2
Walter looked down at his fist and shook his head. A young woman approached, afraid to come any closer.
“This your purse?”
“Yeah, Mister.”
“Well, here you go.”
“Thanks…I think. How hard did you hit that guy?”
“Not sure. Anyway, I gotta get to bed.”
He walked on down to his apartment and put the key in his door, then whirled around, sure he heard footsteps following him.
“Who’s there?”
“Don’t punch me, Mister,” a voice said from the shadows.
“I won’t if you come closer and show yourself.”
A young black man in ragged jeans, a dirty T-shirt, and a faded Cincinnati Reds ball cap approached warily.
“Hey, you the kid from the gas station?”
“Yes…yes…sir. Who are you?”
“Name’s Walter…Walter Hicks, and you?”
“Franklin, sir. Franklin Jones, at your service.”
“How old are you, Franklin? Shouldn’t you be home?”
“Just turned eighteen last week.”
“You know what time it is, Franklin? Time kids your age should be home. Where you live?”
“Well…uh…right here in Clifton…sometimes down in OTR…”
“You have got to be kidding me. You homeless?”
“Well…”
“Come on, kid. You got a place or not?”
“Guess you could say I don’t. I do okay, though.”
“I don’t know why I’m doing this…hell…you can have my couch tonight. You okay with dogs?”
“Ain’t never had one.”
“Otis won’t bite anyone. You’d barely make a meal for him. Well, don’t just stand there. You coming in or not?”
Walter disappeared into the bedroom, coming out a moment later with a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.
“Here. Put these on and dump what you’re wearing in the washing machine. It’s next to the bathroom.”
Franklin came back a moment later and sat down on the couch.
“I don’t hear the washer running. You do know how to use a washing machine?” Walter said.
“Never did.”
“Oh hell…give me a sec. I might have stuff to add to it. Might as well watch what I’m doing.”
They arrived back in the living room and Otis walked over, sniffed Franklin up and down, then laid his head on his leg. Franklin reached down tentatively toward the dog’s head.
“Go ahead and pet him. He’s not gonna bite.”
“Is he a dog, or a horse?”
“He’s an English Mastiff, which I think is English for bloody big dog.”
“He is big,” Franklin said as he scratched Otis behind the ears.
“What’s that growling sound?”
“He likes that. Keep it up. So, what’s in your other hand?”
“Oh, here,” Franklin said, opening his left hand, “I think you dropped these at the gas station.”
Walter looked at his hand and saw the two flattened bullets.
“Where did you get those?”
“Saw them on the floor when I got the restroom key from you. That dude shot you from two feet away. No way he would miss from that close. Then I find these on the floor. Then you punch him and he flies a block and a half. What’s up with you? You’re not some normal old guy.”
“I though he missed me, or there was something wrong with the gun.”
“You mean you don’t what’s up? I looked around in there. Nothing else was hit by the bullets, but they’re flat, like they hit something they couldn’t go through. Look at your shirt.”
Walter looked down and there were two holes in his shirt, just above the belly.
“Well…I’ll be…”
“Yeah, bullets bounced off you like Superman…and the way you hit that guy…”
“Well kid, I don’t much know what’s going on either. I’ve been feeling funny lately…since last night.”
“What happened last night?”
“Not sure. Stupid kids were keeping me awake—”
“Kids?”
“You hear all those cars going up and down, all hours. Damn kids don’t know when to turn in for the night. Couldn’t sleep, wanted a beer, none in the fridge, walked up to Shell for beer.”
“You’re no different from the college students then.”
“Maybe not, except I mind my own business and don’t keep other folks awake when I drink. I’m walking back, battery dead on my car…seem some crazy bright light, wake up half hour later with a headache from hell and my beer gone. Came back and slept like a log for twelve hours, took Otis out to do his business, and went back to sleep until I walked back up there tonight.”
“You mean you slept twelve hours, and then another eleven. Dude…that’s almost a whole day.”
“I know…weird. Just felt funny, muscles all tingling, like they do when they’ve gone asleep, and then the feeling starts coming back. Then the headache. I’ve never had such a headache. Then I thought I’d walk back up there and get some beer…and…you know the rest.”
“Aliens.”
“Huh?”
“You saw a light in the sky, and now you have powers. Gotta be aliens.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Really? How else does that happen? What was the light?”
“Kid, I have no idea.”
“But now you’re bulletproof, and you have some kind of super strength. You’re a freakin’ superhero.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You knocked a guy from Lyon Street all the way over McMillan. Ain’t nobody that strong. Do you know what kind of force that would take?”
“I figure a hell of a lot.”
“Exactly. Man, this is awesome.”
“Awesome? What exactly is so awesome about it?”
“It’s like being in a real life comic book, man. Now you gotta get yourself a suit, hide your identity and all. Man, bad guys don’t stand a chance against you. They can’t shoot you and you can knock ‘em two blocks with one punch. Well, maybe you should work on toning down the punch a bit. Guys in the comic books don’t kill people.”
“You think I killed that guy?”
“You hit him in the jaw. It’s a wonder his head didn’t come off.”
“Suppose you tell me a bit about yourself. How does a kid your age end up on the streets?”
“You first. How does an old white dude end up living in Clifton? Nothing but college students around this area. You don’t look like a student.”
“Cancer.”
“You got cancer?”
“No, Marcy did. We had a nice enough house up near Norwood, treatments dragged on, took all our money. Sold the house…went through that money…and she went to be with the Lord. This place was cheap…just don’t feel like going through the hassle of
