limit and a gorgeous dealer dressed to distract. Fiver won four of his first six hands, including a bet where he doubles down on a soft 16, and another where he doubled down on a 17. Both times he pulled 21. When he reached $50,000 a manager came over and watched him play. When he reached $100,000, a new dealer came over.

  She was an old Asian woman. She moved slowly to her position. I felt something like static electricity in my thoughts. My heart started to pound. I felt like Fiver was about to be found out, though I hadn't myself detected any way he could be cheating.

  “You're taking away my lucky dealer,” Fiver complained. He tipped her $2000. I watched her sway on her way out the door. Fiver ordered expensive Scotch, and one for me. He told me to grab a seat to his right. “You were bringing me luck sitting there before.”

  He raised his bet to $10,000 a hand and lost three hands in a row.

  “Go fucking sit over there,” Fiver growled. I moved over to the far side of the table. I was worried the new dealer, or perhaps the manager watching had countered his skill. The $10,000 bet made me nervous, but his luck turned. He won a couple hands, yelled, “Boom goes the dynamite!” when he got a blackjack. He went on a mini streak, aggressively doubling down and winning each time, then had an insane hand when he split fours twice and doubled down on each hand. The dealer held a three, turned a queen, and busted on a jack. Fiver pounded the table, $60,000 richer in an instant. Around $200,000, I started to get nervous, he started to get greedy. He'd win four hands in a row, and then lose four. Then another blast of luck and his stack of chips grew over $300,000. Fiver got louder as he won. I got quieter.

  “Man, that's a hell of a pile,” I said. “If I were you, I'd take that and get the hell out of town.”

  “I think I've got one more streak of luck left in me,” Fiver said. It took awhile, but it came. He won five in a row.

  “You should quit while you're ahead,” I said.

  “Not in the middle of a streak,” he said. He doubled down and won, then lost his next hand. “Now I'm done.” He tipped the dealer and left the table up $360,000. I congratulated him and left. He texted me to meet up later. The whole thing took about three hours.

  “Jesus,” was all I could say when he showed up grinning.

  “Let's get some dinner,” he said. We ate and drank, and lost some of the money back to Caesar's playing poker, and playing low stakes blackjack at the tables with the sexy dealers. Fiver was comp'd a suite. He flashed his World Series of Poker bracelet and his stack of chips, and chatted up girls before finding one who wanted to see his suite and disappearing with her for the night.

  I was not as lucky. I lost a couple grand playing blackjack and staring at the dealers, then wandered the Strip and lost more money at Planet Hollywood. I slept in an amazing room alone, and in the morning drove Fiver back to Santa Maria.

  “So you going to tell me how you managed to win all that?”

  “I never bust and I win the big pots.”

  “What's your power?”

  “I never bust and I win the big pots. Also I got lucky.”

  “Pretty decent power.”

  “I like it.”

  “I'm pretty sure that doubling down on 17 and pulling a four got you noticed by the casino,” I said. He shrugged.

  We reached Santa Maria in about five hours, and went right to Murphy's. East Coast Steve showed up and Fiver handed over $150,000.

  “A good start,” Steve said.

  “Don't spend it all in one place.”

  When Steve left, Fiver handed me $20,000 and got up. “I need a lift across town.”

  “Where to now?”

  “Got to pay my healer.”

  “Are you going to tell me who she is?”

  “On the way.”

  In the car, Fiver gave me the story.

  “She's the daughter of the Emir of California,” Fiver said. “Shianna Mohammed. The Emir couldn't find her, and I tracked her down. Found her with a guy she didn't want her dad to know about. I agreed not to mention it, and she agreed to do me favors. She works for the Muslim Anti-Defamation League, and runs another charity to provide for refugees who settled here. I pay her back by defending her friends from gangs, intimidation, and racists. She's also got a problem with jihadis trying to use her organization to get into the country. She tips me off, and I point someone in their direction to shwack them before they can crash an airplane into a building.”

  “That's kind of racist.”

  “I'm not talking about your average Muslim. I'm talking about legitimate terrorists.”

  “How many times has this happened?” I asked.

  “Twice. Sort of a third time, but some government supras got them first.”

  “So why are we going to see her now?”

  “I'm going to go see her so I can contribute money to buy apartment buildings for the refugees she's looking after.”

  “You really like throwing money around, don't you?” I asked.

  “It's for a good cause,” he said.

  I dropped him off at an office building. He was gone about 20 minutes. I read the news while he was out. There was an article about the battling gangs and vigilantes trying to contain them. The Chill and Moccasin worked independent against smaller gangs, while the Guardian Angels acted against the Stone City supras, serving mostly as a deterrent to keep them from leveling the neighborhood. Almost as an after thought, there was mention of Catchpenny being active in the area, though there were no actions attributed to him.

  While I was reading, Jen sent me a link to another article. LEGION had dug up another body, not one on our lists.

  FUCK was my reply.

  I passed on the info to Fiver when he came back.

  “Why do you think they want the bodies?” he asked.

  “No idea.”

  “None? What would you do if you could make zombie supras?”

  “Still no idea. Can I control them?”

  “I don't think so. Bloody Rose is not under any kind of control.”

  “I don't know. Assuming they have the bodies, but haven't raised them, I'd have to guess they'd do something big. Maybe try to put them in a position to create chaos while I committed a real crime of incredible value,” I said. “Like a major distraction that would occupy the Guardian Angels and Free Force and the independent supras, so I could do something big. I don't know what would be that big. What about you?”

  “I'd take the zombie out into the desert and fight it.”

  “Why?”

  “Practice,” he said. “You could go full on, and not worry about the moral problems with killing something.”

  “I don't think that LEGION would be worried about something like that.”

  “Maybe not the moral problem, but what about practice?” Fiver said. “Cal and I try to practice tactics, but it takes a live fight to realize what we did wrong, and there's not a lot of survivability in this business if you fuck up the first time. Maybe LEGION is practicing.”

  I gave it some thought on our way back to Murphy's. Cal and Simon were looking pretty sober when we arrived.

  “What's up?” Fiver asked.

  “I'm out,” Simon said. “I can't survive combat like you guys. I'm happy to help when I can, but unless I get some decent armor or something, I can't go face to face with armed normals or supras. I'm not trying to be a pussy, but my odds at survival are significantly lower than you guys.”

  “Okay,” Fiver said. “I understand.”

  We all sat around quietly for a while. Simon got up and went to the kitchen. Cal shrugged.

  “Now what? Activate our sleeper?” he asked.

  “Nah, still need to wait a while on that,” Fiver said
.

  “Who's the sleeper?” I asked.

  “A spare supra we may recruit,” Fiver said.

  “The Chill?”

  “Good guess.”

  “Am I right?”

  “Nope,” Fiver said. “You're the supra expert. Why don't you recruit someone for us?”

  “I think Moccasin is my barista,” I said. “How would I go about recruiting her without freaking her out, or blowing my own cover?”

  “You have a cover?”

  “I think you should ask her out,” Cal said.

  “I don't see that going over well,” Fiver said.

  “He and Jen broke up,” Cal said. “You didn't tell him?”

  “You didn't tell me?”

  “It's not a big deal,” I said. “We were barely together.”

  “I think you should ask out the barista,” Fiver said. “In fact, I insist, for the good of the team.”

  “It's the coffee shop in my building. It could lead to a long term, awkward situation. Or I'll have to walk a block to get coffee.”

  “God forbid you get exercise,” Cal rolled his eyes.

  “Seriously, though,” Fiver said. “You need to ask her out.”

  “I'll think about it.”

  “Ask her if she wants to get coffee sometime,” Cal said.

  “I'll think about,” I said. I got up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I'm going to get some exercise.”

  “At least go get coffee on your way to your couch,” Cal said.

  I aimed my middle finger in his general direction.

  I headed home. And stopped for coffee. Maybe-Moccasin was there. She smiled and politely took my order, as is the custom of people in the service industry, but of course I read too much into it. Then when she handed me my coffee, our hands touched and I got a static shock.

  “Ow, sorry,” she said.

  “She touched me and sparks flew,” I said. She smiled and twirled away to help the next customer. I went upstairs to my couch. Someone was sitting on the floor across from Calliope's office. She had purple hair and her face in her knees. I stepped over her and let myself in.