Just Another Job

by Casey Peterson

  “Alright. Let's jump in. I've never really felt it necessary to give a meeting before sending you out to work, but with recent events - “ said Erik.

  “With Klaus,” said Chris still too eager. Frank glared at him and Johnykin put her hand on his shoulder. The fantasy he made for the day faded fast.

  “Yes, with Klaus. But also with the national focus tightening on our activities here. I'm sure you’ve heard and felt the expectations being placed on Supers lately. As well as those working with Supers. It’s important that today's patrol be taken seriously and cautiously. Also I want to tell you that you are representing something bigger than yourselves.”

  “Of course,” said Johnykin. “Tell them where we’re going.”

  Erik glanced up at Johnykin and then quickly away. “It should be fun. You’re pulling double security again, but at the Giants game today. Lots of cameras and attention. Be good. Now go.”

  Outside of Erik's office, Frank punched Chris in the arm.

  “What was that for?” asked Chris rubbing the spot.

  “Get out of your head. I don’t care what Erik fucking said. It’s not going to be a fun little frolic out there today,” said Frank.

  “This’ll be a big attention grabber. We're supposed to look like we're having fun, Frank; but it is serious, Chris,” said Johnykin.

  “I'm serious. I haven't even said anything yet and you're both all over me,” said Chris. He looked back and forth between them. Frank appeared ready to hit Chris again if he made light of their work. Chris knew better. Johnykin was satisfied and gave a look for Chris to follow.

  She went straight for the Fun Room. Chris just behind her and Frank just behind him. When they went inside, Walt stood next to three, new to Chris, Super suits.

  “Hey, Walt,” said Johnykin. She squeezed his arm and moved past to grab her suit without another word and left for the locker room to change.

  “I hope it fits right Ms. Claremont,” said Walt, still smiling from Johnykin's contact with him.

  “Looks good,” said Frank. He held one of the suits familiarly and went off to get dressed as well.

  “Chris. I wanted to show you you're new suit,” said Walt. He grabbed the limp arm of the suit to show Chris more closely.

  “This is great,” said Chris. The suit was thin, black, and a world’s away from the absurd umpire outfit Chris was originally forced into.

  “The fabric is nearly bullet proof,” said Walt.

  “Nearly?”

  “Uh-huh. A close range direct shot will make it through the material, but shouldn't do too much damage to your, uh, body. Everything else will practically ricochet off you.”

  “That's good.” Chris moved his hands over the rest of the suit and up to the neck line. “What about my head?”

  “I do have a helmet made up for you, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to wear it. Frank refuses to wear it and I didn't really know.”

  “Umm. What's it look like?”

  Walt produced a smooth black helmet with a leather chin strap. There was nothing particularly dorky about it, but if the Supers didn't wear one and Frank didn't either Chris couldn’t break away from the majority. He stared at it and tossed it back and forth between his hands before putting it on his head. Chris looked up as if he might see himself magically without a mirror, then took it off again.

  “It's very light and safe,” said Walt.

  “Yeah. I'll take it with me and decide later,” said Chris, before realizing how he sounded.

  “Okay,” said Walt, and walked away having nothing else to do.

  Chris pulled off his clothes in a hurry and jumped into the suit. Light was an understatement. He felt naked in the skin tight fabric, but his training paid off. Even in black his physique looked comparable to a professional athlete. Not too bulky or freakish veins popping out, but in excellent shape. Chris felt proud of how he looked and wished Sadie could see him without worrying about what might happen while he was in it.

  “Quit looking at yourself,” said Frank, who obviously had kept in training too by the fit of his uniform. “We need to train you how to use a gun.” Frank paused and then added, “So you don’t shoot yourself or me.”

  “Or anyone,” said Chris. “I’m not comfortable carrying a gun and… using it. Shit, I mean I can barely squish a spider in case I disrupt the space time continuum.”

  “It’s just precautionary. We’re not going to give you a fucking gun and have you walk around the ballpark. Think for a second, Chris.”

  “Is it a big gun?”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Sorry. Let’s go.”

  Frank led Chris to the corner of the Fun Room he had never found himself near. On the way more serious questions moved to the forefront of Chris’s mind. “Have you trained with guns already?”

  “’Have I trained with guns already?’ Yes, Chris. It’s okay to shoot a gun, especially if it’s just a target.”

  “Do you take a gun out on missions? Have you shot anybody on a mission?”

  Frank didn’t want to lie and stopped walking. Chris wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

  “A couple missions I brought a gun along just in case. It was for protection, just like why you need to learn how to protect yourself,” said Frank.

  “Did you kill anybody?”

  “No.”

  “No… Did you shoot the gun while on a mission?”

  “No.” Frank was getting impatient. “It’s just for protection, Chris. I don’t want you getting hurt. Nobody wants you to get hurt. Learning this is going to help you, not make you into a killer or whatever fucking crazy idea you have in your head.”

  Frank slapped Chris hard on the back and ushered him to the wall. Frank pressed firmly against the edge and a section the size of a door hissed open. Chris wanted to say something about the secret passage in front of them but again wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the reasons behind it. Inside was nothing spectacular, but rather just a dull looking firing range with a small selection of firearms.

  As soon as Chris fired a couple of rounds under Frank’s explicit instructions, from a hidden speaker, Erik implored them to wrap things up. Chris wasn’t used to the fast pace of a mission day and found his brain switching to standby mode while the rest of him followed Frank’s lead.

  Outside the familiar black SUV sat at the curb waiting for them. Johnykin was in the passenger side, leaving Chris and Frank to share the back.

  “Uni looks good,” said Johnykin to Chris as he sat down.

  “I was hoping for something see-through but…” said Chris.

  Frank stopped himself from laughing and rolled his eyes. Johnykin smirked, but Chris wasn't sure if it was towards his joke or Frank's reaction. It did the job, though. The tension had dropped considerably. Another joke popped into Chris's head. He looked around to his small audience. Frank was transfixed to his phone and Johnykin gave in to the moving scenery outside. He decided not to push his luck and pulled his own phone out to eat up time.

  It was an early afternoon game. Tailgaters sprinkled across the parking lot enjoyed the excuse to get drunk before lunch. Frank opened his window and the cool breeze off the ocean rushed into the SUV to wake everyone out of their personal stupors. The driver took them to the back of the park for security clearance and entrance. A few staff members waved and welcomed the Supers as they walked through the gates, while the rest ignored them completely.

  “Who are they playing today?” asked Johnykin.

  “Dodgers,” said Chris quickly.

  “You looked it up on your phone right before we got here,” said Frank.

  “Yep. I’m cool like that,” said Chris, and sped up to walk side by side with Johnykin in front.

  Johnykin took in a wide view of the park around them and then faced Chris and Frank. “Once the game starts we'll be split up. Walt gave me the radio earpieces. Don't bother each other until the end to meet up again. This is really a meet and greet. Take pictures, sign au
tographs, whatever; just keep walking around and look like you're enjoying yourself.”

  “Can I get a beer?” asked Chris, as he put in the earpiece and raised his eyebrows at Frank.

  Johnykin glared the answer back at him. Chris thought of another joke and couldn't pass it up. “Should I wear my helmet in case of fly balls?” Johnykin walked away without a word. The jokes were too much.

  “We’re working, remember,” said Frank.

  “Since when did you never have any fun at work?” said Chris.

  “Since my work was actually fun. Just take it a little more serious.” Frank walked off.

  Chris struggled to comprehend the different approach of a man who once downloaded Chris’s entire route the day before installation and toilet papered the houses, leaving Chris to deal with a continuous string of pissed off customers. He also realized Johnykin and Frank took off in the only two directions they could walk around the park. To delay figuring out whose footsteps to follow in, Chris put in his earpiece. It was more comfortable than he would have guessed and dead silent. In fact he could still hear everything around him without any distortion or muffling. After being astonished over this miracle of technology, Chris took a step along Frank's direction then saw a staircase and moved up to the next level. The earpiece still amazed him. He dreamed about Walt sitting at a little workbench with a screwdriver and welding set putting everything together. A few steps later, the dream turned to a real question. How the hell was he supposed to turn the radio part on? It wouldn't be voice activated or they would be bothering each other every few seconds.

  Chris stopped walking and leaned against a pillar out of the way of the flow of staff traffic bustling around him. All of them had stopped acknowledging his presence. Probably, hopefully he thought, because they were busy getting ready for the game. While still pondering the workings of the very vital piece of machinery in his ear, Chris pulled the suit’s collar to peer along the inside for a microphone. He looked for any bump or obvious mechanical device sewn into the material. There was nothing so he continued to his arms. He ran his left hand from the shoulder to the wrist of his right arm slowly and over every inch of fabric. Nothing. Chris switched and caressed his left arm just as determinedly. Where could it be he thought. Losing himself in the search, he ran his thumb underneath the collar on his back and then groped his shoulder blades, chest, stomach, and lower back without any more luck. It couldn't be in his waste or legs, could it? He'd already gone this far. Chris began the search again from his butt and around his hips to his crotch. Definitely not there. Next his thighs and finally down his calves.

  “What the fuck? You do not look that good in a Super suit to be doing whatever you’re doing,” said Frank, watching Chris stand up after checking the end of the suit around his ankles.

  “Huh?” asked Chris

  “Oh my God.” Frank laughed, and went to leave.

  Chris finally understood what Frank was thinking. “I was looking for the receiver or mike for the radio. In our ears.”

  Frank stopped. His back was to Chris and he lifted his head up, trying to decide if he should believe it. “You're such an idiot, but fuck... man. Did you try tapping the radio? Like the parade broadcasters.” Frank tapped his own ear in exaggerated form.

  Chris pushed air into his lips and looked askance trying his best to appear suspicious of the advice. Feeling the moment was waning, Chris copied his friend and tapped the radio in his ear. A short bit of static blipped in and then was cut off by Frank's words.

  “You’re making us look like idiots. Just work. I like this job and don’t want it screwed up.”

  Chris pulled his eyes to his shoes. A stubborn side flashed in his gut. He should apologize to me. Then the unseen pressure took over.

  “Sorry.”

  The words echoed with a slight delay in his ear. The stubborn part jumped out of his stomach in disgust, but Chris didn't say anything else. Frank had left once Chris looked up.

  Chris made his way past rows of seats to get to the edge so he could look out into the pristine grass and dirt of the playing field. It was a beautiful day. Chris looked at the seat nearest him and without thinking sat down. Then sprung back up as a small crackle hit his ear.

  “Don't you dare sit down,” said Frank through the radio. “And don't let me catch you touching yourself in public again. Listen. It’s like you’re ADHD but not. Pay attention to what you’re doing.”

  “Paying attention,” said Chris.

  “Then turn your damn radio off and get to work.” Another quick buzz of static and silence.

  Chris smiled out into the park and reached his hand up to press the radio off as Frank commanded. Another buzz popped on with a voice that wasn't Frank's.

  “Johnykin, do you read? Johnykin, are you there? You were supposed to be on by now.”

  There was nothing else, which gave Chris a moment to place the voice. It had to be someone from the labs. Walt? Don't be stupid, Chris told himself. A new voice bailed him out.

  “Erik, I'm here,” said Johnykin over the radio.

  “What's your analysis of the situation?” asked Erik.

  “Stop trying to talk like a general. You're terrible at it. Things are fine. The game's about to start. Staff is busy running around and has gotten over our presence.”

  “Then tell me what I want to here.”

  “No. It's too big and too early.”

  “That's not... Let me remind you who you’re working for… No…”

  The third silence continued for so long Chris thought his earpiece had turned off.

  “Okay, okay. I trust your judgment. We'll get something else in line quickly. Enjoy the game.”

  Johnykin didn't respond. Chris kept the radio on for another minute just in case and then started up his route around the park. What the hell was that about? Chris thought on it but nothing came together. The sights and sounds of the ballpark didn’t help his concentration either. I hope there’s no ceremony for us or whatever, he thought. Oh no, Chris’s mind continued, they better not have us go up to bat. Chris’s heart thumped in his chest at all the embarrassing scenarios Erik might have cooked up for them. The anxiety only worsened when the crowds made their way in.

  Chris didn't know how well Frank and Johnykin were being perceived by the public, but the majority of glances he caught involved snickering from teenagers and hushed wows from little kids. There were cougar eyes and appreciative parental nods too. Unfortunately, Chris's self-conscious side blinded him to these more encouraging sights. Trapped inside his imagination, Chris pictured men crawling on their knees to catch sight of Johnykin and Frank giving high-fives and winks to a crowd waiting to cheer him on. Chris was just a nobody in a skintight uniform who shouldn't be there.

  His head drooped lower and his walking increased when a whistle echoed against the concrete floor and ceiling. Everyone turned to look and Chris couldn’t help doing so also. Johnykin took long strides towards Chris that parted the crowd. Her confidence and surprisingly big smile automatically lifted Chris out of his funk.

  Johnykin made it within inches of Chris with people still staring in anticipation. A loud whistle followed by a sexy woman in skin tight clothes approaching a man in matching attire had to end in some exhilarating fashion. Chris felt the pressure of their meeting and so did Johnykin, but she was the one that knew how to handle it. Johnykin grabbed the back of Chris's hair with both hands and pulled his face down to hers. Everyone knew in their guts what was coming next, a sensual kiss with the possibility of some public groping. Again, Johnykin was in control and at the last instant turned Chris's head to the side and planted a loud smacking kiss on his cheek.

  The disappointed crowd groaned before a few scattered claps resounded and died just as quickly. With the world turning back to a less dramatic pace, Johnykin hooked her arm around Chris's and led him through the ever thickening masses of baseball fans.

  “I thought we were supposed to be on our own?” asked Chris.

>   “To hell with that. I want to watch some Giants kick ass with a friend. So quit complaining.”

  The Giants didn't kick ass, but Johnykin and Chris had no less fun. Free hot dogs and not a trace of problems persisted throughout the afternoon. They talked, roamed around the ballpark, yelled at the umpires, and stopped for a few pictures along the way. The whole time was positive and made it impossible for Chris to bring up the conversation he overheard. He hadn't forgotten it, but the change in Johnykin was too overwhelming. If he popped that balloon of joy the explosion, he feared, would tear his head off.

  “Do you like barbecues —“ began Chris before Johnykin cut him off with her index finger. Then she pressed the radio in her ear and looked at Chris to follow suit.

  She spoke directly at Chris, “I'm at the Coca-Cola Fan Lot. The big glove and bottle place. Meet me here.”

  A bomb was lit and Chris didn't see he was the man left with the matches.

  Frank's voice shouted over the radio, “On my way. Five minutes max.”

  Johnykin kept her eyes on Chris, waiting for him to do something. He didn't know what she wanted.

  Frank was on the radio again. “Where's Chris?”

  Chris realized. “I'm here. I'm already here.”

  Johnykin shook her head slightly and turned away from Chris to look out for Frank. Most of the fans left in the seventh with the Giants down five runs. It would be easy to spot him, but Chris was looking in the same direction as Johnykin when Frank came up behind him. Frank slapped his hand down on Chris's shoulder.