“Working late?”
“Eh?” I said, not so brightly. Looking up, I saw Sarah standing in the doorway. “I guess so. Surfing porn sites at work, don’t you know? Researching the competition.”
She smiled. “Heck of a job, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You got plans tonight?”
“No,” I replied, leaning back and stretching. “This job is hell on my social life. You know that. Ever since word got out that I run a porn business, what men there are that don’t treat me like a piece of meat treat me like a pimp.”
“Sorry,” she said. “You’ve still got me.” Sarah’s bi, and I’ve always had a feeling that she liked me as more than a friend. I didn’t know how to face that… she is one of my best friends, but I’m not really into girls. So I’ve always just kind of pretended not to notice her hints. Probably not the right way to handle it. We do shoots together sometimes, and I guess I hoped that was enough for her.
“Thanks,” I replied. “You know, sometimes I’d go out anyway. I’m not looking for a relationship, but I’d really like more than just sex from a date. I mean, I can get that at work. But it’s not just that. With my powers and all, I’m afraid if I go out, I’ll see something I feel like I need to get involved with. You know? Hero stuff. I don’t think I like being a superhero.”
“You’ve always liked helping people.”
“I’m not so sure I want to do that,” I said. “I mean, look how it went with the Firebug?” That’s what the newspapers were calling him, though his real name was Phillip Morton. “If it weren’t for the Eagle, I don’t know how I would have gotten out of there. I don’t even like him, and now I owe him. If I get in some other super-battle, how do I get out without being seen? I don’t fly, or have lightning speed.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Look, forget about that. Leave the mask at home, and go out with me. We can invite Frank too if you want. Maybe go see a movie.”
I thought about it. “They say you shouldn’t spend all your free time with your coworkers.”
“They also say you shouldn’t hire your friends,” she said, grinning.
Frank was busy, so it was just Sarah and I. We hit the theater on Van Ness, after having subs next door. I don’t remember what movie we watched, but we had a good time. Things didn’t get sideways until we got into my car (a pink Beetle, how Barbie is that?) and pulled out of the parking structure.
Sarah yelled “Look out!”
A man ran by, barely missing the car, and I saw three more chasing him. One of them, an ugly guy with a shaved head, yelled “Don’t let him get away!”
I looked at Sarah and said, “See? What did I tell you? This is a job for a hero, and I don’t even have my mask!”
“Here,” she said, pulling something out of her purse. It was a mask, cowl style, which I immediately recognized as a replica of Avenger’s mask from the ’80’s (when he was wearing black), complete with the three buttons on the left side of the neck. I didn’t have time to thank her.
I slipped the mask over my head, threw my jacket back into the car as I got out, and ran back into the parking structure. The running men were already out of sight, but I could still hear them yelling. I fumbled with the buttons on the mask as I ran, glad I had gone casual; sneakers and jeans are more practical for chasing down bad guys than sandals and a skirt.
I caught up to them on the second level; the three pursuers had caught up to their prey. Two of them, one with a crewcut and the other with a mohawk, were holding his arms while the bald one hit him. Baldy said, “You camel-sucking Arab! Bet you can’t wait to kill some Americans!”
“Not if we kill you first,” said Crewcut, laughing harshly.
“Hey, good one,” said Mohawk. Their victim tried to say something, but Baldy hit him again.
I yelled, “Hey!” What? I’m not good at the snappy superhero patter.
Baldy turned around, but before he did I noticed a swastika tattoo on the back of his head. He looked at me, steely gray eyes laughing at me. “What are you supposed to be?” he said. “G’wan, bitch, we don’t need any help. We’ve got the bad guy right where we want him!”
“I’m from India!” said the victim.
“Shaddap!” yelled Baldy, turning and drawing back to hit him again. I jumped forward, grabbing his arm, only to be drawn forward as he swung. I couldn’t stop him from hitting the poor guy, but at least I slowed him down a bit. “Leggo, bitch!” he yelled, trying to shake me off.
I wasn’t thinking. I’m strong, really strong, but I don’t weigh very much. He couldn’t shake me off, but I couldn’t stop him either. But I did irritate him. He slugged me as hard as he could with his left fist. My head rocked back, but I just smiled. That made him madder, and I smiled bigger. Then I kneed him in the groin. Those women’s self defense classes finally paid off.
He went down in a heap, moaning. Crewcut and Mohawk dropped their victim, and Crewcut said, “She’s a tough bitch, isn’t she?” He gestured to Mohawk, and they began circling, trying to flank me. I wasn’t really worried, until they both pulled out knives. They did it together, like they had practiced or something… maybe they had. I didn’t know if knives would hurt me or not, but suddenly I was worried.
Women’s self defense classes didn’t prepare me for two apparently experienced fighters. I turned with them, keeping one on each side of me, arms raised to defend myself. They were both smiling at me, happy cats playing with a mouse.
Then a huge purple hand came down on Crewcut’s head. I mean, a really big hand. He was yanked back away from me, leaving me one opponent. I turned to face Mohawk. “Well, that’s better,” I said, “you only need two to tango.”
Maybe if I keep practicing, I’ll get better at the patter thing.
Mohawk thought about it (I could tell it was hard work for him), and then he turned and took off running. Dumb. I took two running steps and jumped at him. A hundred and twenty pounds of girl flying at him was enough to knock him over, but he was kind enough to break my fall.
I got up and checked myself. Other than a small tear in my jeans, and a little dirt, I was unharmed.
“Pretty good for a beginner,” came a really deep voice from behind me. I thought I knew what to expect as I turned around, but the Troll was still bigger than I expected. Eight feet tall, rangy, ugly, lumpy purple skin. Even though everyone has seen the pictures, actually seeing him is a different matter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. What do you call yourself?”
“Um,” I said, mesmerized by the contrast between his knobby purple face and his sexy deep voice. “I don’t. I mean, I don’t have a codename yet. This is my second time out.”
“Was that you in that awful mask and not much else?” he said, smiling a smile that would frighten children.
“Yeah,” I replied, blushing and looking down. Then I remembered the thugs. And the victim. “Hey, where’d he go?”
“Who? The little Indian fellow?” replied the Troll.
“Yeah, him.”
“Ran by me as I was coming to help you.”
“Good,” I replied. Troll walked over to Baldy and picked him up, one hand on the waistband of his pants, the other on his shirt. He held Baldy up facing away from him; the skinhead was still moaning and clutching himself.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Security camera,” replied the Troll. “See, over there? I’m not planning on hanging around for the police. I’m sure the whole fight was caught on tape, but I want to make sure they can identify these idiots.” He put Baldy down and picked up Crewcut the same way. I picked up Mohawk and carried him over, and the Troll held him up for a few moments. Mohawk struggled a little, still pretty much unconscious, and I saw something fall from his pocket. I grabbed it… an open bag of trail mix.
The Troll dropped Mohawk suddenly, brushing something from his bare chest. The bag of trail mix had spilled on him. I stood there uncomprehending, just watching, not sure what was happening. Then he took a rasping breath and croaked, “Hafta go.” He vaulted over the wall and dropped out of sight toward the street. I ran to look, and saw him getting up from the pavement. He started running down the street then, but he was moving erratically.
I realized then that the Troll was allergic to trail mix. Peanuts, maybe. I had a friend who had a terrible peanut allergy; he always carried a shot of epinephrine with him in case he accidentally ate some. I guessed the Troll didn’t have one in his oversized jeans.
I thought about it a moment, and then I followed him, over the wall and down to street level. I felt the bone-jarring impact, but it didn’t really hurt me, and I was up and running in a flash. I was surprised how fast he was… if he had been at full strength, I don’t think I could have kept up. But he kept veering, sometimes into buildings, and he fell a couple of times. I realized he was heading for the bay… I wanted to yell at him to go to the hospital, but I couldn’t spare the breath.
He jumped right off Municipal Pier, and I followed, thinking I must be nuts swimming in the bay at night. It was still all I could do to keep up with him, but I managed it. Fortunately, the moon was out (which is hardly guaranteed in the Bay Area), so I could kind of see him. It also helped that he was large. It seemed like we swam for a long time, but I began to catch up to him… he was visibly weakening.
Then he dived beneath the water. At least, I thought it was a dive. I hoped it was. I followed him… I had to. He was in trouble, and I was the only person who could help.
I couldn’t see a thing underwater. I thought I could hear him paddling, and I swam toward the sound. I heard his breath as he exhaled explosively into the water… he was drowning. For a few moments, I thought he was gone, but then I bumped into him. I tried to pull him upward, but he was too heavy. I wondered how he could swim on the surface at all. We were going down, and my lungs began to burn.
Then I saw a light, ahead and somewhat below us. Dragging him toward it was easier than pulling him upward. He was dead weight now, not even struggling, and I was pulling him by his arm.
We hit the bottom, with the light just ahead, and I saw it was a cave opening. I half pulled, half carried him inside, and the cave turned up and suddenly we were in air. The first lungful was sweet.
I dropped him on the brick-covered floor and tried to give him CPR. It was no good… I wasn’t heavy enough to compress his chest, and his mouth was too large for me to breathe for him. He moved feebly, but he didn’t breathe at all. In frustration I began to pound his chest, and on the third strike he coughed and spat up water. His eyes opened, looking at me pleadingly. He managed to draw a breath, but it was obvious that he wouldn’t be doing that too many more times. I didn’t know what to do.
He pointed toward a pile of totes and boxes, and mouthed something. It took me two tries to understand him… he was saying “Red box.” There was a small red tote in the pile, and I ran to get it. Inside were a handful of large syringes with huge needles, each one containing a large dose of something; they weren’t labeled. I took one out, and he held out his arm. I had to push pretty hard to get the needle into his forearm, but almost as soon as I pushed in the plunger, he began to breathe freely.
He lay there panting for a long time, and I just sat there on the bricks beside him and did the same. Strong as I was now, it had still been pretty strenuous, and for the first time in weeks my heart was pounding. I looked around after a moment. It was a large space, obviously carved from the stone; there was a pool at one end which was where we came in. There didn’t seem to be any other entrances. Somewhere I could hear a blower; ventilation, I presumed. Besides the totes and boxes, I saw what appeared to be three regular mattresses laid out together, but no blankets or sheets, and a TV, probably around thirty inches, on a short table, connected to a computer. I wondered how he worked the keyboard with his huge hands.
“Well, you know two of my secrets, mystery woman,” he said, sitting up at last. “You know about my allergy, and you know my secret hideout. I guess I have to trust you.”
“I did save your life,” I replied.
“You did. Thank you. But you can see, can’t you, that it worries me that someone knows my weakness. I mean, I could set up a new hideout if I really needed to, but I can’t do anything about the allergy. If word got out, it’d be hard on me.”
“Yeah,” I said. I thought a moment, and then I reached up and undid the buttons and pulled off the mask.
He stared at me for a long moment. “Polly?”
It was my turn to stare. “You know me?”
“I, ah, I’m a member on your site.”
“Wow,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You’re one of my favorites.” He looked down. “I… I can’t be with a woman. This is me, this is all I am. A monster. So I fantasize a lot, about before I turned into this.” After a moment, he said, “Thank you.”
Desperate isn’t sexy, like I said before. But he had every right to be desperate, and here he was being sad and sweet. I looked at him, at his lumpy, misshapen face. Then I said, “You can be with me.”
He looked up at me. “You’re not kidding, are you?” For a moment I could see him considering it. “No,” he said, “no way, I’ll hurt you. I’m too strong.”
I slipped out of my clothes and walked over to the mattresses. “Come here,” I said. After a moment, he did, and I helped him off with his pants.
I was relieved to see that he wasn’t as big “down there” as he was everywhere else, though I was sure he was bigger than anyone I’d ever been with before. “Lay down,” I told him, “let me do the work. I’ll tell you to stop if it hurts. Can I trust you?”
“Yes, absolutely,” he said, smiling that grotesque smile as he lay back. He was ready, already, and I was surprised to discover myself being turned on as well. I spent some time winding him up even more and listening to him moan in pleasure. He really does have a sexy voice. When I decided we were both ready, I climbed on top.
It was good. Not the best I’d ever had, but then I’ve had a lot of experience. When we were both entirely satisfied, which really took a while, I lay down beside him. “Thank you one more time,” he said. “I keep thanking you.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
“Can we do this again, some time?” he asked.
I sat up. “Look,” I said, “I’m not looking for a relationship, and you know what I do for a living. Can you deal with that?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s not what I ever wanted from life, but when you look like I do, you take what you can get. Can we be ‘friends with benefits,’ as they say?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at him. “We can do that.”
