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***
-Today's live broadcast will feature the awarding of a new NYPD captain. The Chief of Police and the Mayor will jointly present Lieutenant George Stacy with a new rank and medal for catching a dangerous criminal who terrorised the city for weeks. And now for other news...
Turning off the radio, I rest my head against the sky, giving myself a moment's respite. Sweat dripped from my forehead in hail as the merciless sun wiped me dry. It was windless outside, which only made the heat worse, making it hard to think straight, let alone do physical labour, especially with my wounds.
I could hear birds chirping and insects chirping everywhere. Behind a neighbour's fence, children and their dog were playing, delighting in the laughter and squeals mixed with the barking of a golden retriever.
A few mothers, who had gathered to visit, were drinking light cocktails, sometimes peeking over the fence to flood the street with a new wave of rumours and gossip.
-Your aunt has had enough of this. All this.
Circumnavigating the digging area with my hands, resting my palms on the spade's handle, I catch my breath because of the growing pain in my chest and general fatigue.
-Don't grumble, just dig in silence-.
Pete wasn't in the mood either. Instead of happy summer walks with MJ, where he would fulfil his rosy-romantic dreams, he was forced to dig the Parkers' backyard with me.
Chasing away a fly that flew past my nose, I wrinkle my nose at the abundance of aromas.
-I graduated high school with honours.
-You're not the only one.
-I'm getting ready to go to Columbia.
-Yeah.
-Athlete, Democrat, and handsome. -Yeah.
-Shawn, shut up and shovel goat shit," Peter stood up to his full height with an angry look on his face, arching his back with a pained expression, "the less you talk, the faster we can get out of here.
-I saved the city, what the fuck?
-What the fuck are you muttering about? If you don't like something, go tell Uncle Ben about it.
-You know as well as I do that I was sold into slavery to your family for a quiet life alone while my parents are on holiday.
-Then shut up and dig.
-Less talk, more action, boys!
After saluting us with a can of beer, Ben Parker made himself comfortable on a sun lounger in the shade, putting on his stylish sunglasses.
It all reminded me of my turbulent youth in a previous life. The only thing missing was sliced vegetables in foil for lunch and a radio playing "Play, Harmon" songs.
-I'm just whining," I panted, dodging flies trying to get into my mouth and wrinkling my nose at the smell, "why the hell did she need it, and in the centre of the city? Won't your neighbours sue you for that?
-No, I already tried to go down that branch of the story, but my uncle's classmate....
-From the synagogue.-So, - ignoring my clarification, Pete deftly scattered a couple of more clods of shit, dumping them into the dug hole, - the main thing is to cover it all with a tent, and once we tamp it down with earth, nobody will mind. It'll make great manure and Aunt May can grow whatever she wants.
-Fucking hell. So, what? Is this gonna happen every year now?
-More often. It's not goats, it's a real production line...
-Okay, don't go on.
This is how the real heroes are rewarded. While George Stacey takes all the laurels and kisses from grateful fans, I clean up after the goats.
-Why goats?
-Well, they're normal animals. -Yeah.
-Yeah, and kosher.
-Not without that.
-I hope my daddy didn't cheap out when he rented my arse out, -I want goat's cheese... -I want goat's cheese... And milk, and meat, for that matter.
-You eat here all the time, what's the difference? -You don't care.
-Then I want a goat.
-What the hell for?
All the time we were talking, under Uncle Ben's mocking gaze, we kept digging, filling the future fertiliser with earth, grass and other paraphernalia.
-I'll name him Baphomet, and I'll scare my mother for allowing such an outrage.
-Make sure Aunt Mary doesn't burn him at the stake.
Ha-ha-ha-ha!
-Are you boys hungry? Oh, you're so good, you've almost done everything today," May Parker came out onto the back porch and brought us a tray of drinks and snacks, thank goodness she hadn't sliced any pickles, or I'd have had a blue screen, "Thank you so much, I'm sure you won't regret this investment.
The last part of the sentence was addressed to Uncle Ben, who perceived the whole idea to be his wife's folly. As he told us before the work began: "A contented woman is happiness in the family. Especially since you'll be doing all the digging, so I'm a double winner."
In general, I even understood him, but I would not stop being angry and grumbling.
I sat down in the shade, right on the ground, slowly eating courgette caviar and mincemeat, amazed at my lunch on such a hot day, I reflected on what had happened, sometimes rubbing my new scar.
Only through luck, my parents' carelessness, and my own ingenuity had I been able to hide the mark for a couple of days from Schultz's hit. The crazy woman had marked me for life. And now I had a web of Lichtenberg shapes mixed with burn waves spreading from the centre of my chest. If my mother had seen it, I wouldn't have been able to get away with just a nudge. There would have been tears, belts and swearing, and most likely the police would have been called.
So I had to hide my heroic marks by infusing them with Qi every day, which made life a lot easier.
Gwen was also now being kept out of the house until her troubled father cleaned up the streets of the city. Stacey answered the phone instead of my girlfriend, explaining the situation and in an almost orderly tone demanding to step into the situation.
Well, I didn't blame him. Considering what was going on in the metropolis until a couple of days ago, the new police captain's concerns were understandable to me. Again, hurtful, but understandable.
And New York was slowly coming to its senses, as if recovering from what had happened. Additional security forces were brought into the city. Rallies were dispersed and everyone was placated with optimistic news, where every TV channel was broadcasting about the capture of a particularly dangerous criminal who was ruining the lives of ordinary people.
Herman's mother's face was shown everywhere. Every now and then some show could jump to this discussion, and the radio was not silent at all for a moment. Anna Schultz became a celebrity in the worst sense of the word. A murderer, a terrorist, a danger to society and the human race.
She'd been accused of a bunch of crimes, half of which I'm sure she didn't commit, but now the city needed a scapegoat and the New York government was taking advantage of it.
I wondered, because they only showed pictures of the woman and never saw her in person.
Did she survive or did she die of her wounds? This question occupied my thoughts daily. Is it possible that Anna herself has been dead for a long time and everything that is going on in the media is just an attempt to give the people the required sacrifice? I don't know...
The city was returning to its former tones, once again filling with the usual scent of hypocritical righteousness after all the incidents, and the police began to travel more often to the outer boroughs, once again beginning to patrol the problem areas, bringing law and order back to the streets of New York.
As for the fate of my friend and assistant to Dr Octavius, Herman, the prof said on air that he knew nothing about the fate of the graduate student and that he had probably fled to an unknown destination. Another mystery that was a red-hot nail in his brain.
How was he feeling right now? How did he feel knowing what his own mother had done? There were many things I wanted to talk to him about, but at that moment, right after the battle and the wound, I wanted to get to a quiet place where I could just lie down and recover. Instead, I should have gone looking for him.-We're just gonna have to move on with our lives and deal with problems as they arise.
-Sean, stop resting. Get cleaned up and let's go to Manhattan, MJ and her friends are waiting for us.
-I'm out. I'm not going tonight.
-What do you mean? Let's go out, have some fun, relax.
-I'll be entertaining my ex and the other scavengers who'll be all over me.
Pete didn't even have anything to say, so the guy just waved his hand, taking off down the stairs to the first floor, where he went straight into the shower.
-You shouldn't do that, Sean. Girls are delicate flowers," Uncle Ben came over to me and leaned back against the wall of the house, still sipping his beer, "you just have to know how to get around their thorns...
-Uncle Ben, I'm sorry, but the days when barefoot dancing, a minibus and a guitar won women's hearts are long gone. They're not such lovely creatures now...
-How old do you think I am?
-Well. A lot, I guess.
-Not that old!
-Okay, forget it, -Rising to my feet, I shake the sticky earth off my trousers. We'll have to go home soon, so it was better not to stay too long, -I'll go and pack. Your nephew's right about something, but it's worth a wash.
I sniffed my sleeve, which smelled of goats and their gifts, and was surprised by the powerful and pervasive scent.
-That's the smell.
-Another can of beer magically appeared in Ben's hands, announcing the opening with an ear-splitting clink, "Well, look, we're not chasing you away. You can stay with us if you want. May's going to her sister's right now, so we can watch the game.
Shaking the beer can in my hand, Uncle Ben beckoned me over like a donkey with a carrot.
-You got it. There's no hurry, I'd rather spend the night here.
-That's right," the man looked round the corner, making sure his wife was out of sight, and handed me the can. I'd offer Peter one, but he's got his own reward.
-I wouldn't say that. Aunt May's beer, TV and food are better than any woman's. Mazal tov!
-Ha-ha, you're right, mate. -Ha-ha, you're right, mate.
With smiles on our faces, we clinked cans, saluting the end of a day's work.
***
Putting out his cigarette, George Stacy leaned back in the old armchair he'd barely managed to drag into his new office.
The furnishings still showed the former owner's love of luxury, but the new captain vowed to himself that he would get rid of the piles of useless junk that hung in clumps from the walls and gathered dust in the corners of the office at the first opportunity.
Fake awards, photos with important persons of the city, diplomas and other rubbish. Shelves filled with collector cars, plants and luxury goods from various countries.
-It's only now that everyone's questioning all this shit. Ugh.
By the light of the desk lamp, the interior of the room was even more depressing. I wanted to go back to my place, to a much more modest and pleasant abode where everything was in its proper place, but... That was no longer an option. The status obliged to sit in a large office, shocking and aweing his subordinates.
A new cigarette went into his mouth. He should be going home soon, but the mountain of cases that had piled up over the past weeks didn't want to shrink.
Robberies, assaults, muggings, murders, rapes.... A whole string of crap spilling out onto the streets of the city as soon as you let up. But even this mass of crimes and problems did not occupy a fraction of the old policeman's attention, unlike the events that happened a couple of days ago.
A real chaos that filled the streets of New York. Practically a riot, full of lawlessness, and all from ordinary people who took to the streets, and what the marginalised people were doing, it is even frightening to imagine.
But then, at one point, it all ends. A new terrorist attack, explosions and yellow lasers flying in all directions. Crowds of terrified people calling the control room, dropping phone lines and forcing all available cops to rush to the scene.
They had only a couple of hundred metres to go before they arrived on the scene when the crazy broad started firing her beams in all directions, destroying buildings and killing civilians.
Panic set in. No one knew what to do or how to deal with the rampaging "mutant". But then the last shot was fired and everything went quiet. There were no more explosions, no more screams or the humming stream of energy sending lorries flying.
Just the silence of a ruined city where the survivors were afraid to make a pinch of noise.
George was one of the first to burst into the street where the rampage was taking place, and in later questioning it was revealed, a confrontation with another freak in a costume. A familiar freak he'd already met in person.
After ramming the car into the wreckage, he and a couple of officers flew into a branch of hell, witnessing with their own eyes what one single person could do in so little time.
Horror. That was the feeling that settled in each of them. How could they fight against such power, if with the help of a young scientist's handiwork, a simple woman was able to tear apart a neighbourhood!
They found her. Beaten, broken, ready to give up on life. Laying in the mud from a broken hydrant. Anna Schultz stared up at the sky with her face swollen with bruises, writhing in pain and wailing.
Her hands were shaking with anger. If he weren't so old and experienced, he would probably have given in to the impulse and shot the crazy bitch who had taken so many lives, not only of ordinary people, but also of his colleagues who had sat at the same table with him for years.
His fingers reached for the gun, but duty won out. Fifteen minutes later, Anna Schultz, New York's biggest scarecrow in recent weeks, was on her way to the hospital, supported by a team of doctors and firefighters.
Her condition was alarming. Questions swarmed in her mind about what had happened, but no one had time to ask them. People who had scattered were in no hurry to return to the scene of the tragedy to answer police questions.
And then they came. Good-looking dudes in black suits and badges from different services. They looked foreign, wrong and out of place against the background of tired and dirty policemen, the ruined city and the glow of the fires.
Just a few words, a few threats and innuendos. And so the case that had caused such a huge public outcry was scrapped, and the satisfied feds went away, taking all the evidence and forbidding them to interfere with further investigation.
As Stacey later learned. Anna Schultz herself was similarly turned around from the hospital, being taken to an unknown destination. Her metal prosthetics had been confiscated, and all of the developments that had forensics and specialised investigators drooling over were promptly delivered into the hands of the black jackets.
But the end of the story was just beginning, for the city needed heroes. And Chief McCormick, his old mate, had already found one.
Rubbing his fingers over the medal pinned to his dress uniform, George rose from his seat, sipping languidly on his nicotine poison, gazing out the window at the lights of the city at night.
-Farce and nonsense. The perpetrator was presented on a plate. And then taken away just like that. No explanations, no answers. Just lies and an old cop who's suddenly a hero.
Ripping the medal off his chest, Stacy tossed it under his feet, pressing the shiny thing into the floor.
The scarlet colour from the smouldering tip of the cigarette, illuminated the old cop's face, revealing a hard and cold grin directed at specific people, somewhere in the distance.
-But that's all right... I'll clean this place up.
The new police captain's gaze darted to the open file that lay on the edge of his desk. From the first page, right after the title, a picture of a creepy little graffiti with a picture of a psychological test appeared before the world.
(In case anyone didn't realise, the reference in the conversation with Uncle Ben was a reference to the hippies, whose movement was most active in the 60s. And Benjamin had just been born at that time.)
***
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