Traffic was thin as they headed down 580 and into Dublin. Chris thought it strange that Erik didn't tell them where they would be making their world premiere. How long would they be driving? Even with cool air pumping through the vents, the usual nervous sweat began its trickle down Chris's lower back. Were there going to be reporters waiting? Cameras?
The answer and destination came sooner rather than later, though. The Stoneridge Mall with its two-story grey walls stood unimpressively as the SUV snaked through the parking lot to the equally ordinary main entrance where 'Stoneridge' was spelled out for anyone unclear as to where they were.
“The Supers are inside,” said the driver. “Bring me back an Oreo Blizzard when you're done.”
Frank and Chris hustled out of the SUV and squinted at glass doors leading to duplicitous merchandise in an overly comfortable, climate controlled environment. Like the gym, both men tried to spend their time in different surroundings. But none of that mattered when they remembered what they were wearing.
“Watch it blue,” said a teenager in tight jeans and a fauxhawk who slithered around them, chuckling.
Frank readied to punch out the mall regular, but the teenager skipped inside all too aware of the physical danger lollygagging could bring.
“Come on,” said Chris, and held the glass door open for Frank.
Inside, the teenager that taunted Frank was eyeing shoes from a store front. Frank came toward him to let out some of the aggression that had rebuilt once they arrived at the disappointing gala. The teenager was more alert than Frank gave him credit for. As soon as Frank took a step near him, the teenager skipped away again while giving Frank the finger.
“Run you little fucker,” said Frank.
“What are you doing?” said Chris. “We're the good guys or something. We need to act like it and we need to find Johnykin and Klaus.”
“What the hell are we doing here? I'm going to kick Erik's ass. He said nothing about a mall or playing rental cops or whatever the fuck - What are we doing here!?”
“I don't know. Should I call them? Do you have their numbers? Do they have numbers? Is there a hotline? We are totally unprepared to be here.”
“We look like we're robbing the mall or already have robbed the mall and are wearing what we stole!”
Frank was yelling by now and more shoppers had come out to look over the drama interfering with their purchases. Amidst the crowds gathering around were Johnykin and Klaus coming to the rescue.
“You made it, finally,” said Johnykin, walking up to Chris and then hugging him. Even with her small stature she took no hesitation in grabbing Frank's shoulders and shaking him. “Relax, big guy.”
Klaus shook Chris and Frank's hands. “Another exciting adventure in front of us, aye boys. Or at least a chance to get some junk food for the first time in forever.” Klaus eyed the Cinnabon employees rolling out fresh dough.
“Come on, we have a bit of a tour planned,” said Johnykin.
She walked next to Klaus, Chris and Frank followed in line behind. The Supers still looked plain cool. Chris tried to ignore the discrepancy, but he could see the envy contort Frank's face.
“This is a joke, right?” asked Frank to the Supers' backs.
“No joke, Frank,” said Klaus. “The mission is about good will. We can't just act like cops roaming the streets for trouble.”
“So we roam the floors of a mall,” said Frank.
“They need help too. Erik worked with the security team to allow us to come on as free agents for a few hours,” said Johnykin.
“Probably so the security team can sit on their asses and sleep,” said Frank.
“Probably,” said Klaus. Johnykin backhanded his chest in response along with giving him a mother hen look. “Frank's right. Good publicity, good will, whatever Erik wants from this it blows.”
This was more than enough of a crack for Frank to push his other complaints through. From the costumes they wore to what he really thought of Erik gushed out of Frank and surprisingly egged Klaus on as well. Now Klaus and Frank walked next to each other, which moved Chris to pair off with Johnykin.
There wasn't much to say at first. Chris was relieved that the first mission involved next to no danger and thus no worried looks from Sadie when he would tell her about it. Plus the embarrassment of wearing an umpire's uniform wore off when he realized the rest of the mall patrons didn't carry any better fashion sense. Johnykin didn't care for the silence that Chris was content to walk in, though. She hooked his elbow and dragged him into The GAP, while Frank and Klaus stood chattering like old army buddies.
Johnykin began in the women's section and held up a summer dress. “Think I can pull it off? I know I'm not very girly but what the hell, right?”
“Yeah,” said Chris, trying not to think too much of Johnykin pulling any clothes off.
She dragged him over to the jeans next. “Remember when everyone was wearing baggy jeans? You know, to look gangster or whatever. Even the girls. I couldn't do it. Plus my mom would never have bought me them.”
“I don’t think I can add many deep thoughts on fashion today,” said Chris, and moved his hands up and down to indicate the awesomeness of his current outfit. “But I had some baggy jeans too. I looked like I shopped in André the Giant’s closet. It was college and I didn't know how to dress yet. I still don't know how to dress yet, according to my wife.”
“What's her name? You never mentioned her before. Do you have kids?”
“Yeah. I mean... Her name is Sadie. We have a daughter and son.”
“I'd love to meet them. We should get together outside of work. Especially since we're going to be partners and everything now.”
“Sidekick. I don't know how much good I can do for you. You're already amazing and I was just lucky before.”
“It happened for a reason, Chris. And there are plenty of things you can do for me and for us. We're a team. Plus, I'll look out for you.” Johnykin gave him a smile that melted his legs and cleared his conscience in one. She then made his heart thump when she grabbed him by the collar. A move Sadie had pulled on him to get in a passionate kiss once or twice. A part of Chris thought Johnykin was attempting the same thing, but instead she turned away to run him halfway across the store to a rack of shirts in the men's section.
“You would look so cute in this,” she said, and held up a turquoise oxford.
Chris stood nervously while she held up a medium to his chin to check the length and rough fit.
“Do you have a husband or anyone,” he said.
“No, no, no. Too busy right now. I couldn't give up this for a family yet.”
“You want children?”
“Of course. Who doesn't? I just can't yet. This is too good of an opportunity. Don't you think so? Besides I couldn't get a date right now unless it was Klaus and he'd rather date himself.”
“What? I mean I kind of see that.” Chris looked over at Klaus still talking to Frank. Klaus was leaning against the glass wall of the store and looking down at his arms and legs in between bits of dialogue. “Is he checking himself out?”
“Does that a lot.” Johnykin flipped through a clearance rack of sweaters. “So annoying when you're trying to talk to him.”
“Frank won't mind as long as he has someone to bitch to.” Chris copied Johnykin and eyed a pair of khakis.
The pair continued through the store. There were few customers and all of them skirted around Chris and Johnykin. Chris was beginning to talk as if Johnykin was an old friend by the time they made it to the kid's area and he finally asked her something that pried too deep.
“What did you do before all of this?”
“Before this? I lived in L.A.” Johnykin stopped there and examined a flower print skirt for a five-year-old.
“And...What did you do there?” Chris didn't get the hint.
“Uh, how old's your daughter?”
“Too old for that. Did you act or something? I have a cousin in show business. If th
at's what they still call it. He edit's movies. Well, he edited a movie last I heard.”
“No acting. I worked in real estate. It was boring.”
“Did you want to become a superhero?”
“’Did I want to become a superhero?’ That's a funny way to put it. I didn't know what I wanted. This just happened. One day selling houses, the next punching holes through them.” Johnykin had enough and walked out of The GAP. Chris hurried behind her, trying to figure out what he said to send her running.
“Find any cute dresses?” asked Klaus.
“Nothing in my size,” said Johnykin.
“Find any cute dresses, Chris?” asked Frank.
“Nothing in your size, Frank,” said Chris.
With the lame jokes aside, the four walked on. Klaus began a campaign of waving to little kids when they passed. Frank picked it up awkwardly. They didn't go into any more stores or rather Johnykin didn't force Chris into any more. She did start talking again, but it was all meaningless chatter. It was a strange scene; two superheroes and their sidekicks strolling through a mall without a single shoplifter in sight and without any real business to take care of.
On the second floor, Klaus brought them over to a Hot Dog On a Stick and ordered four lemonades. Chris pulled out his wallet to help pay, but the eighteen-year-old manager cheerfully told him to put it away. The normally three dollar drinks were on the house for the superb law enforcement the four of them delivered in the two hours since they arrived. Chris enjoyed the cool drink while wondering how many Hot Dog On a Sticks actually need any kind of law enforcement.
But Chris's thoughtful moments hit a wall with a two word shout, “Stop, thief!”
On the opposite walkway a teenager sprinted across the smooth tile floor, while a middle-aged woman with too much make up pointed.
“I thought they weren't supposed to yell out thief anymore?” said Klaus, watching the chaos and sipping on his lemonade.
“Yeah, something to do with innocent until proven guilty and insurance policies,” said Johnykin, who passively watched the scene as well.
“We're supposed to do something, right?” asked Chris.
“Oh, fuck yeah. He's mine,” said Frank, and took off running parallel to the possible thief.
Chris puzzled over the inaction of the Supers and then looked back to the teenager. A black shoebox with a silver Michael Jordan logo was tucked under his arm. The teen also ran funny with a slight skip. Chris's mind fumbled over the scene his eyes couldn't quite keep in focus until all the clues clicked. It was the same tight jeans, fauxhawk punk that flipped Frank off earlier. Chris took off immediately.
Chris and Frank had never run full speed against one another, but Chris imagined he had the advantage. He was slightly taller and leaner than Frank, but Chris didn't make up much ground in the beginning. At the first bridge between the second floor walkways Frank cut naturally and lost only half a foot in speed to get behind the teen. Chris came up less graceful when turning the corner and knocked over a wannabe gangster that mixed Spanish and English curses as he dusted off his sneakers, but didn't dare get involved past that.
The chase continued with few if any shoppers making an effort to get out of anyone's way. This helped Chris as he found a groove weaving in and out while Frank plowed through shoulders and backs that slowed him down. The teen looked back at his pursuers and tripped over a stroller wheel sticking out of a Pottery Barn Kids doorway. Frank was on top of the teen, but he scrambled to his feet and zipped to the elevator that serendipitously began closing with his approach. The teen squeezed through the closing steel as Frank skidded to a halt before slamming both fists into the doors to leave a slight dent meant for the thief's face. Chris caught up, but as soon as Frank acknowledged his friend's presence he took off again.
Chris followed, already surmising their destination. The escalators were packed, but the bulldozing Frank made an easy path to follow. Halfway down the moving stairs Frank topped the entire event by making an action movie jump off the side to land ten feet below in a controlled tumble. “Of course,” thought Chris and followed suit.
On the ground again, Frank led the way to the elevator in a fast jog. He stepped right in front of the door and glared savagely at what was to come. Chris thought of a better plan and shoved Frank to the side of the elevator and out of sight. Then he put himself by the exit. The elevator opened and the teen sprang out towards the exit and Chris. The brakes were put on at the sight of the excessively padded sidekick blocking the way to a free pair of two hundred dollar shoes. The teen turned only halfway to make another run for it when Frank met him chest to chest in a perfect form tackle. Two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and foam met little resistance with a hundred and fifty pounds of bone and hair gel, leaving the teen on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Frank moved fast. He flipped the juvenile delinquent over and pulled his hands behind his back before realizing there was nothing to cuff with.
Frank sat on the teen's legs and held his wrists. Then he looked to Chris. “Don't just stand there, get me some cuffs.”
“Does it look like I have a utility belt? If you don't have any cuffs than I don't.”
“Get me some something. I'm not gonna sit here all day till the cops come.”
Chris shrugged and glanced around. The stolen shoes fell out of their box and the laces hung limply on. Chris grabbed one end and yanked the shoelace through the holes until he had – in his mind – a genius bit of improvisation.
“Don't get full of yourself. I fucking tackled him,” said Frank, and tied the teen's hands together.
Frank stood up and Chris picked up the teen, whose lungs filled back up with air. “You fucking fascists. You have no right to do this.”
“Do you even know what fascist means dick face?” said Frank.
The teen thought about it while Chris and Frank held each of his arms in their march up the escalator back to the Hotdog on a Stick and their waiting Supers. “Fucking, rental, cop pigs.”
“Dumb ass,” said Frank.
Klaus and Johnykin were nowhere to be seen once they got back. “You think they called the cops?” asked Chris.
“Who knows. Let's take those shoes back and find the security room to lock dipshit up.”
They got directions from the manager of the Foot Locker and a zip tie to use instead of the laces. The teen decided to remain silent for the trip through the back hallways to his detention cell or whatever containment the mall deemed appropriate for shoe thieves.
Down the last concrete hallway was a steel door with a small thick glass window. Next to the door was an intercom. Frank pushed the button. “Hey, we caught a loser stealing shit. Let us in.”
Chris frowned at him to say that they should act more professional. Frank just glared back his answer.
A buzzer sounded and the door opened to a blurry eyed security guard with a permanent beer belly. “Great job. I thought there was a girl?”
“There was,” said Frank, and pushed the teen inside. Two more security guards sat at a table playing with their phones. “Did you see where they went?”
“Who?” asked the chubby one that answered the door.
“The man and the woman that were with us. The Supers,” said Chris.
“I thought you were the Supers,” said another security guard.
“We are, but there were two more with us idiot,” said Frank. “You have cameras all over. Where did they go?”
The room had four large monitors that flipped back and forth between a hundred plus feeds. The security guard motioned his hand across the setup as if Frank and Chris would be better suited at searching than him. Frank didn't need any more approval and sat down to face the monitors. He acclimated to the controls swiftly and sped through the different cameras across the mall. It was a relatively easy task, two figures dressed in black with confident postures that would put a Greek statue to shame. Unfortunately, they couldn't find any trace of them and after five minutes the other two sec
urity guards decided it would be more interesting to watch the monitors than their phones, which put the pressure on even more to find the missing Supers.
“Where the fuck did they go,” said Frank in a louder whisper than he thought.
“You should call them,” said one of the security guards, and held up his phone in a misguided effort to help.
Frank ignored him and Chris explained they didn't have a number, which made the security guards chuckle in superiority.
“Shit. I'm gonna call Erik. At least we can get out of here if they already ditched us,” said Frank.
“We're not in junior high. They wouldn't just ditch us,” said Chris.
“Come on,” said Frank, and took off without waiting for Chris to answer or object.
Just outside the security room, Chris heard the guards making jokes and laughing at them. He looked back and glared at them the way Frank would have, but Frank was already on his way down the hallway with his cellphone to his ear.
Chris jogged to Frank at the corner of the concrete hallway when a distinct boom echoed down to them. Frank ended his call and both of them ran to the entrance where screams now took over the pop music atmosphere. Plastic and paper bags filled with designer and not so designer clothes fluttered behind the backs of frightened shoppers darting for any and every exit they could find. The boom that first alerted Chris and Frank changed to a drummer's roll of gunfire followed by higher pitched screaming.
The gun blasts and the crowd's opposite direction of panic made it easy to pinpoint the shooter. Frank ducked behind the escalator and Chris followed while tracking the apparently lone gunman's whereabouts.
“Do you think this shit is bulletproof?” asked Frank, and slapped the chest padding.
“I would hope so. What the hell are you planning?”
“We need to flank him. Where the fuck are they?”
“We should wait. They can take him head on or any other direction.” A splattering of tiny explosions came from the floor near their cover and sent chips of porcelain flying at them. “Shit!”
“Did the security trolls follow us?”
“I doubt it.” Chris pulled his head out to look back to the doorway they came in and saw no signs indicating they would get support any time soon from those paid to do so. Chris also saw the shooter taking long strides towards them while switching from a semi-automatic rifle to a shotgun in a smooth motion. The glass walls of a Men's Wearhouse exploded into tiny consumerist shrapnel and then just for good measure another shotgun blast took out the business suit mannequins.
Just Another Job Page 7