Truth. Justice. Minesweeper.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Thunderhead and I pulled up in front of a run-down '70s-era apartment house in one of the more run-down neighborhoods of a run-down little city on the shore of a run-down lake. He was consulting some kind of electronic doohickey that looked like it cost more than his entire body. After all, it was shiny.

"Any time you want to let me know exactly what we're looking for," I said.

"You don't know yet? The source of all super powers," he told me, peering up at the building.

"Right... does it glow in the dark or something? How will we know when we see it?"

"Quiet. There's something wrong here," he said.


"Sssshh. There's someone on the roof. And someone watching from across the street."

I looked around. Couldn't see a damn thing. "Really?"

"Fourteen years of pickin' apples," he said, and checked the gizmo in his hand again. "Shit! It's moving. How the hell is it moving? Get ready to drive."

I started the car up, and waited.

"Here it goes," he said, and we craned our necks. A teenage girl was trotting down the street with a backpack of books over her shoulder. "What the hell?" Thunderhead said. "She must have it in her bookbag."

The girl looked right at us, just for a second, and sped up. I turned the car off.

"What's the matter?" Thunderhead said. "Fire us up."

"No. We haven't found what we were looking for, and I think we should go home. At least we shouldn't do anything else until we find out who these other people are watching this building."

"You wanna go home? Go. I'm not quitting when I'm this close."

"You're not close to anything right now. Do you know who else is staking the place out?"

"Shit," he said. "Let me go check." He hoisted himself out of the car and stumped off into the darkness.

I should have driven away right there.

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