Chapter 2

After dinner, Julie marched me to the bathroom, dragging along a folding chair that I didn’t remember owning, and a white plastic bag. She returned with a few towels less than a minute later. Ordering me to take a quick shower, “Just wet your hair,” came the follow up before I managed three paces. Ten minutes later, my hair changed from a sandy brown to an orange-ish auburn. Next, she ordered me take another quick shower, mostly to rinse off any odd stains from my scalp and shoulders. With my hair still wet, my aide reconfigured the style from the side part I had for centuries, to a spiky no part, using some sort of goo to hold it in place. When I lightly patted my new sculpted hair, the springiness surprised me.

“Don’t do that.” after my disallowed testing, Julie pulled out four pairs of glasses for me to try. “None of these are prescription,” I chose the third pair, an oval gold rimmed one that sat closer and higher up on the nose, which felt the most comfortable. She wasn’t sure if it looked quite right, but if I was going to wear glasses tonight, I needed ones that stayed in place.

For clothes; she laid out the shocking blue collarless pullover, along with dark blue slacks and a thin black belt. I wasn’t all that fond of the cut on that particular shirt. I felt it was too tight across the chest but Julie assured me it would be perfect for my first ‘club nite’. Oddly enough, after insisting on new shoes during our shopping trip the other day, the shoes were one of my older casual black leather ones.

And the last expected item on the bed next to my belt was my phone case. Unfortunately for me, my new aide meant it when she said I was to wear it at all times.

I was curious from who my first call would be, outside of my servants and houseguest.

After dressing me, she sent me to go ‘play in your den’ until Tracey arrived. Hollering at me after I left my room with an, “and don’t wrinkle your shirt.”

I chuckled at her nervousness and proceeded down the stairs to read the latest report on the LA new Super team formed last month with the TV on in the background, extolling the virtues of the most beautiful Super Heroines in America.

The guest buzzer sounded and some scurrying was heard inside my house for the first time in a very long time. The ladies had their own home to run around in over the garage, and Rebecca kept decorum, more so now that she had slowed down.

Nancy summoned me to the library, with Lillian peeking around the corner. I pretended not to notice and she pretended not to notice me not noticing her.

The two young female officers were dressed to kill. One broad shouldered blonde wearing a white leather miniskirt plus a black mesh top, with a frilly black bra barely covering the important bits. The brunette wore a shoulderless, semi sheer, black collared top that tucked into her sparkly black miniskirt. Both women wore matching black mid-grade three-inch heels.

Each outfit emphasized a superbly fit women in the prime of their youths. I approved, even if I preferred slightly broader hips and rounder busts on my women.

“Beautiful. Both of you. I take it you are ‘Tracey the roommate’? I am Bach, you can call me Leo tonight.” I held out my hand for her to shake.

“Yes, Sir, a pleasure to meet you.” A good firm handshake; I appreciated those from women, as long as it was not overdone.

Julie informed me that, although it was still early, she wanted to arrive shortly after opening so that I could get used to the noise and lights. “The real partiers don’t arrive until after ten.” It was only 8:30 now and we wouldn’t be able to enter Sparklers for at least another half hour.

“It’s your plan. But I will ask Lillian to chauffeur us. Then a few drinks won’t be an issue.” For them, alcohol stopped affecting me centuries ago. If it ever did, I didn’t have my first hard drink until I was over a hundred.

Sparklers was a dance club on the upper east side of Central City. The drinks were pricey, the music was loud, and the people were dressed to be seen. Besides all that, it still had a good reputation. The owners employed a few Supers as bouncers to add over-the-top support to the regular security. The use of drugs had been banned with limited enforcement.

I helped Julie in the passenger seat, while Tracey and I took the rear in my large black SUV. During the drive, I questioned the roommate on her new assignment. Julie informed me during the second day’s shopping expedition that Tracey had been assigned as the army’s new liaison to the Heroes Association.

“Did you know that there is a poster of you behind their counter? Where are your Hitler mustache and horns?”

“I hid them. Don’t tell anyone, I’m in disguise.” I leaned over and stage whispered to the scantily clad blonde, causing her to crack up. Tracey had a much deeper and throatier laugh than Julie’s milder one.

“No flirting back there. And please remember, let the bouncers handle any troubles.”

“You take all the fun out of everything, Jules.” replied the blonde. If I remembered correctly, she outscored her petite roommate in athletics at the Point by quite a few percent. I’d have to ask Abernathy for the full jacket on her too. Julie’s was as straightforward as I had expected.

“Miniskirt. Remember what happened last time?” Julie cautioned her taller friend again. I had thought that the admonishment was for me. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was, just used Tracey as the vector to warn me off.

As soon as I opened my car door, the muffled thumping coming from inside the converted warehouse seemed to reverberate through me. I assisted each lady, covering for any accidental exposure from their minuscule skirts.

Twenty people stood outside the venue in a cordoned off line in groups of twos and threes. From my initial perspective, both Julie and Tracey were dressed approximately the same as the rest of the women. The men on the other hand were all much more flamboyantly attired than I.

See-through ripped shirts, skin tight leather pants with cutouts; and even one male, I hesitated to call him a man, who wore leather straps with a similar shorts configuration, leaving him little room to move without pain, if he had anything left.

Lillian dropped us off near the end of the line. Julie had previously warned me not to bribe the bouncers to get in early, unless there was a crush.

“I will call you when we are ready to leave. If it’s past two, we can get a cab.” I instructed Lillian, who tended to drive me the most of the three and did almost all of the late-night driving.

“Sure thing, boss. Have fun.”

At my 6′4″, even with her low heels, I towered over Tracey by five inches and Julie by another four more. Our light conversation was hindered by the noise already. How much worse would it be when we entered? I despaired. I had faced Supers that generated a phonic blast at a lesser level than what the club’s speakers emitted.

The short line moved at a steady pace until we got to the bouncers, they checked everyone’s ID equally. No exceptions. On each side of the doors was a set of posters, proclaiming that tonight was under the watchful eyes of Tesla and Orion, Super bouncers for hire.

Any deterrent was a good deterrent in my book.

The girls each received a cursory glance at their IDs while the attendant actually gave my military one a thorough read. He even ran it through the Scanner, to see if it was counterfeit. It passed. Tracey did look at it when he scanned, but since the indicator was green the bouncer passed the three of us through to the cute cashier who charged me ninety dollars. Fifty for me and twenty for each of the girls.

The lull in the heart pounding music was welcoming, coinciding with us entering the converted warehouse. Julie picked up her reservation number for our table. “I tried to get one upstairs but they were already booked.”

“I am sure the one you chose will be fine.” I responded on our way to a standing table midway deep against the wall.

Sparklers was a twenty thousand square foot converted warehouse with two downstairs bars, a kitchen for snacks, and a second floor hung in the center of the building, accessible by elevator only. The rear comprised of a stage, not in use, and a five thousand square foot dance floor. Although technically, I believed that the whole place was the real dance floor. The DJ’s booth was encased in glass on a raised dais next to the stage. He and his two nearly nude helpers came and went all night long. Their only distinguishing attire were Sparkler’s hats, which most of the waitstaff also adorned.

I also saw four cages; one occupied by a pair of ladies dancing under oscillating neon lights. The other three empty for now, but Tracey explained that they would be filled by volunteers and switched out throughout the evening.

The two-foot diameter standing table, that we were led to, was bolted to the floor. There was also a small safe bolted to the tabletop for our personal items. Both of the ladies placed their tiny clutches in it after changing the combination. I added my phone but kept my wallet. The locked box wouldn’t deter any real thief, but the visibility should make it safe enough for our casual use.

I handed the waitress my card and told her to run a tab for the table when we ordered drinks. The women both asked for strawberry fufu ones and I ordered my usual Guinness, when I was concerned about the quality of the liquor.

Noticing Tracey bouncing in place to the beat, “Go dance, you two, I will be fine here.” They tried to drag me along, but I wasn’t ready, the joint felt off to me. The next hour plus, individually and together, they danced, failing to entice me to join them. I didn’t get how they did what they did. The rhythm and patterns were unlike anything I had seen before.

That didn’t last though. I gave in eventually and tried to let myself do what they and others did. Tracey even did some repetitive dance that I thought I could imitate. Since the floor wasn’t packed yet, she had me mirror her actions while Julie counted out the moves. 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 ... Waltz it wasn’t. How she moved was closer to an overly complicated line dance, than anything I was familiar with. I didn’t believe that I should be mentioning that little observation.

A large boisterous group arrived around 10:30, making a fuss with everyone near them before ascending the elevator to the reserved hanging second floor. Their commotion incited a rush to the dance area. We escaped back to our table, only to find it occupied by a pair of bare-chested men in leathers. One of whom was drinking my beer.

I tapped a passing waitress on the arm; a tactic that was most used in this place since the noise level precluded casual conversation. Once I had her attention, I asked her to get our waitress. “Someone was at our table drinking my beer.” While pointing at the offenders.

Ten minutes later, and after much shouting, the bouncers and the hostess, along with our waitress, finally got rid of the offenders. I refused to pay for their drinks and ours that they consumed, while we were away dancing. The manager was summoned and apologized decently. I had no objections on how he handled the matter.

The lack of civility irritated me. I hadn’t expected, nor dealt with, bad bar manners in public in far too long - lawyers, politicians, and the French excluded. Once the offenders were bounced, Julie tried to talk to me but I stalled her as I internalized my senses.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed but I felt a hand stroke my arm in a soothing gesture. “Take a deep breath. Reacclimatization was never going to be easy.”

Seeing some understanding from the both of them, I asked for a pitcher of water and time to think. “Shoo, go dance. I will be good here for a little while.” Both of my escorts went off at my assertion. I did notice that it was not just my two ladies that danced in pairs. Every woman on the floor was accompanied by at least one other person known to them.

Small groups were the norm, and keeping your partner close was also the norm. Where is the Danger? I wondered. Strolling the room, I sensed some but nothing life threatening. The density of people made wading through the revelers slow, but no one intentionally hindered me.

When I finished the circuit, the dance floor was all that was left. I let myself flow to the two girls who were sweating and bouncing like their lives depended on it. An enjoyable sight, I privately admitted. Both were pretty and in a great deal better shape than the surrounding dancers, men or women. I eased up to Tracey, since Julie had her back to me and tried gyrating similar to what they did. Though it reminded me of nothing more than air sex, I was trying to fit in, I reminded myself.

Two smiles greeted me as they moved closer, causing one of their followers to scowl. “I think I will be okay.” I mouthed slowly so Julie could understand. She could communicate my message to Tracey.

It was a good excuse.

I spent the next half hour with them, speeding up and smoothing out while relaxing and soaking in the atmosphere, when someone suddenly tripped into me hard and bounced off even harder. The following laughter, directed at the fallen lad, didn’t do much for his night. Or his ego.

“Ha, Dale! That normie knocked you down.” One of the ladies, who wore little more than body paint under a pink mesh minidress, mocked her large drunken friend. “You might want to slow down if you fall that easy after one pitcher.”

The rest of his companions didn’t help with their taunts.

“Pink Bitch, I ain’t drunk. He must have tripped me on purpose.”

My back was to the group, letting the girls face the crowd. It was also easier to keep an eye on the ones under my care. I still hadn’t identified the danger.

“Hey, tough guy, watch what you are doing!” the man-beast shouted.

I ignored him, as instructed by Julie’s peace motion.

Tracey took hold of my hand to lead me away, stopping my attempted dance practice.

“Yo, Shithead!” He called to my retreating back. A second smaller hand grasped mine to make sure I followed them away from the apparent confrontation. “Ha, look at the girly boy being led around by the dick.”

I stopped. Neither of the two ladies accompanying me could prevent my turning to face the unstable Hero. “Outside, Mr. ‘B-Class Hero wannabee.’ I would hate to get blood on the bystanders. Unless you are afraid.”

“Tracey, see to the bill, please. Twenty percent gratuity, and don’t forget your purses. Julie, with me.” I walked slowly through the crowd. Word of the challenge followed my wake. The party of Supers also followed. The bouncers bracketed us to make sure that no incidents happened inside the club.

Outside, I walked to the middle of the street and stopped, since I could see nowhere else that wouldn’t hurt people or destroy cars.

The lumbering man in bright orange flannel pants and a shiny teal shirt followed me into the middle of the street. “I am Galeleio. B-Class. Kneel and kiss my feet, or I will bitch slap you to yo momma.” He announced to the crowd. If he tried to confuse me with that taunt, he had succeeded.

“Please don’t kill him.” A single voice called out clearly amongst the laughter from his friends at the antics of the nominal Hero.

“Ha, your woman is begging for your life.” The delusional Super pranced, while shadow boxing.

I stood with my arms in a nineteen twenty’s professional style, elbows down, fists up, protecting the face and upper body. “I’m ready, Mr. Wanna B. What happened? Did you not have someone spell Galileo on your application for you and messed it up?”

“Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” He took a half ass swing, not intending to hit. I responded by not moving.

“Missed. Maybe beer is too strong for you. Try milk next time.”

“Please don’t kill him,” I heard Julie ask in a disgusted voice from the sideline.

“Fuck you then.” His jab went straight for my face. I felt the momentum.

Catching his larger fist in my hand, causing a muffled thunderclap from the force, I squeezed. Hard. The large, dayglow face painted Hero-who-should-have-never-been dropped to his knees and screamed while his bones were crushed. The finger bones in his right hand would never completely recover.

“Bach, paperwork. Remember how much you hate it.” Was the sole voice from the crowd of suddenly silent bystanders.

Bah, I did hate paperwork, but that wasn’t why I was doing this in public. Nor stopping half way. Falling back, the man who never should have been classified as a Hero cradled his ruined hand. My name circulated around the Super crowd. Turning my gaze to the pink instigator. “You in the pink. Make sure he gets help. And both of you need to see an anger therapist. See that you do that soon. Uncontrolled anger will only get you dead. Or someone you care about.”

“Please call Lillian.” The Supers and normals backed off when I approached my aide. The sirens arrived before Lillian did. One of his Hero teammates flew the downed Hero to the hospital.

“Why do you hate Supers?” A tiny girl in violet splattered body paint, ripped jeans, and a tie-dyed scarf for a shirt, confronted me.

“If I were not enhanced, when he drunkenly ran into me on the dance floor, he would have injured me. Not very Heroic.”

“He tripped. It was an accident.”

“Out here he threw a punch hard enough to destroy a car. How many of your friends would live, if he hit them with that punch to the face?”

“You goaded him.”

“How many?”

“Almost all.” The tiny girl admitted under my stare.

“Almost all would have lived ... And you had the gall to ask what most people think is wrong with the Heroes today. Glamour, glory and fame is all the lot of you care about.”

“That’s not true. We do a lot of good.” Kaleidoscope argued.

“Few do. All too many don’t. Go look over the records, Miss Stevens. The injury incidents, when fighting your fellow Supers, is way too high on civilians.”

“That’s the Villain’s fault We do the best we can.”

“No, you don’t. Go back and read the reports.”

“You sound like you read them?”

“I do. I read every single civilian death incident report in which a Hero is involved.”

“At least no one else got hurt.”

“This time. Kaleidoscope...”

“Yeah?” she responded wearily.

I pulled a card from my wallet. “Be at my house at 9:00 AM tomorrow. Until then have a good night.” She took it, afraid it would bite her one way or the other.

“Officer Jacoby.” Central City’s finest arrived and showed his badge to the crowd, “I heard that there was a Bach sighting.” I turned to the officer standing by the Supers, tucking away his badge, who was waiting for me to finish talking to the girl.

“Red hair and glasses, Bach?” He pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the pain that was starting.

“My new assistant is trying to humanize me. I’m in disguise.”

“The blonde or the brunette?”

“The brunette. Lieutenant Perkins of army intelligence. Lieutenant, this is officer Jacoby with Central City’s Finest. This poor sod has the displeasure of personally overseeing all of the Super powered crimes in this peachy town.” They nodded and appraised each other.

“Detective, the disturbance is over for tonight. Galeleio is on his way to the hospital with a broken hand. I believe you still have that classified as self-inflicted?”

“For Supers that attack you? Sure. It’s on the books as self-inflicted. Just a broken hand this time, you say? Maybe her efforts are working. Keep up the good work, Lieutenant. Now, take His Mightiness home.”

“We will, officer Jacoby.” Julie responded while the officer got back in his car and drove off without questioning anyone else.

Lillian arrived shortly after.

It had been seventy plus years since my last bar fight. No Tommy guns this time around.

“Bach, did you have to break his hand?” groused one of my guides to being human again.

“Yes. Lieutenant Mayes, I did. I request your presence tomorrow 9:00 at my house. Officially.”

“Yes, sir. I can do that.”

“What, why her?”

“Well, since you asked, you too can be there instead of having a day off. As for why, all three of you will find out in the morning.”

“Three?” They asked each other, recognizing that I wouldn’t respond.

Since both of the women had a few cocktails, I insisted that Tracey spend the night. She could run home after she woke, change and return.

“Thanks for the fun night. I hadn’t got in a bar fight in decades.” I chuckled. “And what you call dancing, that too was different.”

“You weren’t supposed to get in a fight. I even disguised you.” Julie complained angrily. “But you were too boneheaded to walk away. Crippling him while you were at it, and publicly too. Don’t you understand that normal people just don’t do that?”

“But I am not normal. As for why? Both of you will discover my reasons for that tomorrow. Good night, ladies.” I half bowed and retreated up the stairs, after asking Nancy to assign Tracey the Ruby room.

Once in my room, I buzzed Lillian, informing her of tomorrow’s plans. Then emailed Rebecca about Saturday’s and Sunday’s visitors and schedule. She at least would be happy about the added guests. New victims, Cough, volunteers to try her cooking on.

Once the ladies quieted down, I returned to my den via the rear stairs, so not to disturb either of the pair. Though, I suspected that they would stay up late, kibitzing. I had reports to read. It was irritating that I had no downtime in the mornings since Julie arrived in my life. I would need to redress that.

Tracey came down first while I was finishing my breakfast. Setting the paper down, “Would you care for breakfast or are you pressed for time?” Glancing at my watch, it was just past 6:30.

“I have time, thanks. Its only twenty minutes on a Saturday each way.” To her apartment, I interpreted.