“Two Eyeballs and a Gun” – Part 4

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“You’re not going to suit up?” Dave asked as the car pulled up behind the cafe.

He wore his White Knight suit, the mask not completely covering the bandage on his nose, unfortunately. Lightblade had changed out of his flannel shirt and into his costume, which Dave didn’t envy. The spandex was a weird mix of camouflage green and bright orange, plus brown combat boots and a matching jacket. The Illusionist, though, was still wearing the same jeans and Seattle Seahawks T-shirt that she’d had on in the meeting.

“Have you seen my suit?” She made a face like a kid who’d been forced to eat Brussels sprouts. “If I’m not tripping over the three-inch heels, I’m tripping over the cape. But you can’t take away the cape, because it’s the only thing that hides how far the stupid leotard rides up my ass.”

A DSA agent opened the cafe’s back door, waving them inside.

“Besides,” the Illusionist went on, “there’s no point in actually wearing the thing when I can do this.”

She held out her hands, and the illusion of a black and gold leotard and impractical crimson cape suddenly replaced her jeans and T-shirt. She’d even made it look like her hair had been curled and styled instead of being in a messy ponytail.

“I’m impressed,” Dave said, “And jealous. So very, very jealous.”

The Illusionist grinned. Continue reading “Two Eyeballs and a Gun” – Part 4

“Tick, Tick, Boom!” – Part 8

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The back of Dave’s skull felt like a cash register that had been smashed open with a crowbar. He put a hand to his head, groaning, and tried to get his bearings. His eyes were closed. Why were his eyes closed? Well, that was easy enough to fix. He opened them and saw a hole in the ceiling, sparks jumping from torn electrical wires. When had that gotten there?

Jeffries spat a curse.

Oh, right.

Dave pushed himself up so fast that dizziness nearly took him back down again. But it wasn’t fast enough. Jeffries was already on his feet. His massive fist swung at Dave’s head, and Dave knew instantly that he wouldn’t be able to dodge in time. He flinched back on instinct, but Jeffries’ fist never made contact.

The bulky man screamed, clutching his head as if someone had set his brain on fire. Movement caught Dave’s eye near the hole in the ceiling, and he saw the Black Valentine glaring down at Jeffries like a vengeful goddess. Either she’d just saved Dave, or he’d hit his head so hard that he was hallucinating.

Jeffries’ eyes widened as he saw her, too, and he jumped a good four feet into the air. His meaty hand grasped for her feet, but she scrambled back just in time. Instead, Jeffries grabbed the edge of the hole and tore off a chunk of ceiling as he came down. The same chunk that the Black Valentine was standing on. She fell with a startled cry. Continue reading “Tick, Tick, Boom!” – Part 8

“Tick, Tick, Boom!” – Part 4

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Dave sat cross-legged on the floor next to Moreen with the rest of the hostages. Muffled sobbing came from someone behind him, along with soothing whispers and a murmured Hail Mary. “Everything’s going to be okay,” Dave had told everyone when the gunmen had first corralled them. He fervently hoped he hadn’t lied.

Out of the six gunmen who’d stormed the lobby, only the last three were still conscious and on their feet. The one with four arms stood watch over the hostages, two arms crossed, one holding a pistol, and the last carrying a walkie-talkie that he checked into every three minutes. Another gunman with a scarlet mohawk kept his gaze on the front entrance. The crowd outside had dispersed, replaced by police, red and blue lights splashing rhythmically across the glass doors.

The final gunman would regularly disappear for several minutes, returning with anywhere from two to six more hostages to add to the growing group on the floor. Janitors, clerks, lawyers—there were a lot of people who must have hidden themselves when the gunfire started. The courthouse was ten stories tall, but the third gunman seemed to be searching every nook and cranny.

When the Prophet Kid had been arrested, the DSA had captured five out of the estimated dozen members of the Monstro Gang. But they hadn’t caught the leader. Bradley “Pretty Boy” Jeffries was the brains of the operation—and the brawn. He could rip apart a car like wrapping paper when he was in his monster form. He was the whole reason the DSA had sent Dave after the gang; they were hoping White Knight would be strong enough to stop him. But he’d gotten away.

Four-Arms was talking to someone on that walkie-talkie, and whoever it was couldn’t be too far away….

Dave shifted his weight atop the hard tile floor, moving his legs so they wouldn’t cramp. The Monstro Gang had given their demands to the police negotiator who’d come in, but with the Prophet Kid spirited away by some mysterious third-party, this could only end in violence. He had to be ready to act at the first sign of trouble.

“Heads up,” said Mohawk Guy.

And trouble strode right through the front door. Continue reading “Tick, Tick, Boom!” – Part 4

Hero Status, Chapter 1

Hero Status is almost ready to be uploaded to Amazon! (That sound you hear is my excited squeal.) While I’m working on the final steps, check out this sample chapter.

Chapter 1

People like to debate where superpowers come from. What genetic mutation causes special abilities beyond what seems naturally possible? Experts theorize how the traits are inherited and what part the environment plays in affecting if and how they develop. I don’t have much to add to the discussion. Just because I have superpowers doesn’t mean I know how they work. Sometimes, though? I think they’re fueled by caffeine.

Lack of coffee was definitely my problem this morning. When the cook burst into the dining room with a shout, I should have calmly assessed the situation before reacting. Instead, I jumped and hit the table, jolting the silverware and knocking over my full cup of café con leche. Coffee drenched my wife’s favorite—and very expensive—white tablecloth and splattered onto the imported wood flooring. I winced and grabbed a napkin to sop up the spill.

Our cook was a big, burly man who’d gone to seed with age, the apron stretched across his beer gut reading, “Charred and Dangerous.” He tried to untie it, but his hands were still covered by oven mitts.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Feds outside.”

Before I could ask anything else, he rushed down the hallway, muttering something about hiding his guns. But I doubted federal agents had come all this way just for our cook’s illegal firearms.

“It’s probably nothing to worry about.” The maid smiled at me, ignoring the spill as she snatched a steak knife off the table. “They like to come around and ask questions every now and then.”

“This happened a lot in the old days?” I asked.

She shrugged and hurried off in the same direction as the cook. I stared stupidly after them for a moment, coffee still dripping onto the floor, then picked up my cane from where it rested against my chair. Standing up always made my knee twinge, but I ignored it and walked slowly into the kitchen. The room was wide, its floors and granite countertops so clean they reflected the light. The cook had left an omelet sizzling on the stove, and it filled the air with a smell that made my mouth water. I walked past it to the big window over the sink, and sure enough, two black SUVs were coming down the palm tree-lined driveway.

The omelet hissed and crackled angrily. I flipped it over, but the fluffy yellow egg mix was already crusted with black. I turned off the burner with a sigh. If I was going to have to deal with a government raid first thing in the morning, I’d like to do it on a full stomach, at least. Continue reading Hero Status, Chapter 1