Mimi's Demons

Chapter 37: Batman. With horns?

Duke half expected the kid to go up in smoke, like a good hallucination should.

Instead the kid pitched back out the window, taking his unusual shade with him.

An alarm that should have gone off when the window screen was messed with finally began to blare.

Duke cursed. Mimi would hear that. She'd be startled.

He ran to the window even as Omen's men flooded the office.

Two stories below, sprawled out across magnolia bushes with a visible hole through his chest, was the kid, freaking bat wings spread out too.

"Get that kid!" he barked, pointing down. "Call the Doc—and take him to the medic!" Like hell he was going to let that freak die so easily.

"Sir!" Two men ran out, leaving one to guard his back. Another two went to scout the perimeter.

In a flash that bespoke secret passageways or some other super power, Omen's men reappeared by the laden magnolia bushes. Duke saw them both pause, just a moment, before their professionalism kicked in and they got to work gathering up the weird gray freak, wings and all. He saw them exchange glances on touching his wings, but little more.

Good. Duke was wired as it was. No need to give him more reasons to yell. Omen's men were always the best.

He turned just as Cromwell burst back into the office, nearly getting shot by Omen's remaining man.

"What I miss?!" cried Cromwell.

"Batman."

The mousy-head man blinked hard at him. "Sir."

He gestured his gun out the window. "Took out the screen without my notice then hunched on the windowsill like a gargoyle." He was only telling Cromwell because it was Cromwell who designed his security system. "Omen's boys are taking him to the medic now."

Cromwell's brow furrowed into a brief moment of confusion before his childish side got the better of him and he grinned.

"I wanna see Batman! Did he growl? Did he have a cape?"

Duke pinched the bridge of his nose. "Travis."

"That's so sick! Can I go see him? Pleeeeeeease?"

"I gave you a job."

"A cosplayer got past my security! I had that tight enough to catch fucking 'squitos, that's so sick—can I call Omen?"

"He has a job," aka, watching Mimi. "Just like YOU!"

"Boooossssss!" It was a whine to make even the most patient of mothers lash out.

Duke wasn't a mother. He shot at Cromwell's feet.

The bullet missed his Converse sneakers by an inch, leaving a black hole in the carpet and ricocheting into the wall.

Cromwell jumped a foot in the air.

Then vanished as quickly as he came.

Omen's man glanced back at Duke, a questioning, flummoxed look beneath his black turban.

Duke ignored him. He didn't know why he kept Cromwell half the time either. It was probably because Cromwell was loyal to a tee and too good at his job, though it was mostly that finding and vetting another to replace him would be a pain in the ass. Still, sometimes Duke wondered. Maybe it was because Cromwell had a kid, though Duke had never cared before. Now he wondered how a child like Travis Cromwell had managed even to raise a kid and even done okay at it. Shouldn't there be a rule about maturity having a degenerative impact on sperm count at least?