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  George nodded thoughtfully. "An interesting set of parents. What about you and your siblings?"

  After taking a drink Elizabeth hmmed thoughtfully. "I think Zack's still got his heart set on opening a hardware store of his own rather than run one of the big box places. I don't get it, but then again I try staying out of the local v national issue. A store is a store, and so long as the people there don't treat me like dirt I generally buy where I know I can get what I want." George seemed to take this in with little comment, so she continued. "Me personally? I dunno. Other than howling at the moon and having a few mad scientists or former experiments show up my family seems to largely go in for the normal humdrum of life. Sure they sent me to a school that teaches cryptobyology and has a few centaurs and other 'mythic' races as staff, but I think they have me pegged to follow in the nice normal routine."

  "you sound like you're not convinced you want that." George sounded somewhat sympathetic. "What's the problem, can't find a way to break it to your folks that you want to go for the less conventional?"

  "Actually," Elizabeth pushed her plate away from her, "It's more a problem of finding an employer that would treat me as something other than either a minion to be ordered about, or someone to put in a skimpy outfit to act as eye candy for the visitors." She grunted, "I'm sure you know how most mad science types are. It all seems either death rays, big discoveries made in the small hours of the morning, and all about them and their needs. Sure I like the idea of helping someone put conventional science in it's place, but I'd want to be treated with a little dignity."

  "Well, I wouldn't mind if you stayed on as staff. Lord and Edison knows I could use someone with a little bit more conversation skills around here." He noted Elizabeth growling when Edison was mentioned and sighed ever so slightly. "Please don't tell me you're another of those yonks that have a burning seething unreasoning hate of Edison. He practically invented the modern laboratory."

  She continued growling low until she could think of a proper response. "Without digging up how he treated Tesla I'm going to have to point out that by all accounts his methodology tended to go along the lines of 'throw everything at the wall and see what sticks' instead of trying to do any of the math. Plus it's funny how you seem to speak well of the man since he pretty much put the lone inventor out of business." She smiled warmly at George then added, "I did see his lab once. I might think the man a self absorbed arrogant louse, but his workspace is something to aspire to."

  On that point they found agreement, so decided to end the discussion while they were at a point where they weren't shouting at each-other. Instead they finished dinner and went out to tour the latest round of test animals George had been using. Two had died, and autopsies would need to be preformed later to see just how they had died, and a few others were in the process of dying. These were put down painlessly after what was killing them had been noted. Elizabeth didn't like when the animals died, and for the matter neither did George, but both knew that you couldn't find answers without a little mess. Plus at least this way it had been animal lives in the balance. If all worked as they hoped those would save who knows how many human lives over the years. Both also noted that they were combating diseases and other ailments that mainstream medicine had no clue existed.

  Soon Elizabeth's vacation ended, and she had to return to the states. For a moment she was tempted to drop out of school and keep working here, but even with an amiable boss, and an apparently low-stress environment were not enough to sway her from her degree. Sure it may not be needed, but not only would her family give her hell over dropping out, she'd have to look herself in the mirror and wonder if she had it in her to grab the brass ring or not. They had talked it over, and though he would miss her help and conversation George said he understood. He also said that if she ever changed her mind he more likely than not would still need that extra pair of hands.

  Before she left, George had seen to it that the things that a few added things were packed away that she would not discover till after she had gotten home. On unpacking her luggage she found a note from George asking her to keep in touch as well as a physical address she could send packages to, or expect to receive items from, as well as an email address she could keep in touch with on a more routine basis.

  Idly she wondered if people that deal in ‘abnormal technology and sciences’ would be interested in a more modern approach to social networking. Most were stuck in the fifties in terms of communications, but a few forward thinkers seemed to be trying. MadSparks.com and ScienceGoneWrong.net both looked like possible solutions for this social networking problem. She had bigger fish to fry though, school meant working ‘round the clock again.

  Night Watch is Lonely Business

  I suppose it's best to explain the purpose of this before you read further and get all muddled by confusing and sometimes conflicting accounts. Perhaps it would be more dramatic if I said I didn't have a name, or had keep my private identity a secret, but there are too many in my profession that try high drama and come off worse for the attempt. The point about needing to keep my personal life to myself, however, is still valid; so call me Max. It’s not my birth name, but it is the name I have always used when I’m working.

  I don't like being called a superhero, or masked avenger, or any number of the colorful terms that people in my line of work have been stuck with over the decades. Having said that, yes I can jump Really High, bend and break things most normal people can’t, and in general shooting at me will be more of an annoyance than an actual problem. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of people like me. Each have their own unique talents, skills, and abilities, and most manage the trick of holding down a solid job and a ‘civilian’ identity. It is unfortunate that I’m not one of these, and though I do have a normal home and social life I tend to when I hang my metaphorical cape up, this seems to be the one job I seem well suited for. What follows is my attempt at sharing portions of my life, opinions, and tidbits in the news I feel are worth commenting on. Please keep any cringing to yourself.

  TALENT NIGHT GOES WRONG.

  Where do I start here? OK fine. I'm sure nobody's ever heard of Bugtussle. Small town I hadn't heard of either and probably wouldn't have ever known about except for the fact I rode through on top of a trailer load of stolen goods. Team of anywhere between six and ten guys come through with a Semi, park in front of Two Rivers Mall, and leave with- Actually I'm not sure how much was actually in the trailer. I showed up because I was closer than the police.

  That actually oversimplifies things by not taking into account that although technically I have legal authority and jurisdiction there are several in the traditional chain of command that my activities encourage, rather than discourage, criminal activity. These same people also feel that in those instances where I succeed I somehow hurt department credibility and undercut the need for Winston's Finest. Can't really say I blame the thought there. After all what if I stop going after cases where it's pretty easy to tell who's on which side of the law and start going into things that need a more delicate approach to finding enough proof to make the arrest stick.

  As interesting as that thought might be to some of you we're getting off on a tangent.

  I'd shown up right when they were leaving. At first I’d taken them for either cleaning or re-stocking or something. No masks, calm I-Belong-Here attitude, and appropriate looking clothes. Still, alarm inside tripped and if these people were legit they would have probably made arrangements to have someone from their employer handle that all important detail. So while they were leaving I hopped on the top of their trailer to see what I could see. I left a noticeable dent in the top of the thing, and if something less questionable showed up I'd be unavailable to lend a hand. Plus I was in a pretty exposed spot if their response to strange noises involved automatic gunfire.

  I held on while they drove by a pair of really handy magnetic grapples. OK they're stupidly strong rare earth magnets that most people would have trouble lugging about, much less reposition once they've clamped on. I carry them in my, well it's been dubbed everything from the Justice-Mobile, WarWagon, SpookSter, and all sorts of other names besides. It's mine; me and a few friends built it for my special needs, and unlike all those gaudy comic book cars it actually blends in with day to day traffic, and it has room for most of my stuff so I can have handy things like magnets strong enough to grip an aluminum walled trailer while going at highway speeds.

  We rode like that for, well, I'm not sure except it was awhile. I saw 'Now Entering Bugtussle' on the way so I guess we were still there when the truck stopped. By legal agreements I cannot quote anything anyone has said, because while I have the authority to make arrests and anything said after that point automatically goes on record and yea... I know I know. It can be a bit of a headache. The driver spoke with somebody else and they pulled further into the storage lot, presumably to the units they'd rented to put this stuff in.

  I was just thankful they hadn't noticed me yet; because while I could have taken them all there it adds to credibility if they can't turn around and say 'This guy jumped us out of the blue. we were just moving inventory around.' Granted I'm not sure if they would have thought that far ahead, but they had savvy enough to pull this off so I didn't want to risk their having faked work orders and delivery papers. I suppose one would wonder why they didn't just rent space in a traditional warehouse to complete the illusion if that were the case, but the thought hadn't crossed my mind till just now.

  Once they'd parked and started unloading I pulled a GPS unit off my belt. This was one of those expensive ruggedized models that not only could take abuse, but could also, if connected to either an Internet connection or cell phone, transmit its current location. Handy if you don't want to speak, but you want someon
e else to know where you are. I'd done this trick a few times before so was pretty confident I could manage it under these conditions. While the trailer was being unloaded I'd taped a phone, pre-paid so there wouldn't be any sort of bill leading back to me, to the back then made a gentle underhand toss so the bundle would land on the unit block's roof. That would tip off a few friends I have with Winston PD that they might want to start looking here for missing goods.

  I could have taken them right then, but I didn't see anything parked nearby, so if they didn't scatter on foot I had to work under the assumption they'd pile in the truck and either meet with others from their crew/set/whatever, or they'd return the truck to whatever rental place they'd gotten it from THEN scatter. I tend to carry two or three of those GPS gizmos and I keep a few phones. Look, I know. I could probably have gotten something that does what my McGuyvered homing devices do without involving duct tape. I just like using as many commonly available gadgets as possible. Never know when I'll come up against a bright bulb that can figure out who's buying all the customized swag.

  Right. Good Guys know where the stolen goods are. I've put another tracking thingy on the truck itself, and if they're going somewhere private rather than a rental lot I would see just who else was involved. Pity that last part didn't work out so well. I was too busy trying to get a look at incoming traffic and got a face full of decorative gating and the last I saw of that truck or the people in it that night was of their taillights going down the road while I was peeling myself off the pavement.

  Eh well. One of the many reasons I deal with the homing thingies is in case I get thrown off the trail and the boys in blue will have a few facts to string together. It’s just embarrassing when the throwing off is this literal.

  After dusting myself off I took my phone out and called dad. He wanted to know how my first night out on my own went, good or bad. He'll give me merry hell about not paying attention, but not nearly the level of grief that my granddad might.

  Not easy being the grandson of a legend, but it’s the only life I know. I suppose as a consolation things haven’t been a total wash, and in the event my judgment was off there would only be a minor embarrassment rather than a major fiasco.

  Gotta love these new do-everything phones. I’m truck surfing while typing all this. Grateful I pulled my magnets off the truck when I got clonked, it made the process of getting back as easy as hopping on something headed the way I wanted to go and keep an eye out for my exit.

  NEEDFUL THINGS.

  I've just met with a friend in Winston PD, whom I will refer to as M to preserve their identity, and gotten back the Jerry-rigged tracking devices I'd left for them to find. While my assistance had given them leads to follow, and returned the stolen items, they've requested that my involvement remain indirect in the matter because of some visiting high ranking muckamuck's kid from out of state somehow being involved. Irritating they want me to use kid gloves, but I understand. Kid gets popped he's going to have Daddy Morebucks call in the high powered legal team that could get Freddy Felon or Marley Misdemeanor off on a technicality caused by me throwing him through a wall before hauling him in.

  I've actually done that before to somebody that pulled a shotgun on me. It's actually quite therapeutic, and if done right you don't break nearly many bones in the perp as you would think.

  M gave me what they came up with on both who rented the storage units and the truck. Winston's Finest had been explicitly told to Stay Away otherwise Bad Things will happen to their budget. However if they got tipped off by a dependable informant that has no official affiliation with the department followed up by a subtle but not too subtle hint that if nothing further is done an expose piece will be put through the late night circuit well, I'm sure Bad Things are still more likely than not, but at least this way it'll get delayed until after a solid case has been built and arrests made.

  I got home from last night's doings about the time most people go to work in the morning. Right now it's close to what most people thing is lunch time. A friend of the family is going to show up tonight for some as-yet-not-known reason, and the people M wants me to check in on are from out of town.

  What I need is time.

  Thankfully I've got hours before Comrade Peter, yes That Comrade Peter, shows. I know it's more than most are willing to believe that my family's on good terms with the former Red Menace. Like I said before, to me it's just how things were. He's a nice guy, and even when he and granddad stood on opposing sides of the Iron Curtain they had self imposed rules and more than a little respect for each other. He helped train me when granddad got sick, taught me the simple joys that can help offset the heartache being 'unique' can bring, and he helped convince myfather that it was in my best interests to let me follow the path he least liked. I won't slight the man by being late in picking him up, especially since I'm pretty sure even though he's in his seventies he could probably knock me into next week.

  First stop on my quick check through things is going to be at Lucy’s Bar and Grill. I'm hungry, and the guy that runs the place might be able to give me a better go-to on these people. I don't advise anyone else try the man. In his prime he probably could take me in a straight up fight. Just glad that he, granddad, his wife, and I had a long heart to heart over dinner one night. Not sure if he actually knows anything, and if not I'll have to suss these people out on my own. Don't like it because I just don't see any gang, especially a purely local one, stealing that much stuff without some sort of deal with one of the bigger fish. Then again I'll admit I'm new at this so probably don't quite understand how the criminal mind works.

  WORDS FAIL ME.

  Granddad’s Dead.

  I.

  Breath. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

  Peter told me he wanted to give me the news personally instead of over the phone. The Funeral’s going to be next Friday after a week of national mourning. He’s asked me if I wanted to speak when they bring him to Washington for public services.

  I’ve gotten calls from a few friends that know all those little details about my life I don’t generally share. I’m not fine. Dad’s told me it’s better off for everyone that the Old Man’s gone. He said people shouldn’t look to any single person as their savior.

  We argued. Can’t think straight. Sorry.

  If anyone needs me I’ll be beating up pimps and drug pushers. Maybe Mr. Patterson will start hitting his wife again. He does it tonight and I’m not sure if I can keep myself from killing him.

  BRAWLING THE BLUES AWAY.

  Nobody died because of me, though more than a few have broken bones and probably will have nightmares of what I did to them for the next decade. On the whole though things were slow. Maybe this is one of those moments where the whole nation stops and realizes just what happened is deeply historic and has to take a few moments to catch it’s collective breath. Maybe even if they don’t realize I’m the man’s grandson I’d more likely than not look up to him and as a result would be unpredictable if provoked right now.

  Case in point I see a Slurp n’ Shop getting held up and one of the thugs sees me. He motions to the door and the guy holding up the register pushes the money they’d just stolen back to the kid working there, and dropped their guns before finding somewhere else to be. Usually they either put up some sort of fight, or try taking the money with them.