It was a glorious trench coat, sitting in the window like a bride's gown. My first day in the Twin Cities, the city chosen as it was the first flight away from family. I just had to go and do my own thing.
A nice trim, yellow was always my favorite color. The long sleeves wouldn't get too much in the way of what I was planning. Despite all, I didn't want to get in too deep.
Course; given our track record, you can see how that panned out.
I checked my wallet. Still had under a few grand left. I checked the price tag on the coat. Five hundred dollars. Even without knowing it was a Gambi, I knew it was worth it.
Stepping into the shop, it wasn't what I expected. Lots of party costumes, war gear. All marked up at top prices. Even new in the States, I understood the value of a dollar.
At the counter, The Aussie was arguing with a balding man about a scarf price. I guess Digger wasn't used to the price of quality yet, either. He eventually gave in, and was a bit surprised to see me, a quiet foreigner, just standing in the doorway.
"Ye' sure yer s'posed to be'n here?" he asked. He was a bit defensive more than hostile. Covering his own ass, as usual, "Isn't a costume shop."
It was at this point I realized I was in the right place. Thought I'd be all subtle, going into some department store for the costume. Of all places to end up in, I selected 'Villains R Us.' No disrespect to the Tailor, of course, but imagine my hesitation.
I had none. "Yes. Are you?"
He relaxed a bit, as naïve as I was, "That's a good question, mate. Ne'er been the melodra- stupid type myself, just in't for yours truly."
It was at this point I recognized him, "Oh, you're the Boomerang guy."
"Damn straight."
"Heh. I've been thinking of mixing it up here in the United States myself."
"Hm, didn't think that was an American accent. Where you from, kid?"
"Guatemala. And it's Marco Mar- Marco." I remembered my goal to make a name for myself, not live on my family's laurels.
"Mark, huh? 'm from Australia myself. Name's George, call me Digger."
"Any advice for 'fresh meat?'"
"Well, ye've got the lack of arr'gance down pat. What's yer weapon?"
"Weather."
"A ranged fighter, too? Good. Don't bother t'mix it up in melee wit Flasher, d'n't work. Oh, and cut the nice."
"…nice?"
"Yeh. Ye've been be'in' far too nice to the competition. The game's about the dest'nation, not the journey. Or sum ass-shit like that."
"Ah- oh."
"Either way, I'd say Friday would be best for startin' out."
"Why Friday?"
"Was plannin' sumtin, wouldn't mind the Flash getting' distracted by young blood."
"Hey, now…"
"Tell ya what, you manage to succeed in a job on Friday, I'll intr'duce yeh to one o' my drinkin' mates, who'll set yeh straight on how to go about sparrin' t'Flasher."
"Ok… where?"
" 'Keystone Saloon.' 'S Charles's pub in t'Keys, can't miss"
"I'll be there Saturday."
I ended up making a getaway that time, no loot, but Boomer got shipped off to Belle Reve. Still got to meet Cold and the rest of the guys. I still have that trench coat, but the glory's become all my own.
