Learning To Fly Page 5

  “Now that doesn’t make any sense either.”

  “I don’t know. The first building, then another one right after that, then another? It would be a good way to see how fast you are.”

  “It would, but I was hardly moving all out. Not as fast as I was the first time I went to Africa.”

  “I’m just saying. That’s what I would do if I wanted to get an idea how powerful you are. Time how fast you move from one to another.”

  “That hardly tests how powerful I am, only how fast I can move.”

  “You don’t even know how powerful you are. We haven’t tested your strength.”

  “I know I’m pretty strong. I’m afraid to punch someone now.”

  “But we don’t really know how strong you are, or how invincible.”

  “The bullets didn’t do much.”

  “No, but what about larger weapons? You don’t want to find that out the hard way.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ll go out later and try to lift some big stuff. Maybe start with that clunker I have parked on the street.”

  “What if you drop it?”

  “I have faster ways of getting around…but first things first. How are your studies coming along?”

  “Well…I…got on the site.”

  “That’s what I figured. Get on there now and get at it. I’m headed outside for a bit.”

  Walter grabbed a leash and Otis stood up, anticipating a walk.

  “Come on buddy,” Walter said, picking up the dog and carrying him out the door under one arm. It wasn’t until he got outside that he realized what he had done.

  ‘Otis has to weigh 250 is he weighs a pound,’ he thought.

  His clunker was no different than lifting the dog. It was no more difficult than picking up a jug of milk. He tested that by picking the car up, flying to Kroger, putting the car in a parking spot, coming back out with a few bags of groceries, loading them in the car, and flying back home. He then took Otis out of the car and walked him around the neighborhood for a few minutes before bringing him and the groceries in the apartment.

  “How’d it go, old man?” Franklin asked.

  “That’s Mister Old Man to you, kid. The car was nothing, like picking up that lamp there.”

  “Better not let Otis get used to being carried around. I might not be able to pull that off.”

  “No, we had a good walk.”

  “You picked the car up pretty easy?”

  “Took it to Kroger and filled it with groceries.”

  “Lot of people do that. Parking lot’s full every day.”

  “You see anyone else carry their cars and set them down in the parking lot?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever seen that. You said it was easy?”

  “Yeah, felt like it weighed five pounds.”

  “And what have we learned from this little exercise? You can pick up a ton like it’s nothing, but we still don’t know really how strong you are.”

  “And what have you learned while I was away?”

  “Made some pretty good progress, actually. I remember most of the science stuff form school. Math…well…I best study up on the math. You know, I got okay grades.”

  “Then why didn’t you finish?”

  “That last foster home…let’s just say I couldn’t stick around there.”

  “You couldn’t just report whatever was wrong and get put someplace else?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know…had to get out fast.”

  “You care to talk about it?”

  “Not really. Maybe later.”

  “You can’t keep it buried forever.”

  “I said later, okay?”

  “Okay, so about the test? You think you’ll be ready soon?”

  “Yeah man, just gotta brush up on the math stuff. Give me a few days. How about you? Any more super stuff in the works?”

  “You know how that goes. I see anything, I’ll do what I can do, but man I’m getting annoyed just going out in public. You know how it was in Kroger? Six people in the cereal aisle put what they were buying back and picked up the brand I bought. I turn a corner and there are another dozen people wanting something autographed. ‘Walter, take a selfie with me, sign my receipt’…man kid, it was tiring.”

  “I told you about the secret identity, but you didn’t listen.”

  “And that’s not the first time you’ve reminded me of that either. I just want to relax a bit before…what was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “A woman screaming, someone’s in danger.”

  “Guess we can add super hearing to your list. Second time on that one.”

  “Well kid, I’ll be right back. Care to put away the groceries?”

  “Sure thing, Gramps.”

  Walter left the apartment, checking to see if anyone saw him leave. The last thing he needed was for people to know where he lived. He could still hear the woman screaming. He flew up a thousand feet and tried to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. It seemed to come from the west. He flew that direction, homing in on the sound as it got louder and louder. He was near Delhi when it got louder and he came down to street level, eventually landing in front of the now abandoned Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church. He heard a scream again, but it wasn’t coming from the church but from an abandoned house across the street. The house was a rickety two-story affair with a stone foundation and a couple windows still intact.

  He walked up the stone stairs on the side toward a door which was locked but was no obstacle. He broke the lock and entered the house.

  “Help me,” the woman’s voice came from above him.

  “I’m on my way, just hold tight,” he said.

  “Help me…please someone help me,” the voice screamed again.

  Walter climbed the stairs to the second floor and checked two rooms, finding nothing, but the woman screamed again and he went down the hall to another room. There was nobody in the room, nothing but a speaker sitting on an end table, the woman’s voice coming out of the speaker every couple seconds.

  “What the…”

  His voice was drowned out by a terrific explosion that reduced the house to kindling and did damage to the old church across the street. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion to Walter. The fireball came from just below his feet and engulfed him, but he only felt slightly warmed by the flames. He saw the shock wave and saw the entire house come apart by the force of the blast. He saw the floor give way under his feet, and hovering in the air until what seemed like minutes but was actually only a couple seconds, he found himself above a pile of stone and wood. Car alarms were going off up the street and people were starting to walk out of their houses to see what was going on.

  A minute later, Walter walked into the District 1 Police Station, still smelling like smoke.

  “Hi Walter,” the cop at the desk said, “Whoa…where have you been? You look like crap.”

  “You’re going to get a report of an explosion over in Delhi, if you haven’t already.”

  “Yeah, someone just called it in. Fire Department’s on the way, and we have a couple officers headed there.”

  “The house was abandoned. It was a trap.”

  “A trap?”

  “I believe for me. I heard a woman’s voice screaming like she was in trouble. Got there, and it was recorded. Nobody was in the house. As soon as I’m inside, whole place goes up.”

  “And you walk out with nothing but singe marks on your shirt and smelling like smoke. Damn.”

  “Yeah, but what if someone else would have heard the voice and gone in there? Someone could have been killed.”

  “You didn’t notice any cameras?”

  “Wasn’t really looking for cameras. Just thought someone was in trouble. Figured it would be another easy rescue. Just get someone out and go back home.”

  “Sounds like someone detonated it when you were in there, if you ask me. Either trying to take you out or see if you could be taken out.”

  “Well
, this one didn’t work, but what if whoever this is keeps trying, but with stronger bombs…or worse? People could get hurt. Just between you and me, I’m betting on the same people who set those apartment buildings on fire.”

  “Okay, Walter, we’ll look into it. You got a way we can reach you?”

  “Well, don’t like giving out my number, but just between you and me…okay?”

  “Yeah. We need to reach you, I can pass along messages.”

  “Sure thing,” Walter said, writing his number on a piece of paper, “Officer…Wilkins.”

  “Yeah, Larry Wilkins, at your service. You need anything, just stop in or give us a ring.”

  7

  Walter left the police station and was about to head home, then decided he needed to clear his head, so instead of flying home he went up to about five hundred feet and flew north along I-75. He wasn’t really looking for anything, but watching the traffic flow beneath him. He was near Middletown when he spotted an aggressive driver below, passing eighteen-wheelers on the right side, weaving in and out of traffic, and being a general nuisance. Walter hated aggressive drivers. He watched the car as it cut off another truck and waited for the car to get into the clear.

  “Oh, what the hell,” he said, swooping down behind the aggressive driver. He was flying just above the road surface and the driver never saw him. He reached under the car and lifted it up into the air, turning around and heading south.

  “What the—”

  “Hey, watch your mouth,” Walter said, popping his head up by the driver’s window, “I have sensitive ears.”

  The driver continued to scream a creative mix of profanity, including some disparaging remarks about Walter’s mother, but he ignored every bit of it. He followed the highway south for a bit, across the Ohio River, and finally decided Walton, Kentucky was a good place to set the angry driver down.

  “Here you go, buddy,” Walter said before setting the car down in the northbound lane, “Try not to drive like a jerk from now on, unless you want to find yourself coming back from Alabama.”

  As Walter was flying away, he heard another string of invective coming from the car, several words rhyming with truck, and more comments about the marital state of his parents. He flew back up to five-hundred feet and headed toward home, smiling as he went.

  Getting home took longer than he expected. He retrieved two cats from trees, stopped a convenience store robbery and deposited the would be robber next to a police cruiser, and returned a confused elderly man to the nursing home he had wandered away from. He was almost home when his phone buzzed. He pushed the button on his headset and answered.

  “Hey Gramps, where are you?” Franklin asked.

  “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

  “Yeah, got a window open with news on…got a high-speed chase up near Mason. Carjacking. Thought you’d like to know.”

  “On the highway?”

  “Yeah, got a helicopter following it. Close to King’s Island now.”

  “Okay kid, on the way. I’m coming home after that if nothing else happens. Been a busy day.”

  Walter sped up and was next to the helicopter in less than a minute. The pilot looked out the window, saw Walter flying next to him, and gave a friendly wave. Walter pointed to the car speeding below with the police car in pursuit, and the helicopter pilot gave a nod. A couple seconds later, the police car backed off a bit and Walter did what he had done earlier, flying down behind the car and lifting it into the air. He dialed 911 with his other hand.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Hey, this is Walter.”

  “The Walter?”

  “The one and only, got a delivery for you, just need to know where to drop it off.”

  “What kind of delivery…wait…you’re showing in Mason.”

  “Yeah, got this guy trying to run away. Can’t carry this car around forever.”

  “Oh…the chase…that started in Norwood. You know where the police station is there?”

  “Yeah, be right there. Let ‘em know I’m coming, okay?”

  There were police officers waiting in the parking lot when Walter set the car down and the driver was arrested and booked.

  “Who’s car is this?” Walter asked one of the cops.

  “He stole it over on Williams.”

  “Think I could return it real quick?”

  “Can’t see why not, here’s the address,” the cop said, handing Walter a piece of paper.

  Walter flew toward Williams, found the address and saw a man about his age sitting on the front porch. The man looked up with a bemused expression when he saw his car descending from the sky and he smiled at Walter when he set it down in his driveway.

  “Here you go, Mr. Kramer.”

  “Why, thank you, Walter. Didn’t figure I’d be meeting you today.”

  “Well, just reckoned you’d want this back.”

  “You figured right. You in a hurry anywhere else? Get you a beer?”

  Walter walked up to the porch. “I was heading home, but who am I to turn down a beer.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you would say.”

  The man returned a minute later with two beers and handed one to Walter.

  “This doesn’t affect your flying?”

  “Can’t get drunk.”

  “There are times that would suck.”

  “It’s not so bad. Hey, this is decent stuff. You don’t look like the craft beer type.”

  “My grandson is. He brought some over the other day. It’s not bad, some local brewery up in Oakley.”

  Walter took another sip. “I kind of like it. Where’d you say he got it?”

  “That place near that big church…Crossroads?”

  “Oh yeah, might stop by there on the way home.”

  “What’s it like? The flying and all.”

  “It’s pretty fun, really. Can’t describe it. Felt weird the first time, looking down wondering what’s holding me up. Now it’s just kind of natural.”

  “This is new?”

  “Yeah, just a few days. Saw a bright light, woke up different.”

  “No idea what the light was?”

  “No idea at all. Who would figure, guy my age…not like the comic books.”

  “You ever read those things?”

  “Nah…read some when I was a kid…but never got into them that much.”

  “That explains you not having a suit or anything. How do you go out in public with people recognizing you?”

  “That gets hard. I’ve never been a real social guy. Now I can’t go to Kroger without being followed all over the store. Have to scope out the neighborhood before I go in or out of my house. Don’t want folk knowing where I live.”

  “What part of town you live in?”

  “Clifton.”

  “How do you deal with all the kids?”

  “Don’t get me started on that.”

  “I can’t imagine. How’d you end up there?”

  “Long story. Blew through all our money on cancer treatments back in ‘09…sold the house and got a cheap apartment. She…didn’t make it. Just never felt like moving after that.”

  “Oh man…that sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. She’s been gone ten years. I thought I’d get over it one of these days. Guess you never really do.”

  “Well, I should let you get home. Thanks for getting the car back. And you know, a lot of folks our age think you’re the greatest. Lot better than having some young punk become a hero. Keep it up.”

  “Thanks, Mr.—”

  “Call me Jack, okay?”

  “Okay, Jack. See you around. Thanks for the beer.”

  The old warehouse was an eyesore. Better than half the windows were gone and the ones that were still intact were so caked over with grime that nobody could see through them. Anyone venturing through the building would find an unkempt place littered with the residue of nearly a hundred years of industrial operation: broken pallets, rusted out barrels,
a broken forklift in one corner, and an office still equipped with a desk and chairs that were state-of-the art during the Kennedy administration. What the occasional homeless person sheltering in the building never saw was the hidden door in the outdated office.

  The door was hidden behind an old refrigerator against one wall and opened to a stairway that lead down to a basement that was quite a bit cleaner and better furnished than the upstairs. Catherine Mixon, or Cat to a small group of close associates, had purchased the warehouse five years earlier and transferred it into her base of operations. Cat was not the usual crime boss. She had never had any illusions of earning a legitimate living. Ever since her uncle had let her watch films like Scarface and The Godfather, she had become enchanted by the whole organized crime world and had decided then, at the ripe old age of twelve, that she wanted nothing else but to head up a successful crime organization someday.

  That someday had arrived, but not quite as she had envisioned. She started small with drug trafficking, and by age 42 had amassed quite a fortune. It wasn’t enough. She controlled most of the flow of drugs in the Tri-State, but she had bigger goals. The mules that brought everything from the border towns in Texas never delivered to the same place twice, something she learned the hard way years earlier when some of them were caught and she almost lost her entire operation.

  She was involved in more than just drugs at this point, also making a tidy profit in arms dealing, money laundering, and occasionally prostitution. She drew the line at human trafficking, feeling that even in her line of work, one had to have standards. While starting out in Ohio, her operation had expanded to several major cities, and she was always looking to expand.

  She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, either, which she was currently in the process of doing. She was in a small storage room just adjacent to what served as her office, holding a small electrode to a mans torso. The man before her in nothing but his underwear, standing on his toes with his wrists bound by chains above his head, had come to work for her three weeks ago, and he had become careless. Just yesterday she was tipped off that he was an informant working for the cops.

  They had tried before, to no avail. She had eyes and ears everywhere, eyes and ears that were paid quite well to be loyal and to let her know when there was any threat to her operation. Handley was just another in a long line of threats she had rooted out and dealt with. So far, he was being the tough guy, refusing to talk in spite of the multiple electric shocks she was administering.