Wonder Guy (22 page)

“Unbelievable, Linda,” Ken continued the commentary. “Authorities have declined to comment on where the dinosaurs came from or where they went. A spokesman from the mayor’s office suggests it was some sort of trickery, a hoax perpetrated with hi-tech holographic imagery.”

“No one can say for sure, Ken, but Wonder Guy has been in the news before. The police have confirmed that he has prevented several crimes around town, and yesterday cameras caught him in action restraining an elephant that went out of control during a parade in Uptown.”

“That’s right, Linda. We’re all grateful to this masked hero who has been doing so much to keep Minneapolis safe for it citizens. Now here’s Ted Ewing with the weather.”

Gloria turned down the sound. “Did you hear that, Aggie?” She lifted her voice over the clatter Aggie made in pulling bowls and spoons from their places.

“Something about Wonder Guy and dinosaurs?”

“Yes, and they showed video clips. But dinosaurs, live ones anyway, in Minneapolis? It’s crazy. Whoever said it must be some kind of hoax is probably right. Maybe it’s a promotion for some new dinosaur movie.”

“I suppose.” Aggie’s tone allowed for doubt.

“I saw Wonder Guy up close. He’s real. What he did with the elephants seemed real. Only, how could there possibly be live dinosaurs in this day and age?”

“Sometimes the answers aren’t as simple as we’d like. Not black or white, real or hoax. A dream is a real experience. While dreaming, you feel real feelings and see real visions, even if it isn’t real in the same way this table and chairs are real, or the soup is real.” Aggie tapped her ladle against the steel saucepan.

Gloria stared at her friend. “When did you get to be such a philosopher?”

“It was my minor in college,” Aggie reminded her. “I must have mentioned it before.”

“Maybe. I’ve always been more impressed that you majored in art.” She grinned. “When I was a kid, I thought I’d won the lottery, having you for a neighbor, with all the arts and crafts projects you shared with me.”

Aggie wheeled slowly back with a couple bowls on the tray across her lap, steaming with scents of chicken broth, marjoram and sage. “I was glad to. My only son showed no interest. I’m only sorry you never got to go to art school yourself. You have such an aptitude for it.”

She set a bowl before Gloria and brought the other to her own place at the table. The scent of the thick, creamy soup tempted Gloria into taking a sip. The flavor filled her mouth with warmth and comfort. She tried a bit more. “Mmm. This is good, Aggie.” She paused to swallow. “Oh yeah, real good, and thanks, I’ll get to school someday. In the meantime, I love our projects together. I’m doing something artistic here.” She smiled at the shelf where they displayed what they counted as their finer ‘art’ pieces.

They fell into a companionable silence as they ate. Gloria turned up the TV, now reporting the national news.

* * * *

“Do you read me, dear?” Serafina must have been calling him all along, with her voice drowned out by the rush of air and the pounding of his pulse in his ears as he hurtled helplessly toward impact with the road below. Only moments had passed, though it seemed a lifetime.

“Yes.” His voice sounded higher pitched than usual. “I read you.”

“Good. Don’t worry, dear. You’ll regain your power before you hit ground. Just get further past St. Mary’s.”

Gee, that’s swell. The road rushed under him. What did St. Mary’s have to do with it? He skimmed above someone’s SUV, envisioned himself hitting the road, bouncing, hitting again, scraping his hide off all the way down Riverside and onto the highway. But no. If Serafina had it right, he had to focus on lifting back into flight when his power kicked in again.

He strained upward as the road rushed to meet him. Inches from impact, he gained some height. He strained harder, reaching, arching upward, gaining enough height to avoid smashing into a bus passing down the intersecting Cedar Avenue.
Hot damn!

Greg angled around and brought himself to a controlled, careful landing outside the bar. He put his hand on the brick wall and leaned there for a moment, just outside the door, as his racing pulse steadied.

“Serafina?” he inquired. “What was all that?”

“Later, dear. Robbery in progress.”

“But–”

A gunshot cut through his thoughts. Greg dashed through the bar’s door. Bullets slammed into his chest, no more a deterrent than moths against the windshield of a speeding car.

The bar occupied a long, narrow space where half a dozen patrons, a waitress and bartender sat or stood frozen. Two men in ski masks. The one furthest from the door held a gun on the patrons. No one appeared injured. The first shot must have been a warning.

The gunman nearest the door faced him, gun aimed at the big W on Wonder Guy’s chest, staring expectantly, as if still waiting for his target to fall.

Greg stepped forward and plucked the gun from the robber’s hand. “I’ll take that.”

The other gunman, guarding the rear exit, swung toward him. Before the man blinked, Greg hurled the confiscated weapon straight at his chest. He had to gauge his strength carefully, afraid of killing the man if he threw too hard. The impact sent the gunman flying to the end of the hallway and crashing against the steel fire door, where he slid to the floor and lay gasping, all the wind knocked out of him.

Greg reached the side of the fallen gunman in an instant and scooped the weapons from the floor. He turned to face the bar full of wide-eyed patrons. “Has anyone called the police?”

The bartender, his blond hair in dreads, answered, “Didn’t get the chance.”

“I got it.” The waitress raised her cell phone, on which a video played, showing Wonder Guy’s arrival in miniature, robbers, patrons and all.

A couple of the burlier patrons stepped forward and grabbed the first robber by his arms.

Greg waved the bartender over and handed him both guns. “Keep these two covered until the police get here, will you? I can’t stick around.”

“Sure thing.” The man took one of the weapons and handed the other to one of the guys detaining the first robber. “Here, Lenny. You cover this guy. Say,” he said before Greg made his exit, “you’re that guy who was on the news?”

“Yes, sir.” Greg nodded his acknowledgment before he ducked out through the fire door.

He paused in the alley where shadows had deepened from twilight to full night.

“Serafina?” He spoke into his mask’s radio.

“Yes, dear?”

“What happened back there? When I lost power and almost crashed to a grisly death against Riverside Avenue?” The reminder of his near miss prickled across his skin.

“Oh, that. Yes. You remember what I told you concerning Superman’s powers, dear? How you’re also subject to his vulnerabilities?”

“Um. Yes?” It came vaguely back to him, but Superman didn’t have many vulnerabilities. “So, I ran into some kryptonite?” He leaned back against a brick wall. Sirens sounded in the distance, nearing the bar.

“Don’t be silly, dear. There’s no such thing as kryptonite. The planet Krypton was imaginary.”

“Forgive me if the distinction seems a bit fine coming from my fairy godmother.”

“No need for that tone, dear. Krypton was Superman’s birthplace. St. Mary’s hospital was your birthplace. Do you see?”

“Oh. Right.” Aggie had mentioned he’d been born right here on the west bank. She’d been a student at the University at the time. Serafina had said something about sharing Superman’s limitations. He supposed it made an odd kind of logic to equate Wonder Guy’s birth hospital to Superman’s birth planet, though he’d never quite understood why chunks of Superman’s home planet should be dangerous to him.

“Do you understand the limitations now, young man?”

“I think so. Thank you, ma’am.”

The connection fell silent.

St. Mary’s, huh? He’d have to avoid the place. At least there wouldn’t be pieces of it scattered around town the way chunks of kryptonite had been scattered over Earth in Superman’s universe. Pieces from a planet in a whole different star system weren’t likely to make it this far. The infant Kal-El’s ship’s propulsion would have carried him much further than the initial impetus of the planet-destroying blast would carry Krypton’s fragments across light-years.

* * * *

“You again.” Elysha greeted the sylph she’d sent to keep track of the costumed hero who’d spoiled her fun with the dinosaurs. “What are you doing back so soon?”

“Please, mistress,” pleaded the being, gossamer as animated cobwebs, in the rambling way that never ceased to try Elysha’s patience. “You said to return if I did learn something of use against the man who flies.”

Elysha did not actually smile, but eased her forbidding glower. “True,” she said. “What have you learned, then?”

“I returned to the place where I did leave him before,” the sylph began. “I waited long and long but he did not appear again, and I did languish near the bitter steel.”

“Yes, yes. He did appear again finally, did he not?”

“Yes, mistress. At long last, when the harsh glare of day did flee into the soft shadows he returned and I did follow him.”

“Spare me the details. Did you learn naught of use to me?”

The sylph drew itself together, becoming a bit more opaque in the deep shadows of Elysha’s glade.

“He flew above a place and then he began to fall,” the sylph said in a rush. “His power fled him near this place and he came near to being dashed to the earth, until he passed too far from the place and did regain his power.”

“Ah,” Elysha sighed. “It pleases me to know of this. Now you must show me this place of which you speak.”

* * * *

By the time Greg returned to the University for his bike, he’d stopped an arsonist, two break-in attempts and a kid he’d caught tagging garages down the back alleys of South Minneapolis. He’d delivered the captured perpetrators to the appropriate precincts and given brief statements to the police all the while making sure to avoid passing anywhere near St. Mary’s.

Returning to the University, he picked up his bike, helmet and backpack. He flew with them back to his own neighborhood, not wanting to bike all the way home again. He ducked into the alley, changed from Wonder Guy back to plain old Greg Roberts, and walked his bike the last short stretch to the back gate leading to his own apartment over the garage.

It seemed later, but all Aggie’s lights still shone warm through the buttercup yellow kitchen curtains.

Only as he thought of checking in with his mother did he recall Gloria’s state when he’d left her. Had Aggie found her when she’d returned? ‘Out for coffee?’ What was with that?

* * * *

Aggie looked up from her laptop when Greg stepped in through the kitchen door.

“You should keep this locked, Mom,” he said in greeting.

“Why’s that exactly? Do you need practice using your key?” She saved the database file in which she tracked orders for the Cell Shells.

“I’m not the only one who might want to come in.” He locked the door behind him and leaned across the counter dividing the worktable area from the kitchen appliances and cupboards.

“No, there’s Gloria too, and Susie Luddell when she stops by and a few other people around the neighborhood. Should I give everybody their own key?” She found herself poised between annoyance at his assumption of command in her life and being glad he felt concerned for her.

“I’ll bet you already have given them their own keys.”

“What’s behind this sudden solicitude?” she asked him. “I’ve always kept an open door.”

“Did you talk to Gloria today?”

“Yes.” Ah. That was it. Gloria had mentioned he’d been there earlier. “Poor thing, losing her friend so suddenly.”

“Right.” Greg leaned further across the counter, speaking in such earnest tones she hardly recognized him. “You never know when the wrong person will be in the wrong place. I want you to take care of yourself.”

“Well.” She’d gotten used to an abstracted Greg and a Greg enthusiastic about matters of physics and computing far beyond her, but how did she address this new, quietly confident Greg? “I appreciate your concern. I’ll try to pay some attention to the locks, maybe adopt a Doberman or a Pit Bull. Now that I think of it, a moat would be nice, but of course, crocodiles would never survive a Minnesota winter. I’d have to stock it with something else.”