Chapter Twelve
Ezra
I set up my supplies for the evening—two bags of chips, one energy drink, drawing supplies, my camera, and a pair of binoculars.
Bingo.
Now that I had two mysteries to solve, my strategy for the evening had to change. It wasn’t simply that I had to catch the assholes who were messing with our shop. I now also had to identify the mysterious stranger who had cleaned up that mess.
Who knew? Maybe they’d even come back to clean up the dirt streaks they left all over the window.
I leaned back in the collapsible camping chair I had brought, pleased with my own clever ideas. With the Batman cutout in front of me and a few other cutouts crowding him, it was pretty easy to hide in the background. I figured even if someone came by and got up and close and personal with the window, the shadows and the reflections of the streetlights would be enough to make me invisible.
I popped open the first bag of chips, throwing a handful in my mouth, then pulled out my sketchpad and my pencils. I let my hand wander across the page without much of a goal in mind. I sketched the moon above the comic book shop, the bar down the street, the small businesses that lined the block, and all the trees that loomed over the road. Sticking my tongue out of the side of my mouth, I started to concentrate on the little details, adding complexity and style to the nighttime scene.
It used to be that when I sat down to draw, I would always draw my favorite characters. Once I started at Northstar, however, that got a little bit old. I was always spending my workday drawing some new illustration for a flyer or updating the chalkboard behind the register with little drawings alongside the list of new releases. Sometimes, I felt like my work was to be an illustrator as much as it was to be a sales associate.
I guessed the best way to ruin something was to make it your job because after a few months, I wasn’t drawing superheroes in my spare time anymore. Instead, I was exploring more realistic drawings, sketching out scenes from my daily life that would have seemed too boring to draw a few years ago. It was the kind of thing my professors were always trying to get me to do in art school when I moved to Seattle, although I refused to follow their advice at the time.
When I finished the illustration, I pulled out my ruler and made a nice rectangle around the drawing. I inked out the edges of the rectangle, then added another little box in the top corner. When I was satisfied that it looked like a panel in a comic book, I added text to the box.Our hero awaits his villains, but is he ready for what surprises lurk around the corner?
Just then, I heard a noise outside the shop and a couple of low voices whispering back and forth. I set aside the sketchpad carefully and leaned forward in the chair. My breath caught in my throat when I saw two figures right outside the door, their faces obscured by handkerchiefs.
One of the figures started shaking something, and when I recognized the rattling sound from a can of spray paint, I nearly fell over.
They had returned.
And this time, I was there to watch.
BRICK
I stepped outside, eager to catch some fresh air after a rare busy hour behind the bar. We didn’t let our customers smoke inside, but somehow, the place still managed to smell like an ashtray.
I stretched my arm behind my back, groaning as the bones popped and a wave of relief came over my aching muscles. I had three more hours on my shift, then a day off to look forward to. I should have probably spent the afternoon cleaning up my apartment and dealing with the leaky pipe in my bathroom, but I thought I might take my truck out of the city instead. I wasn’t even in the mood to hike, just to drive through some backroads and feel grateful I wasn’t still suck in Philly, breaking my knuckles for someone else’s entertainment.
Turning my head, all that dropped from my mind in a flash. It was dark down the hill, even darker than at the corner, but I could still see a couple of figures messing around in the shadows of the comic book shop.
Fucking hell. I just cleaned that shit up.
I cursed under my breath as I started down the hill, pumping my arms but stepping light to get the jump on them. As long as you’re one step ahead of the other guy, you could win just about any fight. That’s how I got the best of my brother. He had all the power, but he was slow, and he never bothered to anticipate my next move.
One of the vandals started to turn right as I appeared behind him, but I still had the upper hand. I grabbed the back of his shirt and spun him, nearly shaking him off of his feet. Just like I suspected, a can of spray paint went tumbling down the sidewalk.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The guy looked to be about nineteen or twenty years old. His blue eyes were wide, startled, but he still managed to have a sneer on his face. There was something about the way he glared that told me he wasn’t used to having his plans interrupted.
Tough shit.
I kept an eye on his friend, watching as the other guy shuffled back and forth on his feet, clearly torn about whether he should sprint away or try to take me on. When I made like I was going to lunge at him, pouncing forward a couple of inches, he let out a little yelp, then froze in place.
I pointed at the store, dropping my voice for good measure. “You think you’re cool, messing with this store? You think you’re a big guy? Because you aren’t. Only a small man would do something like this. You’re just telling the world you’re a coward, you hear me?”
The guy’s face scrunched up. He was pissed. “What the fuck, dude? Are you trying to lecture me? Cool it. What do you care, anyway?”
I grabbed the front of his shirt with my free hand, tightening my fist around the cotton fabric and giving him another shake for good measure. “I care. That’s all you need to know. And if I catch you here again, I’ll throw you through that window to show you just how much I really do care.”
I gave him one more shake, then let him go. He stared up at me, gritting his teeth. “Fuck you, dude. Do you know who my father is? He’s Justin Frisk—does that mean anything to you? Because when I tell him some guy tried to rough me up, he’ll track you down and have your head.”
