Chuck pressed his fingertips into the biological scanner.
“Welcome Home” appeared in little red LCD dots and the silver door to his hidden underground headquarters slid open.
Beasley was there to welcome him as usual and take his boots.
“How did it go? You’re alive, so that’s something in your favor.” Beasley had been there from the beginning. Back in the orphanage when he was just Beas, they’d become fast friends but he’d always been timid. He was happy in his role, the Silent Assistant. To him, it felt just as mysterious as if he were the one in costume each night.
Chuck grimaced as he peeled off his ergonomically correct, NASA-knock-off suit and mask. He’d really pulled something in his shoulder picking that guy up over his head.
“I got him.”
“Great. Well, they’re waiting for you upstairs.”
He’d have to attend to his injury later. Beasley, ever swift and efficient, had already separated Chuck’s grappling hooks, guns, grenades and other various secret weapons from his suit pieces - breastplate, tights, boots - in order to prepare them for cleaning and was holding open the elevator door.
Chuck, having made a quick change into a tailored Italian grey suit with silver and white damask tie, stepped into the elevator as he slicked a comb through his hair and checked the mirrored walls for flecks of dried blood or visible bruises. Clean as a whistle. He’d taken care not to get too roughed up tonight.
“Oh, and Chuck?” Beasley leaned towards the rapidly closing doors. He wanted to get this bit in at the last second.
“Sasha’s here.”
*****************************************************
“And that’s when I said to him, I said, if I’d wanted a peace treaty I would have asked for a peace treaty.”
Sasha chuckled politely at the former Governor’s anti-climactic joke as she slipped away and into the empty library off the great room, hundreds of feet above Chuck’s lair. She polished off the last of her champagne and turned the glass upside down in her hand. Her silver-painted finger tips swept the bookshelf closest to eye level until she found the groove she knew well. Sasha inserted the rim of the glass into its spot and turned it counter-clockwise. The shelf swiftly swiveled out and around to reveal a seemingly identical shelf that fit in perfectly with the rest of the book case. However, all the books were different. Sasha scanned them until she found the one she was looking for: Til We Have Faces by C.S.Lewis. She pulled it off the shelf and opened it to the inside of the back cover where a library card was stashed in its manila holder. She retrieved the card, slid the book back in place, spun the shelf around and was out of the room before anyone noticed she’d gone.
The governor was telling yet another painfully un-rousing anecdote.
“The Prime Minister, you see, is a friend of mine. So I told him I’d get Britney Spears to give him a private concert and you know what he said to that? You know? He said, ‘No, no. We no like Britney Spears no more. We like woman with lots of hair. We want Cher.”
Chuck’s guests laughed appropriately - Michael the Governor’s assistant, Leslie the journalist from City Weekly, Terence the owner and CEO of Chapman’s Bank, Alex the head of Chuck’s advertising firm CHK and Chuck’s attorney, Steven. And then there was Sasha, Chuck’s, well, her title was fluid. The only one who didn’t laugh, and who made a show of rolling her eyes, was Bunny - the Governor’s wife.
Chuck came in to save the day.
“Thank you all for coming. Please, please find a seat. Governor do you have enough to drink there, sir? You do? Great. Everyone ok? Beasley put out hors d’oeuvre, didn’t he? Help yourselves. Ok, well, Steven, why don’t you get us started?”
Sasha studied her lover. Former lover. They didn’t know quite what they were anymore. But she knew him better than he knew himself and that shoulder was going to need a good icing. She put her hand into the pocket of her dress (he’d bought it for her years ago) and stroked the library card. Looking back to him she realized that he hadn’t given her a single glance since he’d come in.
TO BE CON’T…..
