Flyover City! A Novel (with Superheroes)

29. Showdown at Last Call!

 Friday night, I sat (Crouched? Okay, cowered, is more like it) helplessly, while a man was gunned down not ten feet away from me. On Saturday, I was back out on the town. Just - you know - out for a casual drink with a few of my closest friends.

Some weekend.

I would say I didn't sleep at all between the two excursions, except for the dreams, bleeding together with the dawn as it poured in through my window: a recurring loop of strippers and super-heroes, cheesy R&B and dead bodies. During a split second of lucidity, I found myself longing for the return of that ethereal green glow. No such luck. It's weird, with everything I've been through lately, all the seemingly impossible, physics-defying things I've seen, none of it has matched the visceral, blunt-object impact of watching gravity's resounding victory over a previously living body.

I'm not sure - was that "maudlin" or "melancholy"? Cut me some slack, this whole sincerity thing is new for me.

The worst part is that I didn't even get to wallow in a post traumatic haze by gorging on Fiddle Faddle and watching infomercials all day long. Had to keep an eye on the local news stations. Watching the footage on Channel 9 - seeing events that are still pulsating through my nervous system - it felt like an out-of-body experience. Lilywatt (who had managed to switch into her uniform) handled the denials, half-truths and "no comments" with all the finesse of a politician, stating that her only mission was to track down a lone, super-powered fugitive. Is that same smoke and mirrors routine what covered up my presence at the at the scene of the crime? ...or is that just me being self-centered? It's hard to keep track.

For his part, Vaig managed to keep from being caught on tape. The reporter said he's "cooperating with police", and read an excerpt from the official statement, which insisted that the victim was not an employee, that the killing was an act of self-defense, and Vaig Enterprises would be launching their own investigation into whether the individual was involved in some sort of assassination attempt. On him - Vaig.

Which is to say, the victim was shot and thrown under a bus.

It was sometime in the afternoon when I got a call from Gwen, which I let go to voicemail. It took a second call, and then a third (coming hot on the heels of her lengthy message) before it dawned on me that she had obviously caught wind of last night; that I was going to have to figure out something more clever than, oh, the usual. Guy stuff. I called her back to let her know I was fine, that I had left before the action went down, since Tim couldn't get in the door. I made a mental note to be sure and square my alibi with him on Monday.

I used to think that that would be the hardest part, keeping a secret identity secret; maintaining a double life. To be honest, it's really not that much of a trick.

____________________

Gwen and I sat in a dim corner booth at Charlie Brown's Bar and Grill , filling up as much of the spot as we could, as larger groups hovered above us in search for a place to sit. The location was Spliff's pick; busier than I would've liked, but I was just happy to be back on my home turf, away from the tool shed that is downtown proper.

"God! It's nice to blow off some steam after that hell-week," Gwen mused, polishing off her second vodka-cranberry. "maybe I should go look for some strippers..."

"I could ask the piano player if he does lap-dances," I replied in a lame attempt at humor.

"So... were any of them cute?" Her comments and questions were meant as nothing more than playful. She was in a great mood, actually; clearly anticipating a night of debauchery.

"I dunno, I guess." I recalled my one-time crush on Lilywatt, fueled by endless magazine articles, and pictures taken by the Powerazzi. It made me think of those times, when you get the "exotic dancer" who tells you about the restraining order on her ex-boyfriend, or their troubles paying for school.