Chapter Five

"So YOU'RE the daughter of the Black Canary, huh?" said Mr. Stephenson.

Helena and Dinah were sitting in Donald Stephenson's dusty cramped office at Pacific Auto Body Shop. Assorted plaques, faded calendars, and several faded framed certificates hung on the walls around them. Mr. Stephenson sat with his feet up -- with the soles of his black work boots facing Helena and Dinah -- at his paper-strewn desk before them. He was a stocky man with receding combed-over dark brown hair.

"That's right," Dinah said flatly.

"Give me ONE good reason why I should help YOU," snarled Mr. Stephenson. At this, the plaques, calendars, and certificates hanging on the walls began to tremble. "Bitch put me away for five years!"

"Canary did her best," said Helena. The plaques, calendars, and certificates on the walls ceased trembling. "The state had a case against you the size of Mt. Everest … there was only so much she could do." She then shot back, "And besides … you were facing fifteen."

"It would mean so much to me," said Dinah. "It'll only take a few minutes." She paused. "It would go a long way towards filling in a large part of my family tree."

"You say that NOW," said Mr. Stephenson. "What's to stop you from coming back here and asking for money later on?"

"I don't WANT your money," said Dinah, exasperated. "I've got money … I don't NEED your money." She paused. "Please … it'll only take a few minutes."

"NO!" bellowed Stephenson. The plaques, calendars, and certificates hanging on the wall shook once more. "After what she did to me, I want nothing more to do with that filthy whore!"

"Why are the plaques on the walls shaking?" Dinah asked nervously. She already suspected the answer -- PK -- but another part of her wanted to hear it spoken aloud anyway.

"It's an earthquake," said Mr. Stephenson as the plaques, calendars, and certificates hanging on the wall ceased their shaking. "It's the Pacific Northwest. We get em all the time up here."

" 'An earthquake'," sneered Helena. "An earthquake that only happens when you get angry." She rolled her eyes. "Uh-uh. It's PK, pal … and you're a meta."

"A WHAT?!"

"A metahuman," said Helena. "What's your problem?" She paused. "This is Seattle. If anything, I figured people like you would be marching in the streets!"

That was all Stephenson could take. He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a snub-nosed .38, and leveled it at Helena. The plaques, calendars, and certificates hanging on the wall shook once again. "Both of you have ten seconds to get the hell off my property."

Helena rose from her seat and raised her hands in the air in a gesture of pacification. "Hey, watch it with the pea shooter…"

"TEN!" Stephenson boomed, still leveling the gun at Helena.

Helena gently tapped Dinah on the back, urging her to leave. "C'mon," she said. "The sample isn't worth our lives."

Acting instinctively, Dinah stood up and let out an ear-splitting sonic scream -- The Canary Cry -- that sent Stephenson hurtling backwards against the wall. The now-dazed Stephenson dropped his arms down to his sides, letting the gun slip from his fingers.

Dinah gestured towards the small brown paper bag that sat at Helena's feet. "I'll get the sample, you watch the door," she said to Helena.