Average Joe and The Extraordinaires: Chapter 9
Joe wondered how long they would leave him to his own devices. His thoughts were everywhere. Beauty, Dahlila, Melissa, and all that had come from meeting these incredible women -- and girl. “They were nothing but trouble,” he had thought. Even while he had despaired his current fate he couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement about it all. Initially it was his endorphins and the constant threat of danger. Now the excitement came from piecing together the events from the stadium and trying to make sense of it all. No matter how hard he tried get it all to make sense, he simply couldn’t.
The silence was broken along with Joe’s current train of thought as two voices came closer and clearer. They seemed to be getting louder and angrier as they approached.
“Remember that favor you said that I had.”
“Yeah but you’re not gonna call that in now. This is hot stuff! Big time terrorism and this boy has something to do with it.”
“This boy has nothing to do with anything. He was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Now that they were right by the doorway their voices became hushed but Joe could still make out what they were saying, mostly anyway.
“Whatever the case this guy is our prisoner and our detectives will interrogate him and get his statement.”
“Listen Carl, I don’t want no damn statement. I just want 5 minutes with this kid to see if he ran into one of my colleagues in there.”
Carl: “That’s why I brought you here. I didn’t walk you down here for my health.”
There was a bit of silence.
“I’ll be honest Carl. Some of what we’ll be talking about you shouldn’t be hearing.”
Carl: “What’s the point in investigating this kid then?”
The one named Carl let out a huge sigh.
Carl: “Hank if you do anything to mess up my career then I’m gonna deck you. You’re big old gray head is gonna go spinning into orbit.”
Hank: “5 minutes Carl, that’s all.”
Carl: “You got your 5 minutes. Use ‘em wisely.”
There was silence followed by footsteps, then again more silence. Then the wooden door creaked open and in entered one of the talking men. Joe guessed this one to be Hank who, to Joe, looked very old and tired. The man’s clothes matched his hair all gray and unkempt. He bore down on Joe with his grayish green eyes and Joe struggled to meet his gaze briefly and resigned to stare at the floor. Joe’s brief glimpse showed him that the man wasn’t too tall and the rest of his body was giving Joe many impressions. The way his shoulders set and all of the frown lines on his forehead gave Joe the distinct impression that this Hank was not a patient man.
Joe dared to look up at the man again and saw that the man’s gaze had never lifted. His eyes were fiercely trained on Joe and Joe began to fidget and squirm in his chair. He noticed this and tried to sit as still as he possibly could, barely managing to breath in the process. Joe let out all the air as slowly as he could. As the man approached Joe tried to offer a bit of awkward stilted conversation.
Joe: “Hello sir. How can I help you sir?”
Hank: “By dropping the crappy pleasantries, this aint the prom kid. You’re wasting both of our time. Just answer my questions like a good little boy.”
Joe’s stomach twisted and turned. He didn’t know what this man wanted or even if he had the answers that he was looking for. It had just dawned on him how much trouble he was in. He was a terrorist – to the country at least – and would be tried as such. “They’ll probably give me to a firing squad for treason or something,” Joe thought.
The old guy loudly snapped his fingers.
Hank: “Pay attention Joe Shmoe! I don’t have a lot of time.”
Joe looked the man in the eyes and nodded.
The old guy pulled a chair from outside the room and set it by the table proceeded by himself in the chair. He studied Joe for a moment and found his opening.
Hank: “What happened in that stadium kid?”
Joe didn’t know where to start.
Joe: “Well…um…me and my friends wanted to see the Pickers and Mod--”
Hank: “Enough foreplay kid. Start from the explosion. You were there for that right?”
Joe: “Yessir. It happened during the second quarter. I was watching the game when it happened.”
Hank: “What happened to your friends?”
Joe: “I don’t know. I didn’t see them after.”
Hank: “But they were sitting right next to you right? How did they get out but not you? What the hell were you doing in there that whole time?”
Joe froze. He didn’t know what to say. Most of what he did earlier was most likely very illegal. The old guy was sharp as a tack. He was quick to notice Joe’s hesitation.
Hank: “What the hell were you doing in there kid! Talk!”
Joe pushed his chair back and spelled it out for Hank.
Joe: “N-no. I want a l-l-lawyer.”
Joe tried his best to sound a lot bigger than he actually was or felt. Hank had risen out of his chair so fast and with such fury that he looked like a man half his age. Joe sprung backwards and out of his seat as he tried to scramble away. There was venom in the old man’s glare. He screamed at Joe.
Hank: “Do I look like a damned cop?”
After that his voice lowered to a somewhat calm growl but his demeanor was no less intense.
Hank: “I wasn’t born yesterday Joe. I do know that you were somehow a part of the night’s activities. You wouldn’t have come out of the building a whole half an hour later if you weren’t. Why were you so scared of those security guards at the stadium? You ran from them like you were running for your life and the way that you tackled that last one to get outside. You weren’t just scared of getting into trouble or getting a little roughed up. If that were the case you wouldn’t have so willingly surrendered yourself to the boys in blue.”
Joe stared at the floor and gave a soft shrug. He honestly didn’t know if he should answer that.
Hank: “Why’d you give up once you made it outside? If you wanted to get away so bad, why didn’t you try to keep running once you made it out. What about those guards frightened you so much?”
Joe looked at Hank for a while before he decided that he was better off not talking. He wasn’t sure if it was a bit of savviness that he picked up from all those cop shows he’d watched or fear that had stayed his tongue.
Hank took a moment to reassess the situation and let out a sigh. He wasn’t dealing with the hardened criminals that he was used to dealing with. He was dealing with a young teenager. He needed to change his approach.
Hank: “Listen Joe. Anything you say to me now won’t be used against you or those you care about. I just want answers. I lost someone in that stadium and I just want to know if you saw them. Now can you level with me kid, we don’t have much time.”
Joe: “Who – who are you?”
Hank: “My name is Borland, Hank Borland. You’re a kid so use my last name.”
Borland: “I’m looking for a woman named Dahlila. Did you see her in that stadium? About yay high and tougher than Kevlar.”
Joe’s heart and stomach jumped at the name. He was sure that everything that happed under that stadium was just an alcohol induced dream. He was sure that he’d never see nor hear of or from Dahlila. Now here Borland was tossing that name out like he knew the woman. Joe felt compelled to talk to Borland now.
Borland: “Where did you see her?”
Joe paused. He didn’t want to put Dahlila in any danger and he remembered how he found her, all tied up in the underground part of that stadium. Who put her there? Joe’s face must’ve given away his thoughts because Borland pursued the subject more aggressively.
Borland: “Listen kid, Dahlila is important to me. Please tell me where she is.”
Joe: “How is she important to you? Answer that for her sake.”
Borland pulled out an old and worn-out wallet and in it sat an old and worn-out photo. Borland took out the photo and showed it to Joe.
Borland: “That little brunette there is Dahlila when she was younger. I helped raise her. She’s as precious as my own daughter. I need to know where she is. Please tell me where she is!”
Borland pleaded his case not only with his words but with his eyes as well.
Joe had sympathy for the man and felt that he could trust him. He decided to tell him everything he knew; from meeting Beauty to finding Dahlila and Melissa and then escaping after that. He told Borland about everything except the shapeshifting because he hardly believed it himself. Borland was ready at the end of his tale with questions.
Borland: “D’you know where the girls were headed?”
Joe: “I don’t. We were separated.”
Borland: “I see. What about the little girl’s name? Do you remember it?”
Joe: “Her name was Melissa.”
There was a flash of recognition in Borland’s eyes and he whispered “that’s good,” so low that Joe could barely hear him.
