Chapter 26

Kate was all mopey the next morning. I’d thought that after the windfall, she would have been on cloud nine.

Jude was showering when I left. They didn’t have to report for training for over an hour after I left for the Federal building. On my way to work, I chatted via text with Paula about what was what. Heather had hinted that I needed to spend more time at the office. Questions were being asked and I needed to be available to answer them.

Even if that was not part of my original agreement for working for them, it was now. Trusting Heather might have been a mistake, but there was little I could do about it.

What they wanted from me was a verbal rendition of exactly what I submitted in electronic form.

I could have just read it off at a podium. Or they could have read the blasted report that I submitted in its electronic form in the first place...

Facetime made the powers that be happy, so I had to live with it.

After lunch, Mr. White handed me a package from the Director. He ‘knew nothing’, and returned straight away to his office.

Inside was an opal, black, and thumb-sized. The invoice attached stated that it was payment for my commercial.

Making a face, I tried to put the gem in my inventory. No issues. The system evaluated it at 3200 silver.

Holy cow.

I had wondered what the PRA was doing with all the silver they collected. The amount they asked per person per Gate run was small, just three nuggets for a Violet run, but the numbers had to add up to large amounts.

I wondered when the other shoe would drop.

Silly me.

Not ten minutes later...

“Agent? I would like you to arrest Hector Kevin Jacobson, aka Bluebeard;” the PRA staffer gave me his address, picture, latest mugshot, (He didn’t have a beard), gang affiliation and last known place of work. I also received a Miranda card and two full sets of Manacles. Not handcuffs, Manacles, and I was sent to get my badge from my office. I was also issued an unmarked armored truck to bring the subject back ‘in one piece’. The last stipulation was stated very clearly.

The twenty-two year old Hispanic man was suspected of killing his third girlfriend in three weeks with his new Weapon, a hand scythe. He only listed one on his license, but it was believed that he was given a pair by the system.

There was a witness, who was not in protective custody if she was seen, I was to report her location immediately.

A few other tidbits were added. Enough to make me wonder why I was being sent alone. Or why I was being sent at all. And I was shooed off.

Not knowing any better, I entered the bar that Mr. Jacobson frequented and was last reported being in.

Picture this: a six-three white man in a white shirt, gray tie and gray slacks with short, side-parted hair, enters a Hispanic bar at quarter after five on the south side of Chicago...

And it’s not the beginning of a joke...

Thankfully, the patrons ignored me. I tried to ignore the terrible music, smoke, and year-old alcohol stench.

Seeing my quarry, the perp or whatever the hell they call bad guys these days, sitting at a booth with four friends playing dice, I walked over to them.

He bolted.

That actually made my life easier.

Two of his friends had very sore shins on the way out as they tried tripping me.

Hector easily cleared a fence with one hand supporting him on the crossbar. I mimicked him, taking care that none of my actual weight actually pressed down on the aluminum tubing.

His ten-yard head start wasn’t enough.

“Hector Kevin Jacobson, I am with the PRA, please stop and cooperate. I have some questions for you.”

He sprinted all out. I was faster.

Realizing that he could not get away, he drew both hand scythes. Blood-red blades with black handles, eerily similar to my own Weapon. They weren’t enough to deter me and I just kept running at him.

Five meters away, I summoned my Axe, cast Refraction, and blocked his weak attack.

The backlash knocked him down. My right cross knocked him out. I dragged him back by his collar to the truck and secured him with all too many people watching.

That was too easy. I wonder what I did wrong.

He woke during traffic on the way back to the Federal building. His curses left little to the imagination at what he thought of my parentage. At a long red light. I put on the emergency flashers. Walked in back, removed my Miranda card and read it aloud. Twice.

He refused to acknowledge anything. Even if he was swearing at me in English earlier.

I gave Heather a ring in the parking lot. She wasn’t happy, to say the least. With me or anyone else from her department. I knew that this fiasco wasn’t a first and wouldn’t be a last.

The FBI let us use their holding cells, since the PRA wasn’t fully set up even over a half a year later. Since Hector feigned not speaking English, an interpreter was summoned and reams of extra paperwork ensued.

Peachy.

“What did you hit him with? A truck?” the Fed asked me while photographing him.

“Right cross.”

“Use the truck next time, less damage. His jaw is going to need work.”

“He had a pair of Weapons out and refused to surrender.”

“Save it for the courts.” The photographer didn’t really care, I thought. It was possible that she was giving me advice for the next time to minimize the push back from the higher-ups. Damaged perps always caused trouble, I learned.

A new precedent was soon enacted country and then worldwide. All Hunters, from then on, would be considered Armed and Dangerous at all times, in the eyes of the law.

We were.

I pictured arresting Ed and cringed. Bora Bora sounded good instead. And I didn’t even know if that was a real place, just that it was far away.

Hector’s defense of him having no weapons on his person, needed some time to be found ‘absurd’. My words, not theirs, I didn’t speak lawyer-ese.

It took six months of trial and appeals, but it did come about. Even the Supreme Court became involved as soon as the case was brought to them. For some reason their hands were tied from issuing a decision, until then.

My face did end up on camera. It took a couple of weeks and it was outside of the courthouse the day of my testimony. But it did. It seemed someone had it out for me inside the agency.

Heather felt my wrath later that afternoon after my one and only public arrest. Yes, even I had wrath. And knew what the word meant, without looking it up.

She in turn, found the culprit, the reason (office politics), and transferred the asshole to Nome Alaska, with the Director’s AOK.

Heather moved him before I could find him and see if I could dice him in finer cubes than Ed could make. I doubted it, but was more than willing to try in his case.

But the damage had been done.

Instead of going home. I went to the UE gym. And beat things up. I just used my fists, since my Axes would be overkill, even for me.

“So, your name gets out. Why are you so mad?” Kate asked after her class. Both of us looked at the massively reinforced destroyed body bag at my feet. Neither of us even remotely caring about it.

“Remember the commercial?”

“Everyone will associate you with Black Axe.” She shrugged. She could not understand why I found that a problem.

“In the wild west movies. What did the gunfighters all go around doing?”

“Proving who was the fastest? You think they will all come to challenge you?”

“Are you the best Healer?”

“I think so.” She grinned at the not-so-hidden-pride. I, hell everyone, thought and told her that she was.

“If someone said they are better. How would you react?”

“Okay. Maybe a few will come. You beat them up and then leave. I don’t see an issue.”

There was no reasoning with her.

“I just hope I am wrong.” Even though I knew I wasn’t. Edna laughed at me. Said it was my fault to begin with.

I did change. I no longer hid behind a mask. The ‘H’ word was never spoken or mentioned. Word just spread that I was the strongest in Illinois. Maybe the world. Another thing that changed was that I sold my Nissan to Nat for a hundred dollars and bought a new truck. One that could hold my weight.

There were too many bad influences around me. Everyone, even Toff, the bastard, got involved in my new truck shopping. I weighed too much for an unreinforced car.

Plus, we all expected me to get heavier. Ed worried about that. She would have to reinforce the passenger side and seat to accommodate me. And suspension and...

A serious concern for her Charger’s performance. Her Hellion purchase was placed on hold. Not that she had ordered it yet.

Beau and Austin dragged me and the gang to go car, or really 4x4, shopping.

Half the men were over 250 pounds. I topped the charts at 422. (not 450 like everyone said.)

Of course, the rich mo-fo’s took me to the Merc dealer first.

Beau fell in love with the only one that mattered on the lot. A black on black AMG G-series, all kitted out.

Better yet it was just off a six-month lease to a movie company. The bombshell of a saleswoman, did the honey trap sell to us. Beau acted as the decoy and asked all the questions. The price was 50k marked down from new with a full warranty.

IT WAS STILL $151,588! Way more than I had. The lease option was ten K per month. 3 year/30000 miles. I wouldn’t meet that mileage.

But damn, it was comfortable, and it didn’t even dip when I sat in the driver’s seat. Me sitting there before Beau did gave the game up. The quick-witted sales lady then spread her pitch between the two of us. Three, if Ed was included since she knew more about cars than the rest of us.

Even if she worshipped Chargers.

It was too much, but one sold Joker and it would no longer be.

Ed said, “If you like it, buy it.”

She gave her seal of approval. The fifty K off was a huge selling point for me, that it sat five very large people was the other major point.

The test drive was very smooth.

“Jason, we all owe you man. I can float you until payday. No sweat.” I didn’t like owing anyone, let alone my friends. Especially my friends.

“Look at it this way, you owe me five hundred silver if you don’t repay me by the end of year.”

“Deal.” I could do that. That was fair. I would not sell 500 silver for only 160K.

A quick personal loan of 1% interest per month due in full by the end of the year, with a guarantee of 500 silver, was quickly signed by us.

Four hours later, I tossed the keys to Ed, she and the gang took turns driving it. Those that had licenses. Nat took Matt and the girls for an extended trip; radio up, windows down, speed up, they had a blast.

We had an impromptu BBQ at Beau’s and I tried not to worry about the money, my name getting out or getting over my head too much. That was what Natasha said behind closed doors.

“Don’t sweat the posers, Jase. We have all been through it. Just walk away and if they start something pull your badge. If they persist, ask your friends to down the guy.”

“Just don’t ask Ed, if you want them to live.” Mar staged whispered.

The fork embedded in his shoulder had to hurt. Unfortunately for the guy, his suicidal tendencies remained strong.

The laughing helped. So did friends protecting my back.

The teasing of selling 500 silver for a buck fifty never stopped circulating that evening.

Even if I could not get drunk, I was over the limit and spent the night at Beaus. Along with everyone else other than Heather (Who was no longer in my doghouse. Maybe.).

The defense attorney, sniffing a story (and a quick buck), sold my name and the particulars to the papers, including to a few gossip rags.

The Black Axe’s real name became known. A picture wasn’t hard to find after that.

Ed bopped me in the back of the head, lighter than usual. “Come with me, you have been moping for the last two days.”

“I have not,” I pouted.

“Right.”

“Where are we going?”