Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk

by Brian Manning

  He used the momentary confusion to step out into the alley. He made sure the path behind him remained clear while keeping the others in front. Now Bryson had room to move and breathe.

  Before he could enjoy the space, a flash of trench coat whipped toward him. The attacker with the nunchucks leaped over his friends’ bodies, his own body completely horizontal and twisting in the air. He landed and let out a sharp high pitched kiai as the nunchuck handles whizzed around his body in an impressive flourish.

  Bryson had caught a blow to the meaty part of his right forearm before he was able to get a feel for the way his opponent moved. He kept the bokken in front, using it to drive a wedge between himself and the fanatic. Each time the hardwood flails knocked his weapon to the side, Bryson repositioned, attempted a counter, but was once against forced to point his bokken forward. The dull ache in his forearm made it harder to maintain his grip. The two tangled attackers were back on their feet. The burly woman picked up her weapon again while working the kinks out of her shoulder. I gotta finish this quick.

  He had trouble keeping his eye on the trenchcoat-wearing man’s weapon, and footwork. When the fanatic turned a full 360 degrees, Bryson was slow to react. He got the bokken up to block most of the strike, but a block meant for a rigid weapon wasn’t as effective against a flexible one. The nunchuck handle whipped around and hit Bryson in the ribs just under his shoulder blade. He stepped forward, still holding the bokken against the man in the trench coat, driving him backward.

  Before tank top and denim vest could react, Bryson shoved hard, pushing the man in the trench coat into them. They caught him before he fell, but acted as a brace, allowing Bryson to drive the blunt tip of his weapon into the top of the man’s sternum, between the collar bones. He couldn’t tell if the blow was hard enough to crack or dislocate something, but it was sufficient to sap the fight out of him.

  Denim made the mistake of turning his head to watch his buddy drop. Bryson pulled the bokken back and snapped the edge into the exposed neck and jaw, turning the man’s lights out.

  “Two down, and I’ve got plenty left for you as well.” Bryson struggled to keep his breathing even and smooth. Still facing a two on one battle, his heart raced, and he hoped his bravado was enough to tip the scales.

  “Can you get a drone over there?” Patrick pulled up another rolling chair, sitting next to Troy.

  “The closest one won’t do any good. The battery level is too low.” Troy was clacking away at the keyboard. “We won’t get any usable video, but I’ve got another on the way now.”

  “I’ll grab Crystal, maybe she can get down there faster,” Abby said.

  “Good idea,” Patrick responded.

  “I’m closing in on the last drone’s territory. It’s going to be tough to scout the whole neighborhood with just one craft.”

  “You should stay as high as possible, and avoid any potential traps. We can’t risk this one going down too,” Patrick said.

  “I’ll do my best,” Troy said.

  They both sat silent, scanning every pixel displayed on the laptop screen, looking for any clue of trouble.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” Troy said. “Maybe Bryson didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Chances are, they weren’t even looking for him.”

  “I don’t like taking chances.”

  Abby came back into the office. “Crystal is gone. I tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail. Sean says she went out to take care of something.”

  Patrick sighed. “This feels wrong. Do you think she knows something about this and is trying to handle it without us?”

  “Doubt it. Crystal has been getting texts from someone and then leaving suddenly. We don’t know who it is or what it’s about, but it’s been going on for a while now.”

  Patrick looked up at Abby. “How long?”

  “Couple weeks, maybe.”

  “And Sean knows?”

  “He knows that she’s getting a message, and then leaving, but we don’t want to pry into her business. He figures she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

  “Let’s hope.” Patrick thought about how he had been making decisions without taking the team’s opinions into account. He realized that’s about the time when he noticed Crystal on edge about how he went out of his way to shoulder the burden. If she’s doing the same, she could be in trouble.

  “Hold on, is that Bryson’s car?” Abby pointed to the black muscle car parked on the sidewalk.

  “I’ll drop the drone in for a closer look,” Troy said.

  The vehicle sat at a slight angle with the driver side door still open. It looked like someone was inside, their left leg hanging out on the street.

  “That’s not him,” Patrick said. “Someone is trying to take his car. They ambushed him.”

  “We need to get there now,” Abby turned, ready to vault the railing of the stairs outside the office door when her brother spoke up.

  “I see him. Right there.”

  The drone was close enough now to remove all doubt. Bryson walked out of the store walking toward the parked automobile out front. He carried his bokken draped across his shoulders and looked up at the drone. He gave a lazy two finger wave holding something in his hand.

  “If he can hear the quadcopter’s motors, we’re way too close to the action,” Troy said with a chuckle.

  “Do you think he knows that guy is trying to steal his car?” Patrick asked.

  “Where did he get the beer?” Abby asked.

  Bryson slid five dollars across the counter and grabbed the bottle of root beer. “Sorry about the trouble. Keep the change.” He pressed the cold glass against the swelling under his eye.

  He knew the odds were against him, and that he was lucky to come out on top, but he didn’t expect the woman to be so fast. After he had evened the numbers, just him and the woman, she tapped into a pent-up rage for which he almost wasn’t prepared.

  Bryson walked out of the store and saw someone moving around in the Justice Mobile. Great, like I want to deal with this now. He heard a faint buzzing, recognizable as the motors from one of Troy’s drones. Bryson’s neck crackled as he looked up. He gave a quick wave and continued on his way to the car.

  The teen inside, wearing a black t-shirt with the Brotherhood of Armageddon logo, had his head tucked to one side of the steering wheel, messing around with something.

  “You have to disable the kill switch first.” Bryson didn’t install a kill switch in his car, but he wanted to say something clever to get the kid’s attention.

  Startled, the young man hit his head on the steering column as he bolted upright. “The what?”

  “The kill switch. It’s right there.” He pointed to the small flashing light from his hands-free speaker plugged into the car’s 12-volt outlet.

  When the teen turned his head, Bryson jabbed the butt end of his bokken just below his ear, knocking him out cold. He pulled the fanatic out of the car by his leg, “pouring” him out of the driver seat. Bryson dragged him around to the sidewalk, dumping him so he wouldn’t get hurt in traffic.

  He settled into the seat, pulled the door shut, and dug his car keys from his pocket. The car roared to life, purring while he took a sip from the root beer and dropped it into the drink holder. The phone in his center console buzzed to get his attention. Bryson lifted the lid, pulled his phone out and looked at the screen. Patrick (milk man).

  CHAPTER

  17

  Juliana walked out of the locker rooms, toweling off her long black hair. She pulled the still damp tresses over one shoulder and continued working it dry when she noticed Sean signaling her over.

  He was in the middle of a conversation with Graham and Abby while she showered after her workout.

  “Hey Juli, you heard about Bryson, right?” he asked.

  “No, what happened?”

  “Armageddon’s goons lured him into a trap,” Abby said. “Got jumped by four fanatics.”

  Juliana covered her mouth
with her hand. “Is he ok?”

  “He’s got a shiner, but he’ll be ok,” Abby said.

  Sean tried to reassure her. “Patrick’s talking to him right now. Bryson is understandably angry, but he’s home safe. He’ll be back here bright and early in the morning.”

  “Yeah, so we better clean this place up,” Graham said, tapping a weight plate with his toe.

  “That’s your mess, pig pen,” Abby said.

  “Right. I’ll get on top of that as soon as I can.”

  “In the meantime, I think we should be more cautious a while. Everyone should check in when we get home tonight.” Sean held up his phone. “Email, text, whatever. Just tell someone.”

  “Recurve and Ringmaster are already safe and sound, tucked into their beds,” Graham said, rolling one of the 45-pound weight plates to the rack.

  “Who’s Ringmaster?” Juliana asked.

  “Oh, right. That’s what we’re calling Genevieve from now on. You should have seen her kicking butt last night.”

  “That’s a cool name,” Abby said. “Sometimes you have some fresh ideas.”

  “It was Bryson’s suggestion…sort of.”

  “Graham and I are going to stay here for the night to make sure the gym stays safe,” Sean said. “There are a couple of cots stashed upstairs. Juli, do you need a ride to your apartment?”

  “No, Manny is on his way. He offered to drop me off since we live close.”

  “Abby?” Sean gestured.

  “Troy’s wrapping up some stuff, and then we’re headed straight home. We’ll just have to skip White Castle tonight.”

  Graham muttered, “Sounds like a plus if you ask me.”

  “Patrick’s going to make sure Nolan gets home safe.” Sean was reading the incoming text.

  “Where’s Crystal?” Graham asked.

  Sean shared a quick, concerned glance with Abby before he answered. “She’s probably home by now. She had to leave a little while ago.”

  Manny had just dropped Juliana off, making sure she got to the main door of the building with no trouble. He waited until she sent the text letting him know she was safely in her apartment. He relayed the message to the others, saying that he was also home. The phone swooshed, indicating that it sent the message.

  He pulled his colorful van out into traffic, heading to the address where he was asked to meet. The uneventful 15-minute drive led to an abandoned lot, with the surface in disrepair. Manny’s van vibrated and rattled as he drove to the far end where a man melded halfway into the shadows, waving to show where he stood.

  Manny killed the engine and built up his nerve. Man-vil’s betrayal was still fresh in his mind, although it was almost a year ago. He stepped out and watched as Stringfellow stepped into the faded light of one of the old lamp posts.

  “Glad you could make it,” he said, adjusting the bow to sit on his shoulder better.

  “Yeah.” Manny shook his hand.

  “Is this your van? Does that sticker right there hold the fender on?”

  “I get it. This isn’t the prettiest ride.”

  “Does it talk to you with a speech impediment?”

  Manny always took the van jokes in stride, but this was a much different situation from the usual jokes. “Can we just get on with this? I’m not comfortable with your proposition.”

  “Sorry. Look, I heard about Striker, and I know a little bit about these Armageddon guys. I followed their path of destruction on my way to the city.”

  “So you know that we can’t just break off into splinter groups and start running small operations.”

  Recurve smiled to help sell his scheme. “We don’t need to go crazy. Just tag a few goons here and there, and see where they end up.”

  “Tag them how? By embedding an arrow with built-in GPS into a few people, and follow them to the nearest hospital?”

  “You guys still think I was out of line. Trust me. You have no idea what this group has done.” Stringfellow’s face flushed, and his eyebrows turned down at sharp angles.

  Manny didn’t want to push him too hard, but it was clear there was something about Stringfellow’s past that he was keeping hidden. Something that could be important for the group to know. He held his hands up to chest level, calming the Archer down.

  “Patrick’s trying to bench me, and you know as well as I do, with Warhead and Ground Zero singling us out for ambush, you all need me out there.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you crossed a line that the rest of us aren’t comfortable crossing.” Manny locked eyes with Recurve not willing to back down on this point.

  “I get it. My methods aren’t all rainbows and right crosses, but it gets the job done.”

  “What happens if, or when you kill someone?”

  Stringfellow shrugged his shoulders. “Do what you gotta do. I’ll even slap the cuffs on, myself.”

  Manny watched in silence, measuring the man up. He stayed silent, waiting for Stringfellow to fill the void.

  “I’m serious. If I go overboard, you know I can’t stop you guys from taking me down. I’m not that stupid.”

  “Maybe you can try some different tricks.” Manny looked down at the quiver on his hip.

  “What, like boxing glove arrows. This is real life, not the pages of Green Arrow. I know this thing packs a punch, but not in a literal sense.”

  “How about gas canisters? Or flash bombs?”

  Stringfellow pulled an arrow, presenting the field tip to Manny. “You know how much this thing weighs? One hundred grains. You have any idea how much a smoke canister weighs?”

  “I don’t even know how much a grain weighs.”

  “It’s not like my bow even has enough power to carry a high-tensile line across some great distance, much less across the street.”

  Manny rubbed his chin with a mischievous look in his eye. “I know a guy that’s been experimenting with synthetic silks. Maybe he can whip something up for you.”

  Stringfellow tapped his lip with the end of the arrow. “Hm, I like the sound of that. I could use some arsenal upgrades.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be able to do something to help you dial back the gruesome,” Manerpillar said. “He built Patrick’s newest bracelets and the suit that H2Grow wears. He also put this lovely ensemble together.” Manny spread his arms to show off the layered, overlapping Kevlar panels and hard shell plating of his costume.

  “Sharp,” Recurve said, only giving the outfit a quick glance.

  “He can probably make a high-tech compound bow too.”

  “Alright, that’s where I draw the line,” Recurve said. “I know this thing looks old and beat up, but I made it myself. It’s part of the charm of my persona. I’m not even attached to this bow in a sentimental way, but I can tell you right now that it feels a million times better in my hand. I need that connection to use my powers. Do you want to make it harder to use my ability? Because that’s when people get hurt.”

  “Whoa, I didn’t mean anything by that. Just trying to help.” Manerpillar softened his unintended insult.

  Recurve turned and walked to the passenger side of the van.

  “People get hurt, even when it’s easy for you to use your powers,” Manny said.

  He stopped, turned back around and jabbed an accusing finger forward. After a moment to reflect he replied. “Fair point.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Manerpillar parked the van a block away, so he and Recurve could approach on foot. They were in a more industrial part of the city, checking out the information Recurve uncovered. This late at night, all of the businesses closed for the evening. Except one, a print shop during regular working hours. Word had it that this was a Brotherhood meeting spot.

  “Is that where all the shirts are coming from?” Manerpillar watched the back entrance through a compact monocular.

  “I’m more interested in that,” Recurve pointed to a group of Brotherhood fanatics unloading boxes and bags from a van.

  Manny
shifted his focus. “What do you think that is?”

  “Money.” The voice came from behind.

  Recurve and Manerpillar both rolled onto their backs, attempting to give the appearance of springing into action, but they looked more like tortoises on their shells. Weed stifled a laugh and crouched down to join them hidden in the bushes.

  “What are you doing here?” Manerpillar asked.

  “I was in the group text, saying you were home safe. You sent it right after you dropped me off.”

  “I guess I didn’t think of that.”

  “You were up to something, so I suited up and followed you. It’s a good thing you drive that--colorful van.”

  “Ever think about painting that monstrosity?” Recurve asked.

  “Don’t we have more important things to discuss? Like how Juliana knew those boxes in the van are full of money?” Manerpillar changed the subject.

  “How did you know, by the way?” Recurve kept looking through his binoculars when he spoke.

  “I don’t know what’s in there. I’m just guessing. These guys don’t seem sophisticated enough to be fencing stolen goods. They wouldn’t be bringing printed BoA merchandise into a print shop. I figure it’s the money they’ve been taking during all of their day-to-day shakedowns.”

  “Makes sense. Burglary has been on the rise since Armageddon showed up,” Manerpillar said.

  “Only one way to find out.” Weed got to her feet, keeping her posture low, and headed to the pool of darkness under a broken light on the building.

  Recurve gestured for Manerpillar to follow, as he also pushed himself up.

  They reached the side of the building, just as Weed fired the strands from one of her arms wraps to the roof, pulling herself up.

  “Fancy trick,” Recurve said. “Wish I could do that.”