11. George Harrison - Got My Mind Set On You

It had been a very surreal feeling when we crossed Brown Bridge and had driven through our old neighborhood. The most disheartening sight had been the boarded-up windows of the restaurant and the big 'for sale' signs all over it.

I had a feeling, that this had been Peppe's attempt at motivating me.

Confusion had replaced my resigned detachment when instead of driving into the heart of the Panessas Peppe had turned right into an unfamiliar street filled with old apartment buildings.

He had parked at the curb next to a non-described building and had motioned for me to follow him. With sure steps, he had led me up three floors until he had finally stopped in front of a dingy apartment door.

"We have the apartment running under your father's name. You pay your rent starting next week to the landlord in apartment 4, cash only. Your things are inside." He had told me all business and had handed me a key.

Then he was gone. And I was alone in my own four walls. Almost literally four walls, because there wasn't much else.

But… I loved it. I really did. I couldn't wipe the grin off my face when I inspected every nook and cranny.

I almost celebrated when I spotted the little record player on the tv stand.

I'm about as unmusical as an epileptic at a rap-battle, but I had greatly enjoyed browsing youtube and stumbling over old but gold gems, which I could listen to for hours.

Here, 1994, I had been glad for my various jobs, because it had helped keep the crushing boredom somewhat at bay. Since I was just a mob enforcer from now on and I had zero plans of going out day and night looking for trouble I was stuck in a pickle when it came to passing my excess time.

I had some hope, that actively searching and collecting music, that I recognized would somewhat distract me from my other rather unpleasant business, that was going to fill my time.

Enough mobbing around. The apartment looked almost barren, to my disappointment I didn't even find any records, but it looked clean and that was another reason for my genuine joy. Less space, less cleaning.

I carefully placed my backpack on the rickety-looking coffee table and sat down on the couch.

My thoughts on the contents of the backpack in front of me.

Two small pieces of jewelry, which I probably would have to sell at a pawnshop while accepting the fact, that I wasn't going to make the big bucks Bernadette did with the pearl necklace in that fancy boutique.

She had looked the part in that normal but stylish dress that she had nicked from the late Mrs. Dekker. Being an adult in a proper establishment in the good part of town probably also had helped.

I wasn't too hung up on the money I was going to miss, it just had to be enough to keep me fed and give me the chance to gear up for my assignment.

Talking about gear, I wasn't sure about the handful of EpiPens I had helped myself to when I had gone through Dr. Dekker's laboratory. According to what the doctor had said in his monolog I should be able to use them as some kind of low-level stimpak. The question was, did I want to keep them here for emergencies or did I want them close at hand during missions and make my life significantly more comfortable. I guess, it all came down to their general availability and costs, which was another point I had to figure out in the upcoming days.

Bless the yellow pages.

And my quick convoluted thinking, which had me standing a solid 20-minute bus-ride from home in front of a military surplus store late in the evening…with a cheap plastic mask of a cartoon character covering my face.

Yeah, I really didn't want to show my face to some random guy, from whom I was going to buy the outfit for 'my job'.

Foot traffic was currently nonexistent, so I didn't feel too stupid when I pushed myself through the door with my hands held high.

And suddenly I didn't feel so stupid anymore, because the guy behind the counter holding the shotgun in my general direction really didn't look like someone, I was going to have a grand old time with.

"You better step back outside, punk, or I'm going to blast your head off!" He threatened, and the last part sounded just a bit too giddy for my liking.

Hands still up, I licked my suddenly very dry lips.

"I want to buy some quality gear for a job. I'm willing to pay extra for my anonymity." I offered as calmly as possible.

"Are you one of those crazy nut-jobs?" The barrel was still steadily pointed at me, but he sounded interested.

"Something like that, violence is definitely involved." I answered and he looked thoughtful.

"Alright, keep your hands up and turn slowly around, I don't want any surprises." He warned and I did as he instructed, showing that I was unarmed.

"I have a little knife in my pocket." I offered as a token of goodwill.

"Pull it out and throw it in front of the counter." He said, and I thought he sounded a bit less confrontational.

"Who are you gunning for?" He asked now definitely interested.

I paused, I had taken a good look around the shop while doing my little circle, and certain memorabilia had caught my eye.

"Zigeuner," I began to say, it already felt like ash in my mouth, and wanted to continue with my uncomfortable spiel when I was interrupted by a laugh.

"The gypsies?! Why didn't you say so at the beginning?" He exclaimed and put his shotgun on the counter.

"Welcome to my shop!" He came around and picked up my knife, which he then slapped into my chest for me to grab.

"Come along, come along, what do you have in mind?" He led me by the shoulder deeper into the shop and I felt a little bit of bile rising.

"Body armor, head protection, and something to wear on top." I said quickly, desperate to find what I wanted and get back out as fast as possible.

"Alright, I have just the thing, straight out of the Somalian dirt." He went into a row of shelves and picked up a serious-looking piece of gear.

"PTOA Class-III Body Armor, steel plates front and back included." He said and tossed at me. "Put it on, size is adjustable, and of course made in America." He finished as if he had already sold it to me.

'Oh..Okay.'

I followed him slightly bemused, the weight definitely was going to take some time getting used to.

Some shelves further we stood in front of various combat helmets. He had an almost loving smile as he was about to pick up a steel helmet that probably tickled his genocide boner given the insignias, when I pushed past him.

"What the hell is that?" I couldn't help it, this looked like something a fucking knight would wear.

"That's a MASKA-1SCh." He said clearly less enamored with this piece. "The Ruskis that came to Gotham nicked these and some other stuff from Mother Russia, apparently they are currently getting mass-produced for some conflict."

"I take it." Some black paint and I would be ready to roll.

"Be my guest." I clearly lost some points with my decisions, but honestly, f… that guy.

He gave me a once-over as I stood there wearing the body armor and the steel helmet under my arm. I wasn't willing to put down my plastic mask just to try it out, I was going to make that thing work some way or another.

"Hmm, follow me." He turned and headed towards an aisle near the rear of the shop. "I have some quality replicas of some jackets and coats from the Great War. Here, how about this?"

"A fighter pilot's jacket of our Kaiser's airforce." He offered and held it up by its coat rack.

It definitely looked cool enough.

"Can I try it on with the body armor underneath?" I asked and put the helmet under my arm on a nearby shelf.

He handed it to me, and I immediately put it on. Spotting a full-length mirror I stepped in front of it and eyed myself.

The black leather felt good, two big pouches and a belt to adjust everything, I liked it.

"Yeah, I take it, too." I said with a firm nod.

"Anything else you wanna look at?"

"I don't think so."

He rang up my purchase and put the helmet into a big plastic bag with my own sweatshirt. I felt the armor was hidden well enough under my new jacket and the jacket itself was also halfway decent enough to wear in public. Plus it was going to be dark outside anyway and the earlier I get used to the weight the better.

"Here, on the house. That plastic mask was embarrassing for both of us." He held up an item for me to see and also dumped it into the bag.

The dark green balaclava would probably come in handy under my new steel helmet, I thought with an internal shrug.

"Thanks." I said neutrally, I still didn't want to get cozy with that guy.

"I'm such an idiot." I said as I tossed the brown leather gloves into the cart in front of me. Right on top of the dark blue heavy-duty work pants I had to buy here, too, because I forgot to buy the purpose-oriented items at the nutjob's shop.

'Whatever'

It wasn't like I didn't plan on going to this Home Depot near Sprang Bridge anyway.

Yeah, I had been at a pharmacy earlier in the morning, turned out EpiPens are prescription-only and cost over 600 Dollars. Two itsy-bitsy little shitty auto-injectors would have cost me more than my entire outfit. Fuck no.

On the fly, I had decided that I would give some medical heat patches a try and had bought a handful in the very same pharmacy.

Anyway, I had two reasons why was here in the first place.

Reason one was already in the cart next to the black paint spray can for my helmet.

Copious amounts of heat patches on the job and an electric infrared heater at home, that was the plan for my all-around carefree package for the time being.

Reason number two, well, that one took some real thinking. Just what kind of image did I want to project, what kind of reactions did I want to invoke in my targets?

I wouldn't be able to pull a Batman and be all sneaky ninjas yet. For better or worse, stealth was going to take a ride in the backseats for now.

No, I was going to try my hand at the Determinator trope and take a leaf out of Jason's book.

And so the fireman's axe also went into my cart.