The Continuing Adventures: Pros at Prose
Posted: Wed Apr 6, 2011 7:09 am
This thread is for an old friend who wandered off somewhere and hasn’t found his way back yet. Never quite understood what made the man tick but I figure it’s as good a bet as any that if he knows, and my God he will know whether he reads it or not in the back of his mind he will read it all, that I’m sullying the memory of one of his great works with a pale imitation it might aid his navigation. Stop me if you can, East Coast Vigilante.
ONE
The winding length of the alley lies before me, twisting crazily as my eyes struggle to interpret the contours of garbage cans and fire hydrants in the onrushing darkness. As good as blind I stagger forward, trusting in the providence of style, of cool to save me from toes broken kicking an unseen curb or steps staggered by an abandoned beer bottle rolling under foot. I am entirely at the mercy of my environment, and I am in my element, at the height of my powers. At this moment, lost, confused and deprived of my senses I am as a god.
I go, my footfalls arrhythmic and graceless, blending into the underlying nonsense that fills the night in any city so perfectly that they are better than silent. I do not hurry; while the meeting was arranged for exactly midnight (naturally) for me allowances are made. After all, I don’t need to be there for the key details, if I were I would have to be sure to forget them, as it is I will make some up so as to be a team player. Not that much planning should be required for this evening, or my involvement at all most likely. Occasionally membership in the East Coast Secret Vigilante Society means a great deal, but mostly we all prefer to work alone and these monthly exercises in team work exist so that we all have someone to talk to. Someone in our line of work, you don’t run into many.
Generally our group activities involve a great deal of forethought, of planning; a number of our more active members are very fond of planning. I myself do very little, and do what I can to avoid any and every detail of those drawn up by my fellows. I am, so far as I know, the only holistic superhero in the world, and being the only one of your kind means you are forgiven a great deal. For example, I am sure I will be forgiven for being completely and utterly lost, a state I attain whenever I can. Naturally I am found whenever and wherever it suits fortune to find me, and naturally I find crime the same way.
My feet have guided me to an intersection, utterly unfamiliar. One of my fellows has often bragged to me that he has memorized every twist and turn in this city. No doubt he would be entirely at home in this place. I pity him. My feet take me left, I had pizza for dinner and a few slices are left to await my return, as good a reason as any. A stop sign ambles out of the darkness ahead, I oblige; it never hurts to be polite.
A minute passes, possibly two. The low timber of a voice intrudes from behind, and I regret the intrusion of its familiarity.
“You have got to be **** kidding me, beaten to the spot by nature boy, again.”
I turn to see two shapes, both cruelly familiar, approach, each is presumably masked, one rummages in its bulk, rustling a costume decorated with a silver star that is, I can attest, completely ridiculous looking in more normal light. The hand is removed from its depths and something is passed to its companion, more sensibly dressed in a dark green that happens to be very elaborately reptile themed, but the details are lost in the dark.
“Never learn do you? Always bet on his dumb luck, that’s why he’s taking point tonight, and why you’re down a twenty, again."
Figure two turns, he tries to go by Lizardo but I've met his wife and she calls him James and if he can't keep it going in front of the missus he's not fooling anybody.
Don’t figure you want the details of the op do you? Winging it again?”
It’s a question he’s asked a dozen times before and he expects the answer long before I give it:
“Naturally.”
ONE
The winding length of the alley lies before me, twisting crazily as my eyes struggle to interpret the contours of garbage cans and fire hydrants in the onrushing darkness. As good as blind I stagger forward, trusting in the providence of style, of cool to save me from toes broken kicking an unseen curb or steps staggered by an abandoned beer bottle rolling under foot. I am entirely at the mercy of my environment, and I am in my element, at the height of my powers. At this moment, lost, confused and deprived of my senses I am as a god.
I go, my footfalls arrhythmic and graceless, blending into the underlying nonsense that fills the night in any city so perfectly that they are better than silent. I do not hurry; while the meeting was arranged for exactly midnight (naturally) for me allowances are made. After all, I don’t need to be there for the key details, if I were I would have to be sure to forget them, as it is I will make some up so as to be a team player. Not that much planning should be required for this evening, or my involvement at all most likely. Occasionally membership in the East Coast Secret Vigilante Society means a great deal, but mostly we all prefer to work alone and these monthly exercises in team work exist so that we all have someone to talk to. Someone in our line of work, you don’t run into many.
Generally our group activities involve a great deal of forethought, of planning; a number of our more active members are very fond of planning. I myself do very little, and do what I can to avoid any and every detail of those drawn up by my fellows. I am, so far as I know, the only holistic superhero in the world, and being the only one of your kind means you are forgiven a great deal. For example, I am sure I will be forgiven for being completely and utterly lost, a state I attain whenever I can. Naturally I am found whenever and wherever it suits fortune to find me, and naturally I find crime the same way.
My feet have guided me to an intersection, utterly unfamiliar. One of my fellows has often bragged to me that he has memorized every twist and turn in this city. No doubt he would be entirely at home in this place. I pity him. My feet take me left, I had pizza for dinner and a few slices are left to await my return, as good a reason as any. A stop sign ambles out of the darkness ahead, I oblige; it never hurts to be polite.
A minute passes, possibly two. The low timber of a voice intrudes from behind, and I regret the intrusion of its familiarity.
“You have got to be **** kidding me, beaten to the spot by nature boy, again.”
I turn to see two shapes, both cruelly familiar, approach, each is presumably masked, one rummages in its bulk, rustling a costume decorated with a silver star that is, I can attest, completely ridiculous looking in more normal light. The hand is removed from its depths and something is passed to its companion, more sensibly dressed in a dark green that happens to be very elaborately reptile themed, but the details are lost in the dark.
“Never learn do you? Always bet on his dumb luck, that’s why he’s taking point tonight, and why you’re down a twenty, again."
Figure two turns, he tries to go by Lizardo but I've met his wife and she calls him James and if he can't keep it going in front of the missus he's not fooling anybody.
Don’t figure you want the details of the op do you? Winging it again?”
It’s a question he’s asked a dozen times before and he expects the answer long before I give it:
“Naturally.”