One guy, back when I was a rookie? Creep was a kid killer. The Judge hung him upside down and left him there for a weekend to die from the blood rushing to his head before we found him. He’s been jumping in and out of things for a long, long time, and only shows up when something interesting is going to hit the fan.”

“Something big? Like a huge super fight?”

“Nope. Not always big, but always interesting.”

“Does a visit from me count?” Said a voice behind the Commish.

Jefferies didn’t turn around. Took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Had a feeling you’d be here,” he said over the cancer stick in his mouth, trying to ignore the rookie’s shocked look. He’d never seen Primus’s appearing act before. “Think you could wake up our friend here? I didn’t pull off his mask since there’s a mayor’s order not to, but if he’s unconscious and we take him into custody . . .”

“You couldn’t guarantee that some slimeball journalist might ‘accidentally’ get a picture of him with his mask off and splash it over the papers tomorrow.”

Jefferies took a long drag on the cigarette and blew a puff of smoke into the air. He was liking this; he was feeling more and more like Humphery Bogart in one of those P.I. movies he used to watch alongside his dad on TV when he was little.

“Correct. And I know you and the other capes have to follow the law, or your funding dries up like spilled water in Death Valley. If you could wake him up here, though-”

“You could let him off with a warning to me, since I and the rest of the team are listed as next of kin and his guardians if he’s incapacitated. I was a little late to the conversation, though. Can you tell me who managed to do this?”

“Kids over there. They all normally hang out at some gym downtown. But tonight they were having a little videogame party in an abandoned building. The Dark suddenly busts through the window and starts asking questions, then the Hanging Judge smokes in and takes him out.”

Primus looked over at the small group of kids, who looked at him while still trying to look cool and unconcerned. Primus smiled. Unless he screwed things up very, very badly, those cool kids would be telling their grandchildren about this day, when they saw three superheroes in action.

“A half-dozen children, all looking like they’re under the age of majority, in an abandoned building at night playing videogames. Sound a little odd to you, chief?”

“Sounds very odd. You’re a deputy, when you wanna be. You wanna ask ‘em a few questions while Rookie here records it?”

“Be my pleasure. Thanks, Commissioner.”

He walked over, smiling. The boys’ mouths dropped open, all except for the last one. Biggest and likely oldest, his mouth was closed but his eyes were wide. A wanna-be ganger, most likely.

“Hi guys. Do you know why you’re here?”

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They all nodded, almost in unison. This was going to be easy.

“Do you all know who I am?”

“You’re Primus, the best of the superheroes!” One of the little guys shouted. Several cops at the scene looked up and smiled, in spite of themselves.

“That’s right, little fella. So, guys? Before you tell me what happened, I’d like to know exactly why you were playing your Atari out here instead of a safer place, like one of your homes.”

“If you saw my home, Mr. Primus? You’d know that this place is safer. Usually we’re in the gym, where Miguel is watching over us. But he was busy tonight. He said he knows the guy who owns the place, and it’s safe.”

Primus smiled. The big kid was trying to do the stoic act, but the littest, maybe ten years old at most, hadn’t gotten to that point yet and still liked to talk for the sake of pleasing the adult in the room. Especially if that adult wore a cape and could fly.

“Well that’s great to know, buddy. And who, exactly, is Miguel, and why isn’t he here this time around?”

“Miguel owns the gym off Marlee and Hopewell downtown. He hasn’t been around the last couplea days.” Now the bigger boy was in the act. Something or someone to talk to, show off to. Jason, Primus, had seen it a dozen times.

“Gym, huh?” Jason said. “Well, you think he’d mind if I dropped by sometime?”

#

I was flying again.

In the dark. No gadgets. No tracking devices, no radar, no target-lock ons like the younger heroes have these days in the movies. No satellite link-ups, no form of anything that shows up on anyone’s radar for expended energies, electronic whosits, nothing.

Nothing but flight. Move, expand, pump, lean, thrust, soar. . . coast. Feel the wind on my face, look through the goggles at the city below. See the world, the people, the flow of men, women, thought, dreams, lights.

Flying. I had one small radio, with a small tube that ended at my mouth, and a small earplug in case anyone had anything to say to me. The only way I was gonna talk now was if I saw something bad happening, like a set of whirling cherries speeding through the night to where our boys were at.

Was I worried? Maybe some goody-goody was gonna slap me on the back again and drive me down to the pavement? Maybe. But maybe not. Part of the reason I’d made myself such a sitting duck during the armored car thing was so’s I could get into a little dustup with a hero, and make them think twice about messing with me if I ran into one of their little patrols. They’d see me, recognise me, and think twice before they tried to mess with me again.

But I wasn’t thinking about that now. Hardly at all. I wasn’t thinking about much, except looking at the street and making sure one, long strip of road was clear of cops.

“Gun-shy to Flyboy,” crackled a staticky voice in my ear, “anything?”

“Nothing,” I whispered into my tube. “Clear.”

No conversations. No big long details. No serious-sounding codenames, and for sure no real names. You never know if some ten-year-old might be listening in on your channel and call you in. Or worse, the capes might have a way of hearing. Jane was safe in a little, undisclosed location away from the house, while I watched the skies and Miguel prowled the streets on foot trying to look casual. The other three were in the place itself, and should be done in the next hour, if all went well enough.

One more hour. One hour, and I’d be a millionaire. A double, maybe a triple millionaire. Enough to buy that magic little blue crystal crap that Jane gave us for the rest of my life, buy another fifty years of life. A life where I could eat, piss and shit right and travel far and where I wanted, be young and rich enough to interest some pretty gal, maybe have a kid in my old age. Or middle age, or-

No need. There was nothing that could-

Crap.

A cop car. Lights flashing. Going down Elm, towards our boys.

#

...TO BE CONTINUED...