Tony takes the stack of bills, motions his gun toward the car.
“Get out of here, Luke. We’re done. Next time you need a favor, you’ll want to look somewhere else.”
“One more thing,” Luke says, hopping up into the cab.
Tony glares at him, hand going back to the pistol in his belt.
“Take it easy,” Luke says. “We just need some gas. You don’t think we pulled in here on purpose, did you?”
Tony frowns at Donald’s truck, now battered and beaten, then motions to one of his hack-eyed lackeys.
The kid returns from the shop with a jug of gasoline, sloshing it all over the place.
He fills the truck.
“That’ll be three hundred bucks,” Tony says, stone-faced.
“You kidding me?”
“It’s either that, or we blow the tires and call it a day.”
Luke pulls out the money. Hands it over.
Donald revs the engine, puts the truck into gear.
“Hey, kid,” Luke says. “Gimme one of those cigarettes, will ya?”
The kid grins and holds up a lighter and a cigarette. Tony and his boys watch with interest.
“Fifty bucks,” the kid says.
“Fat chance.”
Luke snaps them out of his hands in a flash.
Lights up the dart as Donald pulls away.
At the last moment, he sticks his head out the window and flicks the cigarette back. It twirls through the air and lands at the kid’s feet.
The spilled gasoline ignites, and a ring of angry flames erupts around his ankles. He screams and runs in circles like a wild animal.
Luke leans back in his seat, chuckling.
Donald glares at him as they hit the highway. Wind whistles through the shattered windshield.
“Why would you do that? They’re gonna come after you again.”
“Nah, they won’t.”
“Either way,” Donald says. “You owe me a thousand bucks. For the damage to my truck.”
Luke grits his teeth.
“I suppose I do, at that.”
He reaches into the bag and counts out the cash.
Ten minutes later they pull up to the courthouse.
Very late.
++++++++
Julia storms up to them on the steps of the courthouse. She sees Donald first, narrows her eyes at him.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
A faux fur scarf hangs around her neck, and her fingers twitch, like they want to be holding a cigarette.
Donald holds out his hands. “Freak bus accident downtown,” he says. “Traffic was backed up for blocks.”
She ignores him and goes for Luke.
“And you. That’s three in a row, buster. I can’t believe you’re so irresponsible. What a mess.”
“Where’s Abby?” Luke asks.
Julia sticks her nose in the air. “I didn’t want her to see the disaster you’ve become.”
Luke rolls his eyes. “You’re exaggerating. You just need to try a little harder to see the good in people.”
“No,” she says, rounding on him. “You need to try harder to be good to people. You seem to think the world revolves around you. It was your selfishness that pushed me away from you.”
“Julia, how can you say that? Abby is the most important thing in the world to me. I would do anything for her.”
She sighs. “Then you need to prove it, Luke. You’re half an hour late and you’re—you’re bleeding, for heaven’s sake. Looks like I made the right choice not bringing her.”
Donald clears his throat and gestures toward the bag.
Hhm-hm.
Luke picks it up. “Here, this is for you and Abby.”
Julia laughs. “Incredible. Are you a gangster now? What’s with the bag?” She digs out the remaining cash. Just over two grand. Thumbs through the money and tosses it back into the bag, shaking her head.
“Luke, we’ve been separated for six months. So this is what, three hundred bucks a month? Sorry, tango, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Donald holds up a hand. “Shouldn’t we do this in the courthouse?”
“Fine,” Julia says. “We’ll do it in the courthouse.”
++++++++
“I’m sorry, Art Redford had to take his next appointment,” Melanie, the secretary, informs them. “Please follow me to your counsel room.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” Luke says as they enter the room.
Julia crosses her arms. “Which is?”
“Where’s my daughter?”
She groans. “She’s with her aunt Emily. They’re out for lunch, okay? Now, we need to talk about setting up regular child support payments.”
“Yes, we can talk about that as soon as you let me know when I can see my daughter.”
“Without any money, it’s going to be difficult for that to happen.”
“What are you talking about?”
Julia glances at Donald. “Listen, Luke. There’s something we need to tell you.”
Luke’s eyes narrow as he looks between them.
“What do you mean, we?”
A phone rings. Julia jumps as her purse begins vibrating. She digs it out.
“Excuse me.” She turns away from Donald and Luke. Holds the phone to her ear and smiles. “Hello, honey.”
A child’s voice on the other end.
“Let me speak to her,” Luke pleads.
Julia shakes her head at him. Then her eyes go wide with shock. “Does auntie Emily know about this, Abby?”
Luke stands, hands balled into fists. “What’s wrong? For God’s sake, what’s happening, Julia?”
Julia puts a hand to her mouth. “Are you sure?” she asks into the phone.
She pauses.
“Just wait at home, sweetie. I’ll be right there.”
She hangs up the phone.
Luke is shaking, on the verge of explosion.
“Tell me what’s going on with my daughter,” he says. “Or I won’t play nice anymore.”
“Well, Luke. Emily asked her where she wanted to go for lunch, and she chose a place over in Covington. Apparently you’ve taken her there on occasion.”
“Betty’s,” Luke says. “What of it?”
“Well, she said she found something on the floor of the diner. It wasn’t until they got home that Emily saw it and realized what it was.”
Luke sighs, trying to contain his frustration. “And?”
“You know those scratch-and-win tickets?”
The tension leaves his body, and Luke gives a hearty laugh. “Let me guess, five grand?”
Julia frowns. “How did you know that?”
“It’s a long story,” Luke says. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell Betty you found it, okay?”
“Who’s Betty?”
“She’s the lady who works at the—never mind. I’ll do something nice for her. Don’t worry about it. Can we forgive some of my child support, then?”
Julia looks over at Donald. He nods.
“Yes, I suppose. But, Luke, this means that we finally have enough money to move to Boulder. It’s the reason I needed more financial support from you.”
Luke looks from Donald to Julia and finally gets it.
“The three of you,” he says.
Julia sighs. “Yes.” She takes Donald’s hand.
“How long has this been going on?” His voice is surprisingly calm. Inside he is screaming. Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of either of them.
“Luke, we don’t need to do this. You and I have been divorced for a while now.”
“Get out.” Luke says, rising to his feet. “We’re done here. I will see my daughter before you leave. That’s final.”
He practically runs from the room, which now feels cramped and dirty. Waits at the top of the marble stairs, tears pooling in his eyes.
Colorado? So far away…
Julia steps up behind him, puts a hand on his shoulder. Luke shakes
her off.
“Don’t. I need time to process this.”
Donald walks past, heading for the stairs.
“Hey, Donny,” Luke says.
Donald looks up.
“Your shoe is untied.”
Donald glances down but trips over the renegade lace. He tumbles down the stairs with a series of loud thuds.
“Donny!” Julia yells.
Donald catches the railing, but when he gets up he’s limping.
“I’ll meet you outside, Jules,” he says, embarrassed.
He casts an apologetic look at Luke, then hobbles away.
Julia glares at Luke.
“You did that on purpose.”
Luke holds up a hand. “How could I? I told you, weird stuff has been happening to me lately. I can’t help it.”
She cocks her head, shaking it slightly.
“You don’t learn, do you? You bumble through life like there are no consequences. And when someone calls you out about it, you turn it around on them, pretending like it’s all their fault. I’m trying to help you, Luke. Once you can accept that, then we can talk about Abby.” She takes the cash and transfers it into her own purse. Thrusts the empty bag into Luke’s arms. “Until then, there’s no deal.”
++++++++
When disaster hits, it hits hard.
Broke and daughterless. And to make matters worse, Betty’s gone and lost his free meal ticket.
Better that Abby has the money anyways.
Luke walks through town, about to toss the black bag when he spots a hundred at the bottom. Looks up and sees a convenience store. He walks in and buys a scratch-and-win ticket.
He scratches it.
Nothing matches—a Big Loser.
“It doesn’t work like that, huh?!” He screams at nobody. The clerk shakes his head and turns away.
A phone rings.
Luke steps outside and answers it, watching leaves flutter along the sidewalk. It’s Art.
“Luke, what happened to you today? I waited as long as I could. You blew it, man.”
“Art, listen. Come and meet me for lunch. I’ll explain everything.”
Art laughs on the other end of the phone.
“Sorry, I’ve got meetings all afternoon. I can’t say I’m thrilled with you, Luke. I warned you about being on time today.”
“I warned you, too,” Luke shoots back. “Anyway, suit yourself.”
Cars drive past. A bus stops. People get out.
“So what are you gonna do now?” Art asks.
Luke shrugs. “I dunno, drive out to Colorado, maybe? Look for work out there. If Julia takes Abby away, there’s nothing holding me to this place.”
“Julia’s heading west, huh? Tough break,” Art says understandingly. “There’s a small chance I’ll miss you. If you decide to go.”
“Thanks. I’ll send you a postcard.”
Luke watches a woman cross the street. Black boots and a red coat.
She walks into a travel agency on the other side of the road.
“Although…” Luke says. Signs advertising seat sales to Bora Bora are plastered all over the front window. “There’s likely a few weeks before Julia leaves town. I think I deserve a vacation.”
“But, Luke,” Art says. “You don’t have any money.”
Luke smiles. “We’ll have to see about that. You take care, Art. I think I’ve got a little soul-searching to do.”
He hangs up the phone.
Buys a new ticket from the convenience store and crosses the street.
With a smile on his face, he tucks in his shirt, smooths back his hair, and enters the shop.
Reaches for the dime in his pocket.
Note from the Author
I love my writer’s group! After the great response we received for our first anthology, WOOL GATHERING, we couldn’t resist going back for more. I feel so honored to be able to contribute to these books, and couldn’t be happier with the stories included in THE POWERS THAT BE. That the proceeds go towards charity is icing on the cake.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost two years since I self-published my first work THE RUNNER. Where does the time go!? Since that time, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting so many amazing writers, many of whom I now consider to be great friends. Probably the part of all this that has impressed me the most is the passion displayed by both the writers I’ve met, and the readers. There is such a supportive community surrounding the world of indie publishing, and I continue to be surprised at the dedication and commitment put toward crafting the most enjoyable stories possible.
If you’d like to check out more of my works, you can go to my author profile on Amazon. Happy reading!
Repose
By Thomas Robins
Lost Statue
Boston Harbor. Forty-nine minutes. For forty-nine minutes Herman’s head tilted down toward a glossy pamphlet that cost him three dollars and ninety-nine cents. He would have returned it if only he knew how to find the tourist trap where he bought the worthless scrap.
He was lost. Lost among a sea of other tourists with their own heads buried in guides. They were having more success figuring out where the next stop on the self-guided tour would take them. Herman felt like they were all so engrossed in the booklets directing them from destination to destination, they were missing the Boston culture all around them.
He should talk. Fifty-two minutes, now, had passed and he still had not found the statue of Christopher Columbus, the starting place for the walking tour he was trying to take. Next time, he thought, I’ll pay for a real tour.
His dilemma had a simple solution—he could ask one of the scores of other tourists if he or she had found the statue already—but he couldn’t chance someone would recognize him.
A little height, perhaps—some perspective on the whole of Boston Harbor and then, maybe, he could get a better feel for how the obtuse map matched to his surroundings. Herman, with disregard for the rules of gravity, started floating straight up into the air.
“Hey! None of that here. Feet stay on the ground.” It was a demand made with the tone of authority.
Herman landed softly and turned to see the source of the complaint. It came from atop a horse.
“Yes, Officer,” he told the mounted deputy. Then, he added, “Could you tell me how to find the Christopher Columbus statue?”
Herman pointed helpfully at his map as if it explained his taking to the air.
The officer looked at Herman like he was insane for daring to ask for directions after being reprimanded. So much for being recognized, Herman thought, if even law enforcement can’t see through the street clothes.
The tension in the situation was rising, he could sense it. Herman’s hand went instinctively to his top button. He touched it. Felt the solid metal painted to look plastic. He resisted the urge to give it a strong tug.
He reminded himself that, to the officer, he was just another guy who could fly. One of too many these days. Flying was one of the legal genetic modifications, and fairly popular among the rich and young. But if he pulled the button, the servos running through his outer garment would pull his clothes into a small pack on his back, revealing his uniform. Not a uniform, a costume. A costume he had learned to loathe. Just one pull and Herman would be revealed for the hero he was. The lawman who was now sitting, literally, on his high horse, would not only let him fly wherever he wanted, but he would ask for an autograph and take him to the statue, personally.
Herman did not pull the button. He did not want to be recognized. That was the whole point of his vacation.
“Further north, in the park…no flying,” the officer replied to the question, in the least helpful way possible.
Herman could already see the park was north on the map, but he could not keep his directions straight when all the streets ran counter to any sense of direction.
“Thanks.” Herman had had enough of the interaction, tucked his chin back down to his chest, and decided he should find a pla
ce to eat, regroup, and try again.
Fish Tacos
For Herman, what was once a calling had morphed into a job and, then, a chore. He wanted no part of his blessed life anymore. Death was a release he doubted the universe would ever afford him, so his next best idea was a vacation. The vacation was not going well, but at least he was finally getting to eat. A luxury he enjoyed, even if he did not need food to survive.
The undercover hero sat at a metal table free to use by the patrons of multiple street vendors on the harbor. He pulled a long draw of cola and looked at his wrapped meal.
Fish tacos. He liked fish. He liked tacos. He was on vacation. Why not give the dish a try, he had told himself. He relaxed and took in the laid-back Boston atmosphere. The foil containing his meal tore easily and he pulled out one of three fish tacos. One of three ice-cold fish tacos.
“Oh, come on.” He got up and took the offending meal back to the vendor.
“Hey! Hey! These are cold,” he called over the line of customers at the stand.
A small, fiery redhead with a thick Boston accent yelled back to him, “They were hot when ya’ got ’em.”
“No, no. Don’t pull that one, these just came out of the freezer. I want fish tacos, not sushi tacos.” Herman had muscled in front of the other patrons.
Now that the other people were starting to take notice of his complaints, the tattooed redhead decided she needed to get rid of him.
“Look, they were fine. If you waited to eat ’em, it’s not my fault. Now get outta’ here before I get the police.”
Herman took a beat to decide if he really wanted to risk seeing the mounted deputy again. The redhead took the opportunity to threaten him further.
“And don’t even think about getting weird, ’cause I got that strength gene and I’ve taken down people bigger than you.”
“Whatever,” Herman responded. “I hope the health department closes you down.”
He went back to his soda. He doubted she had the money for gene therapy, but the procedures were as prolific as plastic surgery and the strength gene had started going around before the government started regulating the industry so anything was possible.
Herman’s powers were different. They were all-encompassing. All-natural. No amount of medical procedures could make a match to him. At best someone could acquire one or two powers, but he had them all for as long as he could remember. It was a humanitarian decision that made research on his own DNA available to the world. A world that had monetized it. A world full of people who could feel superior for the right price.
The Powers That Be: A Superhero Collection Page 5