Chapter 25: Vengeance

The hotdog vender had known his current customer for a total thirty seconds, but already he disliked him fervently. He was a cop, a young one at that which meant he already had one strike against him in the hotdog man's eyes. Not that the man was not at least wise enough to realize that cops could be nice guys, but he was also not fool enough to forget that nearly all the cops in New York were crooked. He supposed it was not exactly their fault, they were merely doing what their employer required of them, it was just a shame that their employer just so happened to be a criminal. There were plenty of competing crime families in New York, but only one, the man who was sometimes called the Irishman or more often the boss, ran the police, and it was common knowledge that nobody joined the force unless his organization approved. Yes, the hotdog vender supposed that this cop could actually be a nice guy, and he also supposed that if one of the boss's goons gave the say so, the man would also beat him within an inch of his life and then arrest him for assaulting a police officer. But that was not the real reason the hotdog vender disliked him. The real reason were his eyes.

They were cold, as if there was no life, no joy held within their depths. When those sky blue eyes looked at him, the man could almost feel the cop assessing him, calculating the threat this street vender posed and the best way to dispatch him if necessary. He had known this man for less than a minute, but never had he felt this sense that he could be murdered in broad daylight at any moment, not even from his wife.

"Condiments?" the man asked as calmly as possible.

Jake blinked a few times, as if the question confused him, and then nodded. "Mustard on mine, extra relish on the other." He ignored the man as he completed the order, sensing the discomfort from him. Jake supposed that it would do little good to tell the man that his anger was not directed at him. If anything it might frighten him more.

John, he thought, a fresh wave of ice water fury seeping through him. Three months. Three months was the best John could do until he found a more permanent solution, and in less than one he had managed to put them in a worse situation then when they had started. Some part of Jake realized that it was not John's fault, that the Master Chief had every reason to assume that he was sterile, that Cortana was in no danger of getting pregnant. But she had gotten pregnant, and it was not John who would have to deal with the fallout. It was him, Cortana, and most of all Jack. He had raised Jack like his own son when he was still just a kid himself, and now Jake knew he would have to do the same with this new child until John found a way back. He would do it, he would do it because he loved them, but that did not mean he would not give John an earful once he felt that his own anger had subsided enough to where he would not do or say anything rash. Jake felt that he had earned that right.

"How much?" Jake asked as the man handed him the two hotdogs.

"Seventy-five cents," the man responded, his right eye wincing at the hard stare Jake gave him.

"For two hotdogs?"

The man coughed. "Fifty cents. Consider it a police discount."

Jake shook his head, "Never mind." He dog into his pocket and dropped three quarters into the man's hand, walking away as soon as he did.

Jake weaved his way through the oncoming crowd, balancing both hotdogs in one hand while keeping his other close to his revolver. He had vague memories of walking these very streets in another world and twenty-five years ahead of the time period he was currently in. Before he had died, before he had gone to mid-world, before his childhood was destroyed and what was left was a man who suspected everyone of being a potential threat with the exception of the people he was closest to. He spotted the black and white 1952 Ford through the crowd and made his way towards it, slipping between two teenage girls with their hair in ponytails and books in their hands, their long skirts reaching almost down to the ankles, but frowned when he saw that it was empty.

"Hey Chambers. Over here."

Jake turned to his left and immediately his partner, Officer Brody Mahone, a man with a rounded face, his hair a salt and pepper gray, his waistline not so large as to be obscene but certainly larger than what would be desirable, his eyes a shamrock green. Jake tolerated him, in some ways even liked him, but he held no illusions about why he had been assigned to Mahone, the aging officer close to retirement. Jake had joined the force with no connections, something that was almost unheard of, but the Irishman for whatever reason had seen fit to let him become a cop. Jake was still not sure why, and was naturally wary, but he took the appointment nonetheless. It was the only job he could think of that made sense when considering his particular and specific skill set.

Mahone was standing by a telephone pole, looking at a piece of paper stapled on it, its ripped and torn edges indicating that it was several weeks old at least. "Isn't your Aunt's name Cortana?"

"Yeah," Jake replied, handing Mahone's hotdog off to him.

Mahone pointed. "Thought you might get a kick out of this." Jake looked at the poster and his eyes widened in alarm as he read it.

HAVE YOU SEEN OUR BLUETICK HOUND?

ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF CORTANA

PROUD MOTHER OF ONE PUP

EXTREMLY INTELLEGENT

VERY TALKATIVE BUT WE LOVE HER ANYWAY!

IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION CALL

259-1919

$$$REWARD$$$

"Hell of a coincidence don't ya think?" Mahone said, biting into his dog and smearing relish across his lips.

"Yeah," Jake agreed. "Hell of a coincidence."

…

Jason leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area of Tom and Jerry's Artistic Deli. The place could hardly be called a restaurant, the owners only turning it into one after Jerry had managed to convince Tom that there was more money in the sandwich making business rather than just selling quality sandwich meats to paying customers. The Deli was hardly a booming success, but it did well enough to get by, and by the midday rush the dozen or so tables and booths, the surfaces a shade of white that was as clean and refreshing as mint with scarlet trim around the edges, the chairs made of a dark sturdy wood with scarlet cushions (personally Jason thought the décor was a bit tacky, but he supposed it could be worse), would all be full. Well most of them anyway. In the corner was a jute box with the words 10 Cents written next to the coin slot, a black record spinning lazily underneath the needle of the player, the song Ramblin' Man by Frankie Laine drifting from the speakers. It worked most of the time.

Jason himself was just freshly out of his teens, had his black hair slicked backwards and held up with plenty of grease, a comb the back pocket of his jeans in case of emergencies, his eyes, which the girls at his old school use to call a dreamy brown as they whispered to each other while passing him in the hallway, unabashedly gazing at his morning coworker. Yes the Deli had a core group of die hard customers, and Jason suspected that this woman might be the very reason why.

"So Cor, when are you going to let me take you out? I mean it anyplace you want."

Cortana shook her head, but had trouble hiding a smile. She liked Jason despite his constant flirting, mostly because she knew it was harmless, the man flirting with nearly every single woman that came in. He was about the only person she was willing to tolerate it from. "How many times have you asked me out?"

Jason made a show of thinking, rubbing his chin in small circles with his index finger, "Well it's got to be at least a hundred."

"Well ask me a hundred more times and maybe my answer will be different. Until then you're out of luck."

Jason put his hand over his heart as if he had just been shot there, his face grimacing in emotional pain, "You wound me. And to think I was trying to do a bit of community service."

Cortana raised her eyebrow, her hips cocked. "Oh really?"

Jason nodded. "Can't let a woman as good looking as you be all alone on a Saturday night. It's criminal. It's an injustice, and by God," he pounded his fist lightly on the counter. "I will not rest until I see it corrected.

Cortana rolled her eyes and thought, I don't think he has ever heard of concept of 'over selling it.' "You do realize that my name is Mrs. Toren, not Ms. Toren."

"Actually I didn't. You've always just been Cor to me. As far as I knew you didn't have a last name." He shrugged dramatically, "Well what your old man doesn't know can't hurt him right?" At this Cortana chuckled openly and Jason smiled back at her, "What?"

Cortana shook her head, still trying to stifle the laughter. "Nothing, just that it's not him I'm worried about getting hurt."

Jason pointed at his own physique, patting a bicep, "Hey I could take him."

"Now that is something I would like to see." Turning away she gave a quick sweep of the restaurant with her eyes, frowning at the emptiness. She liked her job in the sense that she liked being with people, and being a waitress allowed her to be around them all day, the quiet atmosphere and often slow pace allowing her to strike up actual conversations easily and often. There were not many jobs available for women, at least not high paying ones, and even if she had decided to go for one of them she would still have been paid far less than a man would. Perhaps if she took a chance Cortana could do better than a dead end waitress job, and prior to becoming a mother she would have gladly taken some more risks, but now with a son to take care of and another child on the way what she valued most right now was security and stability, and that was what this job provided. It was far better, and ultimately safer for Cortana to just try and blend in with the society around her, as misogynist as it might be. To make it easier on herself Cortana thought of it as camouflage. It was survival in an alien time period, and Cortana had grown increasingly adept at it.

"Have you taken your thirty yet?" Cortana asked mildly.

"No why?"

"I think I am. Things are slow anyway," Cortana said, pushing herself away from the counter and heading towards the door.

Jason called after her as she exited the restaurant, "I'll hold down the fort." He leaned back against the counter, drumming his fingers on its surface, a wide smile forming as he saw a familiar middle aged woman walk in through the door. "Why hello there Mrs. Brisby. Looking beautiful as ever I see."

…

The walk from the Deli to the Turtle Bay Café was a short one, just a little over half a block, and it only took Cortana a few minutes to reach it even with the New York crowds. The building itself was made of red bricks, still a common feature in buildings during this time period, although that was quickly changing, had been changing ever since the first skyscraper was built, the enormous buildings seeming to defy gravity itself as they stabbed the sky with knives of steel and fingers of concrete and glass. The café itself was small, and only had one large window to the left of the door, a small board inside the store facing outwards advertising the place as having the best coffee in Manhattan, which put it in the same league as the dozens upon dozens of other coffee shops dotting the island city. Cortana had just placed her hand on the door handle to open it, and had it not been for a sudden gust of wind threating to pull up her skirt, she would have missed the penciled in graffiti written on the dried tan mortar between two of the bricks as she bent down in an effort to preserve modesty.

The more she stared at the words the more she had to halt the rising tide of panic that was settling in the instinctual part of her brain.

SHE COMES HERE EVERYDAY FOR COFFEE

There was no doubt in Cortana's mind as to what person the graffiti was referring to and she quickly straightened herself up, her mind working with the speed of quick silver as she began to dig into her purse. You forgot your money, she said to herself, repeating it as a mantra so as to make her acting appear more convincing. You forgot your money and now you are going back to the Deli to go get it. You did not see the graffiti, you just forgot your money. After thirty timed seconds of rummaging through her purse, her fingers brushing up against the very money in question several times, Cortana threw the purse back over her shoulder, walking with steady calmness back to the Deli. The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck. How long had those words been printed there? Why had she not seen them before? How long had she had people following her? Stay calm. Go back to the restaurant. Call John and make sure Jack is okay. Try to contact Jake. Finish out your shift then go home, just like nothing has happened. We'll figure things out from there. Even as she repeated these supposedly soothing words to herselfshe had to repress the desire to put a protective hand around her stomach. After several agonizing minutes, where every face appeared to be a potential threat, and every car a potential drive by, she saw the Deli in the distance, and she let herself relax.

Then a sharp finger jabbed into the side of her neck.

"Stop."

Cortana froze in mid step, her right foot dangling a half an inch above the sidewalk, her left one still firmly planted on the ground. Her eyes were the only they she could move, her very ability to speak stolen from her. They looked pleadingly at the throng of people surrounding her, but while many looked at her with concern, and even a few with contempt, non stopped to aid her.

Behind her Selena gave a crimson smile, "Hello Cortana. It's so nice to finally be able to meet you."