what I’d just done to him. He was cringing in pain. I knew he wasn’t really injured, but he was making a good show of it. “You are ruthless!”
“Yes,” I said, “I am ruthless. And if you make another unpleasant comment to the waitstaff, you’re going to be toothless. Ruthless and Toothless, that’ll be us. And oh, what a pair we’ll make, me beating your ass all over lower Manhattan.”
He gave me a seething look. “If you didn’t have your power …” He just let his voice trail off.
“You’d what?” I asked. “Shake me? Bake me? I’m not chicken, jackass. If I didn’t have my power, I’d shoot you in the head.” I took my index finger and jabbed him in the skull, eliciting an Ow! of pain that was probably sincere. “You, on the other hand, are a thief and a chickenshit.” I gave him the evil eye. “It comes down to it, you’ll always run from someone who gets all up in your face. Coward.”
“You should smile more.” Simmons turned back to me with a nasty smirk. “You’re on camera.” I glanced up to see people with cell phones just outside the window, and I felt my heart sink. “How long do you think it’ll be before this shows up on YouTube?” Simmons laughed, a low, mean, guttural sound. “Because I’m guessing it’s uploading already.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, hauling him up by his collar and tipping his chair back up with my foot. I threw him into it and yanked it close. He didn’t resist, just sat there grimacing like he was still hurting. “I’ve got discretion over what to do with metahuman criminals, and as of right now, that means your ass belongs to me.” I smiled at him. “I think I could fit that whole chair up inside you without killing you if I was of a mind to. Care to find out?”
“You’re violating my rights,” he said, and I realized his lip was bloody as a small dribble made its way down his chin.
“I’m all set to violate more than that,” I said. “You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you exercise it, you pig.” I leaned back in my chair. “Does your girlfriend get mad when you talk to other girls like that?” I waved vaguely in the direction of the waitress, who was now wisely keeping her distance. If she’d thought we were just enthusiastic 50 Shades cosplayers when we came in, she knew better now.
He looked ready to snap something out, but thought the better of it. “I told you,” he said, with a nasty little look, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Come on,” I said, “we know you’re not the brains of the operation, Simmons, because you don’t have any of your own.” I smiled. “Tell us who she is. We’ll go easier on you.”
He snorted, and I could tell he wasn’t buying it. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”
“I’ve started beating the shit out of you,” I said, and stood up, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him to his feat. “You better hope I don’t finish.” I threw a look at the others. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I didn’t wait for them to reply, just started dragging Simmons out of the shawarma place while half a dozen cell phones recorded my every move.
10.
The flight back to Minneapolis was blessedly uneventful, and we made our landing at Eden Prairie’s Flying Cloud airport shortly before sunset, which was just after five in the afternoon. Stuffing Simmons into a storage tank (literally a tank, filled with gel that negated his vibratory powers) had taken a while, even though he didn’t offer anything more than an annoying verbal commentary for resistance. The tank was soundproof, thankfully, and Reed, Harper, Rocha and I rode in the C-130 back to Minnesota almost in silence.
Almost.
“On approach to Flying Cloud airport,” the pilot announced, “fifteen minutes to touchdown.”
I thanked my lucky stars as I felt the plane bank into a turn. I didn’t really love flying on these military C-130’s. Not only was the bathroom a curtained-off
“Yes,” I said, “I am ruthless. And if you make another unpleasant comment to the waitstaff, you’re going to be toothless. Ruthless and Toothless, that’ll be us. And oh, what a pair we’ll make, me beating your ass all over lower Manhattan.”
He gave me a seething look. “If you didn’t have your power …” He just let his voice trail off.
“You’d what?” I asked. “Shake me? Bake me? I’m not chicken, jackass. If I didn’t have my power, I’d shoot you in the head.” I took my index finger and jabbed him in the skull, eliciting an Ow! of pain that was probably sincere. “You, on the other hand, are a thief and a chickenshit.” I gave him the evil eye. “It comes down to it, you’ll always run from someone who gets all up in your face. Coward.”
“You should smile more.” Simmons turned back to me with a nasty smirk. “You’re on camera.” I glanced up to see people with cell phones just outside the window, and I felt my heart sink. “How long do you think it’ll be before this shows up on YouTube?” Simmons laughed, a low, mean, guttural sound. “Because I’m guessing it’s uploading already.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, hauling him up by his collar and tipping his chair back up with my foot. I threw him into it and yanked it close. He didn’t resist, just sat there grimacing like he was still hurting. “I’ve got discretion over what to do with metahuman criminals, and as of right now, that means your ass belongs to me.” I smiled at him. “I think I could fit that whole chair up inside you without killing you if I was of a mind to. Care to find out?”
“You’re violating my rights,” he said, and I realized his lip was bloody as a small dribble made its way down his chin.
“I’m all set to violate more than that,” I said. “You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you exercise it, you pig.” I leaned back in my chair. “Does your girlfriend get mad when you talk to other girls like that?” I waved vaguely in the direction of the waitress, who was now wisely keeping her distance. If she’d thought we were just enthusiastic 50 Shades cosplayers when we came in, she knew better now.
He looked ready to snap something out, but thought the better of it. “I told you,” he said, with a nasty little look, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Come on,” I said, “we know you’re not the brains of the operation, Simmons, because you don’t have any of your own.” I smiled. “Tell us who she is. We’ll go easier on you.”
He snorted, and I could tell he wasn’t buying it. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”
“I’ve started beating the shit out of you,” I said, and stood up, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him to his feat. “You better hope I don’t finish.” I threw a look at the others. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I didn’t wait for them to reply, just started dragging Simmons out of the shawarma place while half a dozen cell phones recorded my every move.
10.
The flight back to Minneapolis was blessedly uneventful, and we made our landing at Eden Prairie’s Flying Cloud airport shortly before sunset, which was just after five in the afternoon. Stuffing Simmons into a storage tank (literally a tank, filled with gel that negated his vibratory powers) had taken a while, even though he didn’t offer anything more than an annoying verbal commentary for resistance. The tank was soundproof, thankfully, and Reed, Harper, Rocha and I rode in the C-130 back to Minnesota almost in silence.
Almost.
“On approach to Flying Cloud airport,” the pilot announced, “fifteen minutes to touchdown.”
I thanked my lucky stars as I felt the plane bank into a turn. I didn’t really love flying on these military C-130’s. Not only was the bathroom a curtained-off