The Sovereignty (part 3)

“Peter, is that you?” The smile on my face disappeared and I immediately turned into a caught child. Standing by one of the cars was Jeffrey, his blue police uniform fitting perfectly like an obsessive-compulsive robed in anal-retentiveness. It made sense that his Power would be to sense danger or anything else that disturbed the status quo. From the day I accidentally told Blaine about Jeffrey’s ability he’s used every moment they meet to use his mind control on him, failing everytime so far.

“Jeffrey could get us out of this,” I said, looking sideways at Blaine. He looked back at me and winked.

Blaine dropped the two bottles. As they shattered and caught everyone’s attention, he took control of Jeffrey just long enough for him to give the warning for everyone to drop to the ground. And why wouldn’t they believe him, his only power was to sense danger after all. Every cop dropped to the ground and tried to bury themselves in the dirt.

            The two of us bolted down a side alley and turned down the next street, ducking into a hole-in-the-wall convenience store. When I was sure none of the cops followed us, we headed home. Blaine headed just up the street to his apartment not even a block away (which I think is the real reason he likes drinking at Gray’s Tavern). I, however, needed to go up several blocks back to mine and Jeffrey’s apartment. It took another half hour to walk there, but I needed the time to calm my nerves as well as the money I saved from not hailing a taxi.

The Robbery

            I woke up the next day with the sun already shining bright through the open window and the sound of rush hour traffic already dying down. I was on the couch in the same clothes I wore the night before. Even though I knew no one was home all day yesterday, the apartment was still spotless and smelled like cleaner. It was part of Jeffrey’s morning routine to wipe down certain dust collecting parts of the room with disinfectant such as the coffee table and all the door handles. He also like to spray his chair and the couch with air freshener, which from the smell I think he did this morning even though I was sleeping on it.

            On my chest I found the notepad Jeffrey used to write messages he thought were important. I have not forgotten about last night. The two of you better start working on your excuses. And change your clothes before you go to work. Have a nice day. I tore out the page and crumpled it up before tossing it on the floor. When I first moved in with Jeffrey in my freshman year in college, I would throw his notes on the floor just to annoy him. Unfortunately, now I think Jeffrey just sees it as my reply that I got his message.

            Except for its unusual cleanliness, the apartment looked like it was put together with your typical My-First-Apartment starter kit. Everything in it from the fridge and microwave to the bulky TV set and the couch I was currently lying on was second or third hand, some from places that made me itch from just thinking about them. Standing out from the collection of used furniture was Jeffrey’s chair – a black, leather recliner he bought with his first paycheck. No one except Jeffrey sat in it. No one.

            Dragging myself off the couch, I wandered down the hall to my room. Resolving my pants from last night were still okay for another day, I grabbed a clean shirt and the only tie from my closet. After making a mental note to buy a new tie I headed out the door.

            With an hour before I started my shift, I walked over to the deli just a little farther up the street. However, along with an empty wallet, I only found about two dollars worth of coins and a couple of pepper shakers. I used the coins to buy a bag of chips and walked to the bank. Two Supers flew by, heading up the street. Three police cars heading in the same direction with sirens blaring pulled over to the side to allow the iconic blue and silver motorcycle to pass. It had no flashing lights or sirens, but when Captain Shield was on the road, everyone got out of the way. The motorcycle parted traffic where it could at this hour and cut through the rest like a surgeon operating with a battle axe. After all, when you’re invulnerable to most bodily harm, you don’t care about bouncing off a car or three (or five by my count before he turned at the next block). Looks like The League is out in force, I thought as I straightened my tie and walked into the bank.

            Inside, the afternoon lines were already starting to form. I hated working on payday Fridays. By closing time, I had been complained to seven times about how slow the lines were moving and why we didn’t open up another window. After the first couple of times explaining how I had no control over how many people we had working, I gave up and just nodded in agreement. Unfortunately, there were about twenty people still in line and the manager didn’t allow us to leave until everyone was helped. I swore silently as I called the next person to my window.

            Don’t get me wrong, I needed the overtime pay like a prostitute needs johns. The extra pay was the only way I was able to make rent as well as pay off a portion of my student loans every month. Still, I hated dealing with so many customers just because the boss refused to open anymore windows, leaving just two tellers everyday to handle the lines and complaints.

            I handed a customer three hundred dollars in crisp, twenty dollar bills when I heard the crash. Both of the security guards stood from their seats on either side of the door. Ex-League members from what I remember. The lights flickered and my hair stood on end. The air crackled and it felt like I was inhaling fire. One of the guards blasted the other with a lightning bolt, cutting his right arm clean off. No blood, only the smell of cooked flesh. Then he ran head-first into a wall, leaving behind a bloody stamp and falling unconscious to the floor. Standing at the entrance stood a figure in a large, completely buttoned-up black coat, the hood pulled over his (at least I thought it was a he) head. He, or maybe she, wore a demonic, green and red mask, complete with yellow fangs sticking out from the mouth and mirror lenses over the eyes.

            There was something in the demon-mask’s walk as the figure moved into the center of the lobby, a playful showmanship in its strut, like a magician about to make the entire building disappear.

            “Ladies. Gentlemen. Victims. Though you may not recognize me, I assure you that I have the full backing of The Sovereignty. As you should have guessed by now, I am here to rob you.” The figure waved its arms in grand gestures as he/she spoke with its voice masked electronically, alternating between the deep bass of a thunder’s boom and the high-pitched squeal of a thirteen-year-old boy-band groupie. “Now, on the ground,” the demon-mask said, lowering its hands. Simultaneously, all the customers dropped to the ground, the looks of fear disappearing from their faces.

            I looked down just in time to see the light from the neutralizing wave emitter at my feet turn from green to off. I kicked it once, twice. Nothing happened. A duffel bag hit me in the face. “Fill that up,” the figure said after tossing another bag at the only other teller. “And don’t even think about touching the silent alarm.” And now I was fucked, I thought as I realized my finger had been firmly placed on the button since the demon-mask walked in.