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Our Paranormal Chernobyl The kid in the No Empathy shirt watched the strangers walk out the tavern door, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then laughed to himself. Shit, that was close. The car he'd boosted last night was parked in the alley, right behind Mike's. Served him right for hanging out in a bar that cops liked so much, but what was he going to do? Mike's was the finest drinking and smoking establishment in the city, in his own opinion. And it wasn't like superheroes had ever shown up here before. He'd tried to listen in on their conversation, but he couldn't be obvious about it, so he'd missed most of it. They obviously had been dealing with the giant black guy who'd shown up downtown. Well, that didn't have anything to do with him. He put his money on the bar. "See ya, Mike. See ya, Floyd." He pulled on his jacket, and his arm twinged again. He walked out the back way, into the alley, rubbing the sore spot on his arm he'd woken up with this morning. He still couldn't figure out . Sure, he'd been drunk, but he hadn't been that drunk. He'd grabbed the car, a nice little convertible, and was about to drive it over to Cutlas' place to get some cash. But then he stopped to pick up another bottle of Canadian Mist, and then he'd drunk a little of it in the car, parked over in the alley by Wacker, and then... what? He must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew some jokers were punching him in the arm. Or something. It hurt a bit, but then he must have passed out again. Later he figured out that they hadn't even taken his wallet. Chicago was a weird place. He climbed into the car, and breathed deep. He was still hung over, and he felt like he was running a fever. He took the metal spike from his pocket and jammed it into the ignition. The car came to life. Worth $150, $200 easy. He'd trade this in, then go take a nap or something. He turned on the radio to WXRT and drove away, humming along to David Lee Roth on "I Ain't Got Nobody." |