Chapter 1: The Lost Cartouche

2011

Luke:

“You know what I could go for?” Larry mused with a broad grin.  Oh god, I thought.  I already knew.

“Black Rook Burgers.”  Yup, it was as I feared.

“Really man?  They’re nasty,” I replied in a vain attempt to avoid a four hour vigil at the porcelain shrine.

“Nah, they’re classic.” Larry ushered me into his Grand Am.  We had been on the road for hours; our most recent stop had been unsuccessful.  Unlike the Midwest, Nevada had hundred-mile stretches without good gas stations.  There was gas, but that was it, no food, no frills, none of the luxuries many associate with road trips.  As such, I was skeptical I’d find the proper facilities to handle Black Rook aftermath, but you couldn’t argue with Larry.  Larry was one of those people; he was a force of nature.  Murphy’s truth, he managed to find the one and only Black Rook Burgers in a 300 mile radius.

Sure enough, four hours later I was crawling out of a gas station restroom. It was the sort of bathroom that is a crime against humanity.  Given my composure, slumped and sweaty on the ground, you’d never know my real identity.

“Mm, so good, I can still taste it.”  Larry patted his belly.

“Unfortunately…” I muttered, alluding to the rancid taste in my mouth.  Larry picked me off the ground by my left arm.  He shoved me into my seat and walked to the other side of the car.  So right about now you’ve figured out the obvious, right?  Yup.  Larry and I are superheroes.  Like I said, obvious.

It was our turn to patrol, and our stretch was further and more tedious than previous assignments.  Linus, aka Boss, usually sends Larry out for the long-haul trips.  You may be wondering why we’re cruising along in a Pontiac instead of soaring through the air with our capes flapping behind us.  First off, neither of us can fly, so that’s out.  Secondly, even if we could fly, there is something conspicuous about two thirty year old men zooming through the sky without a plane or hang-glider.  Third, any self-respecting man would wear not wear a cape; you’ll never score a date in your life if you’re that painfully flamboyant.

Our territory had expanded.  There were no marked boundaries in the lifestyle of a super hero, so you had to decide for yourself how far you would patrol.  There were small bands of us, or at least the ones we knew were legit.  Looking up other super heroes online is often fruitless. There are plenty of crackpots who believe they have powers.    Solo acts happened, but they were often the ones who leaked to the media.  You see, you have to tell someone when you have an amazing ability.  It’s a basic human need.  The issue is you need someone who will keep your secret. People are simultaneously in a state of belief and disbelief of our existence.  Several people believe in psychics, the supernatural and the unknown, but most believers won’t accept it’s real even when it’s staring them in the face.

Larry began serenading me, if you count howling in deafening decibels as serenading, with the music of Billy Joel.  Thankfully I had thrown the mix with “Up-Town Girl” out the window on our last patrol.  Larry couldn’t carry a tune, but that didn’t stop him from singing along.  I felt the churning of my intestines.  Black Rook burgers created a colony of bacteria in my bowels; that was the only explanation.

“Uh Larry…” I ventured, leaning against the hot vinyl of the interior.

“OOoooh She can do what she wa... What is it?”

“Can I pick a new CD?” I looked up, hopeful.

“Uh… sure… but if it’s Nickleback I will push you out the door, cousin or no Luke, got it?”

 “Understood,” I muttered curtly before unzipping my CD collection.  Larry’s car didn’t have an MP3 player, and Larry refused to concede that adapters existed to allow MP3 player hook ups.  I slid in the CD as we cruised at 90 MPH through the endless stretch of barren wasteland.  I leaned back and let the music do all the healing.  For thirty glorious seconds I felt the rush of freedom.  I rolled down the window, let the hot wind beat at my hair and then…

“What the hell is this?” Larry muttered.

“Lady Gaga,” I replied, “You know, someone a little more…recent?”

“Cyndi Lauper can take her any day.” Larry ejected the CD, rolled down the window and unceremoniously tossed the disc out.

“WHAT THE HELL!” I screamed.

“Revenge for uptown girl,” Larry snickered.  A minute later, his smile faded, he blurted out an obscenity and slammed on his breaks with all of his might.  Before I knew it, my seatbelt was the only thing preventing me from jettisoning out of the windshield.  I slammed back against my seat.  There was nothing but dirt in the air outside the windows.  Larry fumbled with his seatbelt.

“Holy shit!  Did I stop in time?”  He had already thrown open the door.  I awkwardly made my way out of the car.  Dust was everywhere but as the cloud thinned away I saw Larry kneeling by the front of the car.  There was a silhouette of a woman laying just a foot from the bumper.

Without hesitation, Larry picked her up as though she was nothing and carried her out of the cloud of dust filling the air.  I followed suit, covered in dirt from head to toe.  Larry laid her back on the ground and both of us took a step back.

“Luke…”

“Yeah Larry…” I didn’t know what to say.  Larry did the talking for both of us.

“Call Linus…” his eyes looked down to the woman. She was a pale white woman dressed in Egyptian clothing.  To an outsider she was just some lost cocktail waitress from Las Vegas.  We knew better; we were hundreds of miles from Las Vegas.  “Tell him…” Larry paused. “We’ve found Cartouche.”

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