Tommy whistled to himself as he burst out the door of the convenience store. He was free, finally, from his father. Free to think what he liked. Free to change when he wanted, not when his father wanted him to. Free to come and go as he pleased.
He would get a job here, and then he wouldn’t have to go back home. Let his father be the Guardian until the day he died; Tommy wanted no part of it anymore. He wanted to be in the big city, where no one knew him. He felt that it was free here, and everything he needed was close by. He didn’t have to drive half a mile to get groceries, or walk a quarter of a mile to borrow some milk. He didn’t have to go with his father on calls, or stay at home with his forever worrying mother about whether his father was coming home that night.
“Hey,” he heard someone say. Three guys came out of the alleyway, all in leather. One had a beard, the other two were clean-shaven, and all of them looked shifty-eyed. “Gettin’ milk for your baby?” asked one with a sneer.
“For my aunt, if you need to know,” said Tomas, putting the milk down on the ground.
“Don’t care,” said the guy with the beard, and flicked out a switch blade. The others did the same. Tommy stood loose, his hands at his sides. His father had taught him how to fight, but he had never fought against three. However, he’d seen his father face down big drunk men at bars, so he knew that the fight was more psychological than physical.
“We don’t need to fight over milk,” said Tommy. “If you want it that bad -”
“Don’t care,” said the same guy, and lunged. Tommy backed off, stepping away from the milk and heading toward the curb. Another lunged and he grabbed the hand with the knife, guiding it away from his body and at the car behind him. Another lunged, and he barely dodged it.
The one whose arm he held, he let go, and elbowed the second man in the face. The man stepped back, his hands to his nose, the switchblade dropped and forgotten. Tommy kicked it under the car. The two men headed at him again, and he kicked at one, aiming for his nuts, knowing he was fighting dirty; but that was what his father taught him. The guy went down like a sack of bricks. The other guy noticed it wasn’t going to be an honorable fight, so he stabbed sideways, attempting to rip Tommy’s guts out.
He jerked away, kicking the second switchblade under the car. Tommy was back onto the sidewalk, the car at the last man’s back. Tommy backed up so that his back was to a wall. Always have your back covered, his father’s voice said in his mind.
Then Tommy heard a low “pwoom” and the man was caught in a net. He looked to the side and saw a tall, blue merman, complete with trident and fins and nearly nothing else, walking lightly down the street. “I’ll take care of this,” said the merman with a nod to Tommy. “Good work.”
“Thanks,” said Tommy. “Didn’t expect such a warm welcome.”
“Plan on becoming a hero?” The merman proceeded to tie up the two other men.
“Wasn’t thinking about it…”
“You might want to think about it. I know people.” He held out a hand. “Mariner,” he said. Tommy shook his hand – it was cold and scaly, like shaking a fish right out of the water. “Look me up sometime. I’ll put you in contact with a group I know.”
“I’ll think about it. What’s the pay?”
Mariner laughed. “You can’t make a living off of it.”
Tommy smiled. “I’d better get back before my aunt panics. Thanks for taking over.”
“Anytime. Thanks for the help. What’s your name?”
“Thomas.”
He laughed again. “You need to come up with a better name than that.”
“I said I’d think about it.”
“You’re in Millennium City, home of heroes. If you’re not a hero here, you should move to Peoria.”
Tommy only shook his head, gathered his milk and headed back to the apartment. When he got there, he saw a pretty girl in the kitchen, opening the cupboards and looking inside. She turned around to see him.
She was gorgeous, with cafe au lait skin, deep, soul-gazing brown eyes, and a lithe figure that looked like it belonged on a model. Even though Tommy wasn’t into girls, he could see that she took care of herself, in the way she stood, in the way she dressed, in the way she did her hair. Tommy didn’t quite leave his jaw on the floor, but he did notice he snapped it shut when she turned around.
“Hi,” she said, and her voice had a higher pitch than he would have liked. “I’m LaToya! You must be Tommy!”
He could see the exclamation points at the end of her sentences. He held out his hand, but she jumped into his arms and gave him a tight hug. Her small breasts pressed against his chest while she squirmed against him. He didn’t know if she meant to do that or if it was just something she did. She let him go, and smiled at him, a sweet, seductive smile that did nothing for him. In fact, in his mind, he had just stamped her forehead with the word “slut”.
“I’m Tommy,” he said, handing her the milk. She looked at him like he was crazy.
Aunt Mariange came into the room. “Oh, good, you’ve met. LaToya, stop drooling and put the milk in the fridge.”