I stood outside and looked up through my Dirty Dog sunglasses at the front door of 72 Johnson Street. The windows were dark and the day was bright. I was wearing rhinestone studded designer jeans and a low cut red silk blouse, complete with black knee high boots. The outfit represented my biggest spending spree in about five years and was bought with a purpose.
Three weeks ago I discovered I was a superhero.
Ok so I was a little slow on the uptake, and my special powers left something to be desired, but for the first time in a long time I was feeling pumped and ready for action.
I hadn't done all that much in the three weeks since my discovery. I kept thinking I should probably go out and kick some evildoer butt and then chickening out on the sofa. Trouble was, I didn't know where to start. I've never kicked butt my whole life. Probably I figured this superhero stuff was better off starting out slow. No sense bumbling into some world threatening catatrophe and completely messing it up, right?
So that was how I'd ended up here, standing in front of the house of Kenny the Plumber.
Kenny the Plumber was my ex boyfriend turned superhero. I hadn't seen him since I'd gained my own powers and doubted he's heard of them considering I was still in the process of convincing myself they existed.
Kenny still lived in our old house, because it was his house. He bought it in his name, even though I contributed my own fair share for three years out of my minimum wage waitress salary. Then I magically got into law school, Kenny turned superjerk and kicked me out on the curb.
For nearly six months I'd been licking my wounds on Smith Street in the slums of Metropolis but now I was back with a vicious sense of justice swelling in my chest. I'm a stauch believer that every woman has at least one ex boyfriend they love to hate and Kenny the Plumber was mine.
Unconsciously my right hand drifted down and gripped the handle of my Desert Eagle. I had two - one for each hand. I was still uncertain about packing heat whilst in the vicinity of Kenny. I thought maybe it was tempting fate. I was afraid I might actually be tempted to kill him and end up on the wrong side of a jail cell.
As alluring as it was, I didn't actually want to kill Kenny. Maybe frighten him a little if I was lucky. Of course probably, knowing my luck, guns wouldn't work on Kenny anyway. He was a superhero now. Probably he was bulletproof.
I stalked up to the door and rapped loudly with renewed force. Today was the day I took that first step. Control of my life was now squarely back in my hands. I am woman, hear me roar.
Five minutes later Kenny opened the door. It was 2pm in the afternoon and he looked like he'd been sleeping. His blonde hair was ruffled all over the place and his baby blue eyes were crusted with sleep. He squinted at me through the daylight.
"What the hell?" Kenny stood in the doorway looking puzzled. He was wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. His shoulders had always been broad and well-muscled, but in the six months since I'd left he'd also worked his beer belly down into a six pack.
I ground my teeth and hated him some more.
"I'm here for my Linkin Park cd," I told him.
"What!" said Kenny, stupified.
"I said I'm here for my Linkin Park cd. You know, the one I accidentally left behind when you kicked me out of the house. Maybe you don't remember that incident?" I had my hands on my hips. Kenny looked at me like maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was.
Of course I wouldn't expect Kenny to understand.
"Are you freakin' kidding me?" Kenny asked, "What time is it anyway?" He shaded his eyes from the sun as though it might burn.
"It's 2pm in the afternoon Kenny," I dutifully informed him, hands on hips.
"Yeah well, I was up all night saving the city," Kenny griped, "That shit takes its toll you know. Just because I'm a superhero don't mean I don't gotta sleep and eat. I still shit bricks not roses." Oh boy, I thought, that was more than enough information.
"Are you going to give me my cd or what?" Patience is not my strong suit.
"Fine," said Kenny "Whatever." He opened the door wide enough for me to slide through. I stepped into the hallway and appraised my old living space. My couch was still in the corner. It was covered in empty coke bottles and crusty pizza boxes.
"Nommy," I said.
"Just get your stupid cd and get out will you." Kenny stood by the doorway looking irritated.
I revelled in the moment, "Where is it?"
Kenny exploded, "I don't fricken know where it is,do I? What do I look like, Mr. Find-it? Geez. It's a cd. It's probably in the cabinet with all the other cds."
I sauntered over to the cd cabinet figuring his idea had merit and that the deduction probably hadn't required Sherlock Holmes. Opening the doors to the cabinet, I bent down and rifled through the cds.
"Find a clue while you're in there?" Kenny suggested.
"No," I said, "Get a life."
"I got one. Now it's your turn." I didn't even look as I flashed him the italian salute. Then I found my cd. I squeeled like a girl and pulled it out of the cabinet.
"My Linkin Park!"
"Brilliant," said Kenny, "Now get out." I ignored him and did a little dance of joy in his living room. Sure it was only a cd, but for six months I had been without it. And for six months every time I passed the gap in my collection I thought I should go retrieve it. Then I thought of Kenny and suddenly I was too busy. I had cleaning to do. I had to scrub my sink and dust the top of the tv cabinet. I was hungry and if I didn't cook dinner now it would be too late by the time I got back. Best leave it for another day.
As much as I convinced myself I had good reasons for putting it off, there was always that little voice in my stomach that said, "Chicken." It had gotten to the point that this one little cd represented more than the sum of its parts.
And now I was standing in Kenny's living room holding it in my little grubby hands doing a tragic rendition of the robot dance.
Kenny glared at me, then his eyes narrowed on my waist.
"Jesus," he swore, "Are you carrying?" I stopped dancing.
"Oh yeah," I told him, "I got this nice little Desert Eagle." I pulled the right gun out of the holster to show him.
"Don't you dare point that thing at me," Kenny said, and edged away.
"Why not?" I asked, "You're indestructible right?" I held the gun up and pointed in his direction. I swear I wasn't going to shoot him.
"Shit," said Kenny, and suddenly he was gone. One moment he was there, the next second nada. I looked up the hall and into the lounge. Empty.
"Kenny?"
Kenny's disembodied voice came from all around me. It was everywhere and nowhere at once. "Get out of my house Kate," he said.
Well fine. I put my gun back in the holster and, hugging the cd, I flounced out his front door. I was feeling pretty peachy with myself. A little bounce in my step and I walked across the sidewalk.
I stopped on the pavement and smiled at my little Mazda Eunos parked on the curb. Six months ago I'd been driving a 1970s Mercury bobcat. The Mercury had less life than a cemetary. It drove like a risen corpse too - cumbersome and without much force. For years I'd wanted to put it out of its misery and when it finally died, I'd replaced it with the Eunos.
The Eunos was small and sporty. It represented my new life. It was pure white and purred like a kitten. It was new used, and sometimes choked on a hairball, but I wasn't going to let that slow me down.
I slid behind the steering wheel and started her up. Goofy smile plastered over my face, I fed the cd into the player and cranked the volume. Johnson Street crossed over Main and I took that all the way to the police station and pulled up in the parking lot.
The passenger door was opened by an orange haired cop still in uniform. He slid in beside me, cringed, then turned off the music.
"You're late."
"Sorry. I got caught up." The police officer was Donnie Zabrowski, my neighbour. Donnie is 5'10, stocky and ten years my senior. He also loves football, but I don't hold that against him.
Donnie Zabrowski is the bomb. At least as far as I'm concerned he is. He helped me move my entire apartment of furniture up two stories of stairs before he even knew my name. He's saved my life before and every Friday he brings me pizza. For these things, I hold Donnie somewhere in the vicinity of heavenly angel.
It life was fair, I reasoned, it would have given Donnie superpowers and Kenny a toilet brush.
But life wasn't fair. People weren't perfect and neither were heroes. Those that thought they were without sin were placed in the same category as seventeen year old virgins and seventy year old grannies who still honestly believed they could win millions on a two cent pokie machine - blissful idealistic naivety.
I pulled out of the police station with Donnie and cruised down the road to the firing range. Donnie had already taken me a couple of times to the range so I'd get used to the guns, but I figured if I was going to start being a superhero then more practice was better.
Fortunately I was a natural. Donnie had fifteen years as a cop under his belt and after five hours I still had straighter aim than he did. We started a little competition with distance and movement. I plastered every one of my bullets straight through the bulls eye on my little paper person.
Donnie pulled off his earmuffs in frustration and stared at my paper man.
"You missed one," he said, pointing to what looked like an errant shot.
"I didn't miss," I told him, "I was channeling Kenny at the time." Donnie took another look at the hole. It was three quarters the way down the paper, located about the place the groin would be.
"Geez," he shook his head, "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
I rocked back on my heels, "Good enough to be a superhero then?"
Donnie said, "What?"
"I'm thinking about being a superhero," I repeated. Then, because he looked at me funny, I repeated it slowly just in case his hearing was shot, "I'm going to be a superhero."
"Have you been drinking?" asked Donnie.
"No. Why?"
"You're crazy."
"No I'm not," I said defensively, "I have superpowers."
"Yeah right." Donnie usually reserves that tone for when he knows that I'm lying.
"I do," I insisted, "I can make people do things with the power of my mind. I set that guy on fire, I made Mrs. Metalhead choke herself and I convinced my insurance agent to give me $10 000 for the bobcat. Plus I got my Linkin Park cd back from Kenny."
Donnie put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes, leveling with me serious style, "That guy set himself on fire with his cigarette. Mrs. Metalhead was a freak accident, and as for the insurance agency, that was probably just your subliminal charm. Especially if you were wearing that shirt at the time." He didn't mention Kenny and my cd. It resided as my one unexplained phenomenal claim to fame.
"Hmmph," I said, "Fine. Don't believe me then." Donnie patted me on the shoulder in consolation. I ignored his comment about my shirt. Instead I channeled all my Kenny rage and aimed it at Donnie.
"Dance the funky chicken and bark like a dog," I ordered.
Donnie's eyebrows shot to the sky, "What?" Was he deaf? Old age must have been setting in.
"Dance the funky chicken and bark like a dog."
Donnie looked down at his arms, then his shoes, then back up at me, "You're crazy."
"Bah," I said, "That attempt doesn't count. I was only half serious."
"Yeah right."
We packed up and got back into the Eunos. Donnie checked his watch to make sure he hadn't missed the game. It was still early enough to be light but the day was shedding its wound down the main blocks of Metropolis City and shot out into urban suburbia. I took one look at my fuel gauge and told Donnie I needed to stop for gas.
"Sure," he said, "As long as you get doritos too." I pulled into the petrol station and up to the hose.
"I only got five bucks for petrol," I told him.
Donnie flicked a twenty dollar note out of his pocket and waved it in my direction.
"Doritos," he said, then he got solemn, "Now this here twenty dollar note represents at least three packets of crisps, two bottles of Pepsi and a king size chocolate bar. I see you coming out with anything less and I'll probably get cranky." He leveled serious cop face at me but none of it reached his eyes, which were playing.
I took the twenty dollar note out of his hands with mocking sobriety.
"Do you think this twenty dollar note represents three packets of crisps, two bottles of Pepsi and two king sized chocolate bars?" I asked.
"Only if I get to see the game." That was good enough for me. We both knew Donnie was going to see the game regardless.
I jumped out of the car and spun around to the pump. Removing the cap to my tank, I pressed the lever for gas. Nothing came out. The numbers on the machine indicated that the attendant hadn't pressed the little button at the counter to reset the pump yet.
I look up at the cashier desk in the store. The attendant was leaning against the counter. He looked like he was resting with his eyes closed. I waved to try and get his attention, but he ignored me. I hmmphed and stomped into the store.
Half way down the aisle I realised something was wrong. The attendant had slipped and was now completely slumped over the counter. There was a dangerous wound in his forehead that looked like a bullet hole. The till was open and emptied and candy bars were strewn all over the counter.
I looked around for the culprit but the shop was empty. For two heart thumping seconds I thought the attacker had fled, then I heard a kerthunk from the back room and someone appeared in the doorway.
He was tall and lean, wearing faded torn jeans and a blue tank top. He stopped in the doorway in surprise and we both eyed each other up.
"Boo," he finally said. I nearly peed my pants.
"Did you do this?" I finally asked, finding my superhero serious voice.
"Wasn't me." Sure. His refusal to look around the room at the carnage gave away that fact he was lying.
"D'you see who did?"
"Nope." I didn't believe one word of it. The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He flipped one out of the packet and into his mouth, then guarded the flame of his lighter as he lit it. He looked at me nonchalently and puffed on his smoke.
Ok so now was the time to act. Actually two minutes ago when he'd first walked through the door was the time to act, but I was a slow learner.
I reached down and pulled out my gun, then pointed it in his direction.
"Put your hands up," I said, "You're coming with me quietly to the police station."
He looked at me skeptically, "Now why would I want to do that?"
"Because," I informed him, "I'm pointing a gun at you."
"I can see that." He shoved his hands in his pockets.
"I could blow you away."
"Sunshine," he told me, "I don't think you could hit a purple cow at point blank range."
I glared at him and felt my finger squeeze the trigger, "I'm pretty good on the shooting range."
"I'll bet you are sugar, but until you stop shooting with your mouth first and your gun second, you aint gonna hit shit." I might have shot him if he hadn't been right. No sense shooting a man for being honest.
"I don't need to shoot you anyway," I said, lowering my gun, "I've got special mind control powers."
"No shit!" he said. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it into the laminate, "I've got to see this."
I levelled my gaze at him, "You will come to the police station with me." We both waited for magic. Nothing happened.
"Nope," said the stranger, "Guess not today." A car door slammed and five seconds later Donnie appeared in the doorway.
"What's taking so long?" he asked from the other side of the store. He took one look down the aisle and his cop senses must have kicked in. Donnie reached for his gun.
The servo stranger took two steps and grabbed me from behind. He took my arm and twisted until my grip involuntarily loosened on the Desert Eagle. Then he grabbed my gun and prodded my forehead with it.
"Back off bacon," he told Donnie, "Or your little missus gets it."
"I am so not his missus," I said, "And you are not shooting me with my own gun."
"Sorry sunshine," said servo stranger, "I like you but not that much."
Donnie and the stranger eyeballed each other. Then there was the unmistakeable roar of a car starting and my little Mazda Eunos peeled out of the garage. I stared after it with my mouth hanging open. Donnie was in the store, and I was in the store, and we were the only two people who had been in the car.
"You didn't leave your keys in the car did you?" said Donnie incredulously.
"Please," I said, feeling slighted. I held up the car keys still in my hand.
"I don't fucking believe it," declared servo stranger. He was still holding a gun to my forehead and now he sounded pissed off. This didn't bode well.
"That fucking weazel," he ranted, "I told him to stay calm. Yeah I'll be calm he says. First he fucking shoots the attendant and now he pisses off and leaves me here with a copper."
I was confused. Donnie was too. "I didn't see anyone else leave the store," he said.
"Of course you wouldn't fucking see him. He's invisible, isn't he!" Great, I thought, the invisible man knocking off servos and engaging in grand theft auto. Wasn't the world just dandy. And my day had started out so good...
"Somebody stole my car." I stared at the empty gas station in shock. The reflection in the glass told me I was channeling goldfish face, "Somebody STOLE my car!" My lovely little Mazda Eunos. Gone. In under two minutes.
Suddenly I was really angry. Seriously, I thought, how much could one person take in a day. I thought of all those wasted years patiently waiting for the bobcat to kick the bucket and gnashed my teeth.
"I am so going to find that guy," I growled at the store window, "And when I do he's going to wish he'd shot himself." Donnie actually took an involuntary step backwards. Donnie is not just a cop, he's a Metropolis City cop. He's stared down more evil in one day than I could imagine in my whole life. I must have looked scary.
Behind me, I heard servo guy go, "Erp." Then the gun left my forehead. Donnie was frowning at him from down the aisle.
I turned and looked at servo guy. His arm was crooked and he was convulsing slightly. He was still holding my gun, but the barrel was slowly starting to aim at himself.
"Cripes," he gasped, then shook like he was being electrocuted. Suddenly his hand unclenched and he dropped the gun. The impact of hitting the floor set it off with a loud boom. A hole appeared in a packet of cheetos and munchies started spilling over the aisle floor.
"What the hell!" said servo guy. He was already half bent over trying to pick up the gun again, "Keep that thing away from me!"
I figured he meant the gun and bent to retrieve it. The look on servo guys face only slightly relaxed.
"What's going on?" demanded Donnie, striding down the aisle.
"I just nearly shot myself!"
"Well why didn't you finish the job?"
Servo guy shot Donnie a dangerous look. You could have fried bacon with that look. "I'm serious. Keep that thing away from me. I can't control it." His hand shuddered and convulsed, and did its best impression of having a mind of its own.
"Holy hell," said Donnie.
"See. I told you! I have powers." Both of them looked at me blankly, the light in their eyes slowly dawning.
"This is fucking nuts," servo guy sounded desperate, "How long does it last."
"I don't actually know," I informed him.
"Shit." He looked at his hand. His hand looked at him. The whole thing was creepy.
"Maybe you better take me in to the station," he told Donnie.
"Serious?" Donnie, amazed.
"Hell yeah. Maybe you can lock my arm up to one of those metal bars. I don't care. Just get me away from her."
"No problem." In two seconds Donnie had his phone to his ear and the police dispatch on the way. We were standing in the middle of a crime scene with a potential suspect and murderer who was begging to be taken in. I wondered how often in Donnie's career he'd had this happen.
It took only ten minutes for the Metropolis City police to get there, but several hours more for them to stop questioning me. I reported my missing car, then waited for Donnie so he could drive me home in his unmarked police car. I slumped even further down in my seat when I realised we'd forgotten the chocolate bars.
"Do you realise what you did?" Donnie asked me incredulously, flooring it into the industrial zone.
"Yeah," I said, "I nearly made some guy shoot himself. Isn't it awesome!" Donnie glanced at me with a look somewhere between concerned and fearful.
"Well obviously I didn't mean it that way," I said.
"You can make people do what you think," Donnie, worried, marveled. I guess he had a right too. When you looked at it that way, it was kinda scary.
"Yeah." I slumped back down in my seat, "Are we still on for the Friday night game?"
Donnie mulled over it seriously. He seemed to take a long time. For a minute, I thought he was going to say no.
"Yeah sure. Why not." I felt tension roll out of me in waves.
"Just don't make me dance the funky chicken," he warned.
"No sir." I mock saluted. Then I thought about my little Mazda Eunos and was sad, "What am I going to do about my car?"
"Speak to the insurance agency again," suggested Donnie, "I'm sure you'll get another cheque."
"Yeah. I remember. My subliminal charm."
"Yeah right," said Donnie.