Be Reasonable

[mechgogo]

Authors note: This story is set in the same universe as "A Slave's Strength". The events depicted occur around the same time as the ones in that story. Please take note; while there ARE refferences to the indenturement legislation that is the foundation of A Slave's Strength the emphasis in this story IS NOT on eroticism. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome but please leave the torches and pitchforks at home. Copyright Bob Wagner all characters are my sole property not to be used without permision etc etc.
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Be Reasonable

“You really are very pretty, you know that?”

“Thank you Master.”

Max Krier looked down at the woman kneeling at his feet. They were both in her cell at Chicago’s Bureau of Indenturement Processing Center # 405. The woman, whose name was Charlize knelt naked on the cement floor. Her back was straight and her legs were open. She had curly blond hair, a voluptuous figure and was, according to her file about to turn forty in a few weeks.

Charlize returned the look. The man who was currently examining her didn’t seem terribly imposing. His defining physical trait was that he was noticeably shorter than average; no more than five foot six. He had on a black polo shirt, khaki pants and loafers. There was pallor to his skin that suggested a recent illness and his black hair was cut to just touch his shirt collar. He had a suggestion of strength about him but the same sickness that had him looking so pasty appeared to have eaten some of his muscle. He held himself like a dancer or one of those UFC fighters her husband couldn’t get enough of watching when he was alive.

Max kept his face neutral. As he stood there he wasn’t just looking Charlize over physically. He was also rummaging around in her mind. Max was a telepath among other things. He didn’t know how it had came about that he could access other people’s thoughts with a little concentration or do several other things normally only seen in comic books and he didn’t much care. He just knew that ever since he was eight years old he could do things that other people simply could not. It had made him very rich over the years and enabled him to piss all manner of people-mostly a mix of career criminals and members of the BOI- off to the point where if they had any clue who he was they would cheerfully make lampshades out of his skin. Then kill him.

Charlize Hutton was pretty typical for her circumstances. Uppermost on her mind was worry about what the future had in store for herself and her sixteen year old daughter Maya. Maya was currently occupying a cell on the other side of the same tier as her mother. Like her mother the girl was waiting to be interviewed by Max though neither one knew it just yet.

Charlize and Maya’s story was sad but nothing out of the ordinary. Family financial troubles had caught them up in the indenturement system through no real fault of their own. The late Mr. Hutton had managed to screw the family so deep into the ground monetarily it would take a spelunking team to find them. Then, rather than man up he had put a pistol in his mouth, taking the coward’s way out and leaving his wife and kid holding the bag. If the guy were still alive Max would buy his contract just for the pleasure of kicking his ass once a week.

Mother and daughter had transferred to Chicago from the Boston area in keeping with the Bureau policy of keeping families together if they all went in at the same time. Ostensibly this was to give prospective buyers the option to exercise a little compassion and purchase the contracts of multiple relatives at once, thereby saving them further emotional trauma. In practice it was a marketing ploy that pandered to the tastes of those with an incest kink. Being serviced by parent and child simultaneously or watching them service one another was a serious turn on for what Max personally considered an appallingly large percentage of the population. Charlize’s biggest fear was that Max was part of that segment of humanity. She needn’t have worried.

“You’re welcome.” Max said. He looked at a file in his hand. “Your daughter is even prettier. Sixteen, fit, still coming into her first bloom. She’s already quite the little heartbreaker. Looks like she’ll be downright devastating when she’s finished. After you and I get done talking I’ll be paying her a little visit. There’s a good chance you’ll both be coming home with me.”

Charlize’s fear spiked. Images of being raped in front of her daughter-not for the first time- or being forced to have sex with her child filled her mind. Max let her wander down that road a ways. It was cruel but he needed her to think she was drowning in order to ensure she grabbed the line he was about to throw.

“Tell you what.” He said. “Why don’t you get dressed and take a seat on the bed. That floor looks all kinds of uncomfortable. And let’s drop the ‘Master’ crap. You can call me Mr. Krier for now.”

Max handed Charlize her BOI uniform and turned his back, giving her the illusion of privacy. When she was dressed and sitting on the bed he sat down beside her, close enough to talk but not so close as to suggest he was about to mount her.

“Here’s what I’m thinking.” Max said. “I’ve got a nephew about your daughter’s age. Kid means the world to me. So the idea of having it off with her actually makes me a little sick. I’m thinking I buy the pair of you today. Maya and you each get your own rooms in my house. Maya goes to school in the fall, has an after school job-I own a pretty successful small local business and have ….”

Max thought for a second, choosing his words. “I guess you could call it a modest amount of influence in a few others- and has as close to a normal life as it’s possible for a kid with a chip in her neck to have. And part of that means nobody puts their hands or any other parts on her without her express invitation.”

Charlize’s heart leapt. This had to be a scam. But still, if he was serious he had to want something in return. No doubt the idea was to use her daughter as additional leverage. What kind of tastes did this Mr. Krier have that he needed to keep Maya around as a hostage to ensure her good behavior? What were they getting themselves into ?

“And what about me?” She asked. “You said what you had planned for Maya. What would you want from me in exchange for what you’re offering her?”

“I need somebody with a solid background in computers and accounting.” Max said. “Someone who doesn’t mind keeping house and playing nanny to a sixteen year old kid when I travel on business. I don’t really like housework and I’m not the world’s greatest cook.”

The declaration startled her. “That’s it?”

Max shrugged. “Whatever else you want to offer is your own affair. I meant it when I said you were good looking. But I’m no rapist. You come home with me I’ve no intention of ordering you into my bed or inviting myself into yours. You’re sexy as hell but I need what’s between your ears a lot more than what’s between your legs. So how about it? Should I have the controllers to bring your property bag and we can both go give Maya the good news?”

The offer was better than anything Charlize had expected when she was informed that she and her daughter would be serving seven years indentured servitude thanks to her late husband’s combination of incompetence and cowardice. There had to be a catch somewhere. Whatever it was, she decided, she’d deal with it when it appeared. For now there was at least the hope that she and Maya could have some semblance of a normal life. And if her soon-to-be-owner decided to change his mind about having her, he wasn’t bad looking. As long as he kept his hands off her little girl, she could deal with it .

Charlize told Max she could live with the arrangement he proposed and in short order the three of them were leaving the center behind in his restored 1960 Chevy. The car was a boat and drank gas like an alcoholic let loose in a whiskey distillery but it was a classic piece of American iron and one of Max’s prized possessions. The drive to their new home was rather pleasant. The weather was nice. Chicago was still a good month or two away from the stickiness and oppressive heat of high summer. After weeks cooped up indoors it was refreshing to be outside in the fresh air smelling the wind and nearby Lake Michigan.

They did not go straight home as Charlize had expected they would. Instead Max detoured onto a quiet drive that lead past a large marble stone with the words “Oak Woods Cemetery” on it. Past a dignified white single-story building and down a series of paths surrounded on all sides by stone monuments.

Max finally stopped the car. He had turned off the radio as soon as they pulled onto the drive . Charlize had been curious about the bouquet of roses on the front seat. Now it made sense.

“Stay here.” Max said. His voice was tight and rough. Whoever they had come to see the wound was still fresh.

Max exited the car and walked a short distance. The plot he stopped at was close enough the Hutton women could see him kneel down in front of the simple marble blocks . He stayed like that for several minutes, talking quietly, his shoulders shaking a little. Charlize and Maya did their best to give Max his privacy, turning their attention instead to the various markers around them. Many of them looked extremely old and just from where they sat Charlize was sure she recognized a couple of once-famous names.

When Max finally came back his eyes were red. He wiped at them but made no attempt to hide the fact that he had been crying. Despite the newness of the relationship Charlize felt her heart go out to the small intense man beside her. She put a comforting hand tentatively on his arm and was rewarded with a smile and nod of thanks. Then he put the car in gear and drove home.

The Krier residence was impressive. A two story affair with a big yard overlooking the lake, it managed to look homey and well-to-do at the same time. A small black Harley Davidson motorcycle shared space with a more modern looking silver Chevy in the garage. An assortment of rolling tool chests, power tools and workbenches lined the walls . Max let the ladies in and took them on a quick tour.

Charlize noticed two things about the the décor right off. First, her new owner was obsessed with comic books. Superhero themed artwork dominated the place in every media imaginable. Statues of various spandex-clad heroes did battle on shelves, while high end drawings in expensive glass frames hung on the walls. The video library held an array of genres but if there was a capes and tights film absent that had come out in the last ten years she couldn’t think of it.

The other common thread was family photos. Pictures of Mr. Krier posing with the same four people hung throughout the house. There was an older man, short like Mr. Krier and powerfully built, a woman about Max’s age, tall and blond to his short and dark. A boy bearing a close resemblance to the woman was present in at least half the shots. They ran the age range from newborn up to what appeared to be a fairly recent mid-teen. Sometimes he appeared by himself, other times with the woman Charlize guessed was his mother and sometimes with Max. In one or two pictures the boy stood next to a man he bore a slight resemblance to, tall and red haired with similar eyes.

“Your sister and nephew?” Charlize asked, pausing at a shot of Max, the woman and boy beaming together on a boat. The boy was posing with a fish almost as long as he was tall. The shot looked to be a couple years old and he was already as tall as Mr. Krier.

Max nodded . “We’re fraternal twins. Or we were anyhow.” His voice went tight and she saw his eyes film up. “Guy posing with them in that one there,” he pointed. “is my idiot brother-in-law Tony. Melissa-that’s my sister- and Tony died. Car went into the lake in February courtesy of a drunk driver. Brandon’s still alive. He’s in the system out west for the moment. We’ll talk more about it in a bit.”

“That’s my grampa.” He said in answer to a question about the older man in the pictures. “Twenty years in The Corps and another twenty teaching high school history. Raised me and Mel after our folks plane augured into the ground when we were kids. Heart attack took him from us last year.”

The basement showed still another side to Max. It was divided into uneven thirds, the smallest being used as a laundry room that took up perhaps one quarter of the total available space. Half of the remaining space contained a top of the line entertainment center and an almost solid line of bookshelves that appeared to be built right into the walls.

An exercise area completed the downstairs layout. There were free weights, a treadmill, mats on the floor three different striking bags. Apparently Mr. Krier shared her late husband’s fondness for unarmed combat. A nicked and chipped circle of butchers block was mounted on one wall. A red circle the size of Max’s right palm occupied the center. An assortment of throwing knives and matte black spikes with red tassles on the ends were embedded in the circle. Max took one of the spikes from the block and idly twirled it in his fingers as he showed them around.

Charlize stared at some of the heavy iron discs waiting to be put on the bench press bar. Two or three would significantly outweigh Mr. Krier as things currently stood and he had a stack of them. Just how ripped had he been before whatever sickness that made him look so pasty now jumped him?

“You can use whatever equipment you like.” He told them. “But please treat the weapons with respect. Maya sweety, please don’t touch that. You’ll cut your finger off or worse.”

“That” was a curiously shaped knife mounted in one of the few bare patches of wall . It was broad bladed with a bend about one third of the way along the length. The weapon put Charlize in mind of a slightly malformed machete. It was one of a matched pair and looked more than sharp enough to do what Max said.

Maya pulled back from the blade as if it would burn her. Max gave her a smile, started to take it down and realized he was still holding the spike. A casual flick sent it blurring across the room to thock into the board between a knife and another spike, just to the right of center.

“I got these in Nepal.” Max explained, showing her the knife. “Little bitty guys no bigger’n me would use them to clear trenches of Japanese soldiers in world war two. They still carry ‘em too. Some of the best troops in the world.”

“ Here,” Max re-hung the knife and took down a nearby pair of dark blond hardwood sticks about two feet long. “These come from the Philippines. Well, actually these come from a shop downtown. But the combat system they go with is Filipino . Once you get settled in I can teach you if you like. I taught Brandon. Here, step back a bit.”

Max shooed the ladies back several steps and took down the sticks mate. He loosened up, squared his footing and began a series of crosscuts in the air with them. Slowly at first then faster, the wood moved through the air until they were a blur. The sticks whirred in Max’s hands and the Charlize and Maya could actually feel a breeze. He stopped after about a minute, clearly winded and hung them back up.

“I really gotta get back into training.” He said.

After the tour Max sent Maya downstairs to watch TV and play video games while he talked with her mother. At his request Charlize got them some drinks from the refrigerator while he changed and got a couple things from his office. It struck her odd that there was no alcohol anywhere in the house. Midwesterners were known to like their drink, especially those in the Chicago and Milwaukee areas. Maybe it wasn’t so strange though. If she had lost someone close to her thanks to a drunk she would probably want a dry house for awhile as well.

When they rendezvoused in the livingroom Max was carrying a framed photograph, a thick white business envelope and a manila business folder. He had changed into cutoffs and a black t-shirt with a picture of a red haired girl in green spandex and yellow mask. Whoever the woman was, she must be a favorite. Her face and form were represented numerous times around the house.

“Thanks.” Max said as he sat down beside her. He set his burdens down on the table and took the glass of lemonade that waited for him. Some vibrational trick from the items being plopped onto the table caused the glass to slide closer to his hand as he reached for it.

After taking a drink Max showed Charlize the picture. It showed himself, Melissa and a much younger Brandon all smiling at the camera. It looked to have been taken around Christmas time.

“Like I said earlier, this is my family. Or was anyhow. My sister and I have always been close. It’s a twin thing. She got the height, the looks and I always suspected most of the brains. I got a knack for cards and dice that’s made me richer than shit.

Brandon’s about your girl’s age. He’s a good kid. Smart, friendly, good looking. Got a good heart in him.” Max went quiet for a minute as if the next part was especially painful. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and took several deep, shuddering breaths.

“About four months ago,” he said when he continued “a couple things happened all around the same time. I got sick. Sicker’n I’ve ever been in my life. They actually had to induce a coma for awhile. I’m on the mend but not up to where I was. Melissa, she hardly left my side. One night as her and Tony are driving home this son of a bitch! with half a liquor store in his bloodstream runs them into the lake. Between their injuries and the cold of the water they were both dead before they got anywhere near a hospital. Thank God Brandon wasn’t in the car. I dunno what I’d have done if the bastard had got him too.

“I was pretty well incapacitated at the time. Mel was handling all my affairs while I was under.” He sniffed and laughed without any real humor.

“It’d be funny if it weren’t so fucked up. The only person authorized to handle any large financial transactions on my behalf was dead. And the reason I needed to do a major financial transaction was specifically because she was dead. So when the dust settled and it turned out that the family was still seventy-five thousand in the hole my nephew went into the system.”

“What really sucks about this whole mess is that either Brandon’s father or I could have prevented the entire fucking fiasco with ease. If Tony hadn’t been such a tightass about where he thought the majority of my money came from and I’d had enough brains to have somebody in place in case Mel and I were both knocked out you and I would never have met.” Max ran his hands through his hair. “Shit, maybe if I’d just stood up to my sister and fixed their debts for them over her objections…”

He shook his head “I dunno. Fuck!”

“Instead Brandon has been under the yoke since early March. By the time I was in any shape to do anything about his situation he was already long gone. They sent him to California where he got bought first by a place called FanTan Naturists resort. It’s a nudist resort that keeps a stable of indents on hand for the enjoyment of the members.

Whenever they get a new shipment there’s an auction. People get to bid on exclusive rights to one of the newbies for three days."

“This fucking guy,” Max opened the folder and showed her a picture of a heavyset, middle aged man. “bought Bran at auction. Liked him so much he bought him outright. Last three months or so he’s been serving as the prick’s houseboy. That’s gonna end.”

Charlize took the file and looked at it. The information collected on the man was extensive. Workplace, home address, daily routine, not to mention all manner of financial information. She did not bother to mention that Max shouldn’t have any of it. There were confidentiality protections in place specifically to safeguard contract buyers against the attentions of friends and family of those they had purchased. Just to get the name of a buyer you had to commit at least one or two Class A misdemeanors. And here her employer had everything on the man who owned his nephew but how many times a day he went to the bathroom.

“And you’re showing me this because…?” She asked.

“Because one way or another Brandon is going to be under this roof by this time next week. If this Mr….” Max glanced at the file “…Chastain is willing to be reasonable then I’m going to need your skills as a caregiver to help me undo what he did to my nephew. Ideally I’d like to get both kids in therapy ASAP, give them the summer to try and mend some from their time in-system and get them enrolled in the fall term at De La Salle.

If he isn’t willing to be reasonable I’m going to need your computer and finance skills to reduce his life to fucking rubble. I’ll be blunt; I am going to ask you to break the law. This man has spent the last several months raping my nephew day in and day out and he is going to get exactly one chance to do the right thing. After that I start pulling his little world apart until he smartens up."

"You help me out in this and you and your daughter are going to have the gratitude of a very wealthy man with the legal right to make your lives as pleasant or hellish as he likes. You steal from me, betray me or fuck me over in any tiniest particular and I will have the pair of you doing barnyard shows five times a day, seven days a week for the duration of your contracts. Are we clear?”

Charlize didn’t have to think about it. As a mother her primary concern was the well being of her daughter. If hurting this Owen Chastain would make Max Krier that much more inclined to put his resources behind Maya’s best interest then she had only one question.

“Where do you want me to start?”


To Be Continued....

[mechgogo]

Chapter Two- Max's Past and A Trip To Owen's

The next day Max boarded a private charter jet for Las Vegas Nevada. He had spent the previous day after his and Charlize’s conversation resting and getting ready for his trip. Charlize had collected Maya and taken Max’s other car, a silver Chevy Impala out on a shopping spree with the ten thousand dollars cash contained in the white business envelope. His instructions were simple; get a decent wardrobe for each of you. Get a couple good quality cell phones and a decent laptop and generally spoil yourselves a little. Be home by supper time.

A car was waiting for Max at the airport. It took him directly to the Mandalay Bay where the staff took him under their wing for the duration of his stay. Max was a known man at the casino. He came in a few times a year, played roulette and craps but mostly high-stakes poker. He treated the staff with universal and unfailing courtesy and in one memorable instance had torn a very wide and public strip off another high roller who didn’t do the same. The fact that he invariably won more than he lost didn’t bother anyone because it helped foster the get-rich-for-free myth upon which Vegas was built. When word got out about the recent series of calamities to strike his family everyone from the parking valets to the operations manager went out of their way to express their sympathy.

Like many habitual gamblers Max had a routine he liked to follow when visiting a casino. After a quick nap in his westward-facing room with a balcony he stripped, showered and changed into completely fresh clothes. Normally a guest of his wealth and prestige could expect the room to come with hot and cold running indentured companionship. Guest services had enquired about his preferences in that regard exactly once. Max’s rather terse response had been that his preference was to have as little as possible to do with the state sanctioned slave trade and not to be insulted with offers to commit legal rape. It was the one and only time he was less than perfectly polite to the staff. He made up for it later by apologizing and placing a bet for the insulted staff member that netted them the equivalent of six months pay. The insulted employee forgave him and guest services never broached the subject again.

A black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black cotton pants and mirror-shined black dress shoes made up Max’s new outfit. It was his signature look when he played. He left everything but his wallet, house keys and room key behind and went down to loot the tables.

A lot of gamblers have a system or a strategy and Max was no different. He cheated. He felt a little bad about ripping off a place like the Mandalay. The staff were genuinely nice people and he liked most of them. But he had been hemorrhaging cash and needed to fill the hole in his bank account. The knack he had spoken to Charlize about was actually a series of extra-normal abilities he had started developing at the age of six years old.

One day his grandfather, Big Max had stopped by the house with a box of comic books. Little Max had learned to read early and dove into the collection hungrily. A lot of the books were, to his mind, garbage. Stupid silly stories about kids in funny looking old cars or ghosts that were the exact opposite of scary.

The superhero books were another matter entirely. Like many boys his age Little Max spent hours pretending to be Batman or Superman or other characters. The ones that really held his attention were the books about people who got their special abilities simply by being born different. This made perfect sense to Max. Even a six year old knows that some people are just naturally faster or stronger or smarter than others. So it wasn’t that big a leap for him to think it was possible to do some of the things in the comics.

After several abortive attempts to turn into metal, shoot lasers from his eyes and fly-his mother nearly had a coronary when she caught him on the roof with a pair of white construction paper wings- Max decided to try doing what a certain very pretty red haired lady in the comics could do. She could move things just by thinking about it. In the comics the lady was always throwing around cars and tanks and other big objects so that seemed the logical place to start.

A few days later his father caught him trying to think the family station wagon into the air. He listened to Max’s explanation of what he was doing with a loving father’s patience and good humor. Then he gave the boy a quarter, suggesting that odds were the lady in the comics had started off small and Max should do the same.

Ten years later Max had progressed well past the point of moving a quarter. It wasn’t easy and it didn’t happen overnight. But it did happen. His first successes were minimal ones in the grand scheme of things; an inch or two of wobbly levitation for a few seconds followed by a splitting headache or bloody nose. Gradually, with practice Max’s abilities grew. In time he could manipulate most everyday items as well without touching them as the average person could using their hands.

Max and Melissa’s parents died in a plane wreck when the twins were ten years old. After the funeral the twins moved in with Big Max until it was time to strike out on their own. One day not long after they came to stay with Big Max the jack slipped while he was working on his truck, pinning the old man under the vehicle. Little Max tried to use the jack at first but the damned thing was broken. In desperation he tried the only other tool he could think of; his mind. The resulting mental heave the boy gave the vehicle flipped it onto its back and gave Max a two-day migraine.

After recovering from his initial shock Max’s grandfather took the news that his grandson was telekinetic rather well. Righting the truck and concocting a cover story were a challenge but they managed it. The next order of business was a stiff drink for Big Max and glass of chocolate milk for Little Max while they talked about the boy’s ability. This would eventually grow into abilities, plural.

As he developed more confidence with his TK Max spent more and more time exploring what else he could do. He discovered he could see in ways most people couldn’t. When he concentrated the right way he could see as well in a pitch black room as most people could with the lights on low. Concentrate another way and he could actually see through things. This had provided endless entertainment around girl’s bath and locker rooms until the time he accidentally got a look at Melissa taking a pee at school. The shame and disgust of breaching his sister’s privacy like that nailed the lid shut on his peeping Tom days. It didn’t stop him from looking into other things of course. He just quit using the ability to see people naked.

Telepathy had come early on. He had always shared a bond with Mel and the two often knew what each other was thinking. Max speculated it was simply an outgrowth of that. With a little focus he could access other people’s thoughts and memories. Physical contact made it easier but anyone he could see within fifty feet was an open book if he chose. Over the years this range would expand to one hundred yards for most of his powers.

Flight and the ability to put a force field around himself were two of Max’s favorite things. Big Max urged caution when using the first. If the wrong people noticed him he’d wind up on a dissecting table in a lab somewhere. Max had already thought of that and had shown more discretion than most young men his age probably would have. Still, the temptation was hard to resist and from time to time he would go tearing off into the sky.

Usually he went at night and aimed himself out across the lake where the odds of being spotted were slimmer but that had its own risks. He almost drowned one time when he got tired out and barely made it to within swimming distance of the shore before crapping out entirely. Another time he got so turned around he ended up a hundred miles south of the city and had to call his grandfather. Big Max’s response had been simple; he told the boy there was a ticket waiting for him at a Grey Hound station ten miles away and that he should spend the trip home contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase “grounded for a week”. Oh and next time he did something so stupid he could get himself out of it.

Testing out his force field had been trickier. Big Max obviously had no desire to hurt his grandson. He loved the boy deeply and thought his new talents were a gift to be nurtured. They finally came up with a plan. Big Max got his hands on a piece of two inch thick sheet steel a bit taller and wider than Little Max. After trimming it with a cutting torch they loaded it into the truck and took a trip up north to a fifty acre patch of land the family had owned since Big Max was a boy.Grandfather and grandson took the metal slab out into the woods along with a small arsenal of weapons. A crowbar, baseball bat, bow and arrow, wrist rocket and numerous guns were in the collection. Moving everything was a breeze . They piled the hardware onto the steel and Little Max floated everything out to a secluded corner of the property.

Over the course of the next two days Big Max threw everything he had at the metal slab while his grandson stood behind it trying to shield it. They discovered that most melee weapons couldn’t get anywhere near Max and most civilian firearms didn’t fare much better. Until he got tired everything from a .22 all the way up to a .12 gauge shotgun at point blank range just glanced off. Max felt the impact of the projectiles like punches to whatever part of his body was covered . It hurt and wore him down but at least he wasn’t injured or dead.

It didn’t take Max long to discover that he could reach out and telekinetically swat incoming rounds out of the way before they ever reached his force field. He was a smart kid and forever exploring new ways to use his powers. Along the way he discovered that he got a sensation not unlike a mild electrical surge a few seconds before he was about to come under attack . This helped Max out numerous times when dealing with his peers. He was an inveterate smartass and no respecter of the fact that pretty much everybody was bigger than him. A combination of early enrollment in a local martial arts program and extensive unarmed combat tutoring from a certain former Marine helped discourage most people from putting their hands on him more than once or twice.

One final , very taxing gift manifested towards the end of puberty for Max. He found that he could actually see a few minutes forward in time. It was incredibly tiring, about the equivalent to lifting the family truck and holding it for five minutes. But it had its uses and with time it got easier if not to the same degree as his primary gift did.

When Max graduated High School he went on to college and took the kinds of courses generally favored by people in law enforcement. He had no intention of putting on a badge for a living but he figured if you intended to spend your free time sneaking around busting up bad guys it helped to know the stuff the pros knew. He also got a degree in business management and opened what would go on to become one of the Chicago area’s most successful comic book and hobby stores.

The store –and everything else in his life-was initially financed by Max’s telekinesis. It had taken him about five minutes to figure out that a regular job would seriously cramp his goal of becoming a superhero, albeit one who was virtually unknown. That daring do leaping off sky scrapers shit might work in the comics but in the real world vigilantism was illegal and governments had a nasty habit of pulling apart things they didn’t understand to see how they could make more of them.

The first order of business was a trip to a local casino. Max and his grandfather had studied various games of chance and figured out which ones worked best with what abilities. They both knew that what they were doing fell somewhere between cheating and outright theft but felt few qualms about it. The money Max took was only a tiny percentage of what most places raked in from other suckers in the course of a year and he used it in a variety of philanthropic ways. Mostly it went to keeping the store afloat and Max fed in the early, struggling days of the business. As time went on though more and more money got funneled into things like food shelves, homeless shelters and after school programs to keep kids off the streets and out of trouble. Using his powers to completely screw up the lives of various drug dealers, violent offenders and human traffickers was fun but if you didn’t attack the root causes of crime all you were doing was pissing on a forest fire.

For the most part Max kept his extra-legal activities under very deep cover. Meth labs had a tendency to burn down or explode. Money would go missing from accounts or private hidey-holes. Anonymous tips to the cops that included incriminating video or audio recordings were not exactly uncommon. And from time to time this or that particularly unpleasant career lowlife would show up at the St. Francis or Mercy emergency room with an assortment of broken bones and a sudden determination to turn his life around.

The cops knew something was up. They weren’t stupid. It was pretty obvious to the pros on both sides of the law that starting in the early nineties somebody in Cook County had decided the area needed an enema. As long as things were kept quiet and nobody got killed the law looked the other way. The bottom feeders had an understandably different take on things but whoever it was that was complicating their lives was a ghost.

Things almost went public towards the end of the 20th century. A short, vicious war was fought between Chicago’s mystery man and a ring of human traffickers who had the misfortune to pop up on his radar. For a brief period of time the windy city vigilante took a more overt hand in fire hosing the filth out “his” town. Witnesses reported a diminutive man in ninja attire breaking up business meetings and beating the crap out of entire rooms full of heavily armed Eastern European scumbags.

Dozens of homemade throwing spikes and knives were retrieved by police and ER docs. They usually needed to be extracted from legs, wrists and other painful but not fatal parts of the perps-turned-victims. Several wound up on E-bay and from there into the private collection of a certain local comic store owner.

Things finally quieted down in late 2000. The local head of the group found himself staring down at the moonlit waters of Lake Michigan from a hundred and fifty feet in the air. The shore was nowhere in sight and the scary little man somehow making the whole nightmare happen didn’t seem in a mood to screw around.

The two came to an agreement in very short order. The traffickers would move their operations the hell out of Cook County by Thanksgiving day. In return nobody affiliated with them would get the chance to make a 20 mile swim in fifty degree water after being dropped from the height of a small high-rise.

A couple other outfits tried to fill the vacuum but it was short lived. After one shot-caller lost an ear and mixed bag of fingers and toes to a midnight skinny-dip in the middle of a blizzard the message stuck. Guns, drugs and stolen goods were one thing. Selling people anywhere within the 302 area code would put those doing so in the most literal form of grave peril. The crews backed off and the emergency rooms got less crowded again.

In addition to the casinos Max branched out into other revenue streams. When you can read minds it isn’t hard to learn which stocks are good investments and which ones are headed for the toilet. You just had to hang out in the right places to overhear the necessary information.

When one of your hobbies involved derailing the lives of people who dealt in pallet-loads of cash skimming some of their ill-gotten gains was another lucrative, if not terribly ethical way to keep yourself flush with ready green. But the casinos held a special place in Max’s heart and he couldn’t keep away from them.

So it was that Max Krier found himself sitting at the Roulette table in his favorite chair across from his favorite croupier. His casino host Grace made sure he had everything he needed and then, as per the arrangement they had worked out over the years left him mostly alone. Max played for the better part of an hour, taking the house for a bit over a hundred k .

Part of what salved Max’s conscience over committing what amounted to grand larceny was a habit he had picked up early on. When he sat down at any gaming table he would scan the other players, pick out the most unprincipled scumbag in the bunch and proceed to ruin him. The casino staff had long since noticed the pattern. Mr. Krier invariably won more than he lost but the business itself always came out ahead. They didn’t understand how it always worked out that way and they didn’t much care. They just knew Max was good for their bottom line and treated the staff better than almost any of their other regular guests. That was enough.

Eventually Grace came around and “suggested” he might like to take a break or hit the craps table. Max followed her lead as he always did. Grace was good people and it didn’t cost him anything to spread the damage he did her employers around to more than one game. As was usually the case on his visits Max finished off the night with a game of high-stakes poker. He enjoyed the game for a number of reasons, not least because it afforded him the opportunity to dig around inside people’s skulls, pick out the bottom feeders at the table and drive a bulldozer right through the middle of their finances.

By the end of the night Max was up three quarters of a million dollars. That did not include the two teenaged indents whose contracts one player wagered or the pink slip on a brand new luxury automobile another rocket scientist stupidly threw into the pot. The car got sold before he checked out of the hotel. The kids got a ride to Chicago on the hotel jet. Charlize met them at the airport and explained that the nice man who owned them was setting them free just as soon as arrangements could be made to do so.

By week’s end both were back out in the world, free citizens again. The discovery of a modest trust fund-just about half the sale price of a brand new luxury automobile- in each of their names came as quite a pleasant surprise. It wasn’t the first time Max had done something like that and was one more reason he was so well regarded by the Mandalay staff.

Max checked out Sunday morning. A couple hours later he was installed in yet another high end hotel room with a balcony and westward-facing view. He spent the day resting, reviewing his plans and catching up with Charlize. The kids he had sent her were settling in and she was already trying to track down surviving relatives who could take them in. The projects he had assigned her were moving along nicely. The possibility existed they would prove unnecessary but if not he wanted to be able to pull the trigger on Mr. Owen Chastain with a single phone call.

Monday morning Max rose early. He was full of anticipatory energy and hadn’t slept well the night before. Ideally Brandon would be free by the end of the day. If not it would mark the start of a very short and vicious war. Either way he had not seen his nephew in months. As much as he looked forward to doing so, Max also worried the kid would hate him. Just a little bit of basic planning on his part and things never would have gotten this far.

Max had a very specific plan in mind for the first part of his nephew’s retrieval. He left the hotel in the later part of the morning and timed his trip to the Chastain residence so that hopefully Brandon would be alone in the house when he arrived. Of course that was no guarantee they could actually talk. His sources had indicated Brandon’s owner was fond of caging the boy from time to time as a reminder of his station in life. If that were the case or some other wrinkle arose he had fallback plans but ideally he wanted some one on one time with his nephew before confronting Owen.

The Chastain residence was a nice looking two story house on a quiet residential street in one of the better of local suburbs. Max recognized it from the photos in his file. A slow pass by the house coupled with a multilevel scan confirmed that Owen was gone and Brandon at liberty within the house. He circled the block and parked in front of the place.

Getting out of the car took an act of will on his part. Max could never remember a time when he scared easy but at that exact moment he was terrified. For all he knew Brandon had spent every spare minute cursing his uncle’s name for the jam he was in. The slim possibility existed that the boy would tell him to drop dead and fuck off out of his life for good. Max didn’t know if he could handle that without breaking.

Finally, after several minutes of calming exercises Max screwed up his courage, exited the car and made the short trip up the front walk to the door of the house. By the time he rang the bell Max’s fear was gone, replaced by anger. He had looked through the walls to try and spot his nephew and when he did he nearly ripped the front of the building off with his telekinesis. Brandon was inside, doing housework bare-assed naked with a collar around his neck. Max had known that this was a common enough occurrence not just for his nephew but for domestic indents in general. Knowing a thing and seeing it happen to the person you loved most in the world were two different things.

A quick peek inside Brandon’s mind as he came to answer the door gave Max hope. Brandon was thinking about several things at once. His chores, the night before in bed with his owner, an upcoming trip to FanTan and his uncle. Specifically, Brandon was wondering where Max was, if he was out of the hospital yet and if so how things were progressing on his rescue. Max nearly leaped over the roof. There was never any doubt in the kid’s! Alright!

When Brandon opened the door after taking a second to put on some shorts he just stood there blinking in disbelief at first.

“Uncle Max?” He asked. Then,when it became clear that he wasn’t hallucinating his face broke into a huge grin. “Uncle Max!” Brandon swept him up into a hug, lifting him off his feet.

For Max it was both a joyous and disconcerting experience. He had changed the kids diapers for God’s sake! And here the junior moose in training was lifting him up like a case of soda. Still, it was the best thing to happen to him since he went into the hospital. Max returned the hug and laughed out loud.

“Hey kid.” He said when his nephew finally set him down. “Been awhile.”

[mechgogo]

Chapter Two- Max's Past and A Trip To Owen's

The next day Max boarded a private charter jet for Las Vegas Nevada. He had spent the previous day after his and Charlize’s conversation resting and getting ready for his trip. Charlize had collected Maya and taken Max’s other car, a silver Chevy Impala out on a shopping spree with the ten thousand dollars cash contained in the white business envelope. His instructions were simple; get a decent wardrobe for each of you. Get a couple good quality cell phones and a decent laptop and generally spoil yourselves a little. Be home by supper time.

A car was waiting for Max at the airport. It took him directly to the Mandalay Bay where the staff took him under their wing for the duration of his stay. Max was a known man at the casino. He came in a few times a year, played roulette and craps but mostly high-stakes poker. He treated the staff with universal and unfailing courtesy and in one memorable instance had torn a very wide and public strip off another high roller who didn’t do the same. The fact that he invariably won more than he lost didn’t bother anyone because it helped foster the get-rich-for-free myth upon which Vegas was built. When word got out about the recent series of calamities to strike his family everyone from the parking valets to the operations manager went out of their way to express their sympathy.

Like many habitual gamblers Max had a routine he liked to follow when visiting a casino. After a quick nap in his westward-facing room with a balcony he stripped, showered and changed into completely fresh clothes. Normally a guest of his wealth and prestige could expect the room to come with hot and cold running indentured companionship. Guest services had enquired about his preferences in that regard exactly once. Max’s rather terse response had been that his preference was to have as little as possible to do with the state sanctioned slave trade and not to be insulted with offers to commit legal rape. It was the one and only time he was less than perfectly polite to the staff. He made up for it later by apologizing and placing a bet for the insulted staff member that netted them the equivalent of six months pay. The insulted employee forgave him and guest services never broached the subject again.

A black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black cotton pants and mirror-shined black dress shoes made up Max’s new outfit. It was his signature look when he played. He left everything but his wallet, house keys and room key behind and went down to loot the tables.

A lot of gamblers have a system or a strategy and Max was no different. He cheated. He felt a little bad about ripping off a place like the Mandalay. The staff were genuinely nice people and he liked most of them. But he had been hemorrhaging cash and needed to fill the hole in his bank account. The knack he had spoken to Charlize about was actually a series of extra-normal abilities he had started developing at the age of six years old.

One day his grandfather, Big Max had stopped by the house with a box of comic books. Little Max had learned to read early and dove into the collection hungrily. A lot of the books were, to his mind, garbage. Stupid silly stories about kids in funny looking old cars or ghosts that were the exact opposite of scary.

The superhero books were another matter entirely. Like many boys his age Little Max spent hours pretending to be Batman or Superman or other characters. The ones that really held his attention were the books about people who got their special abilities simply by being born different. This made perfect sense to Max. Even a six year old knows that some people are just naturally faster or stronger or smarter than others. So it wasn’t that big a leap for him to think it was possible to do some of the things in the comics.

After several abortive attempts to turn into metal, shoot lasers from his eyes and fly-his mother nearly had a coronary when she caught him on the roof with a pair of white construction paper wings- Max decided to try doing what a certain very pretty red haired lady in the comics could do. She could move things just by thinking about it. In the comics the lady was always throwing around cars and tanks and other big objects so that seemed the logical place to start.

A few days later his father caught him trying to think the family station wagon into the air. He listened to Max’s explanation of what he was doing with a loving father’s patience and good humor. Then he gave the boy a quarter, suggesting that odds were the lady in the comics had started off small and Max should do the same.

Ten years later Max had progressed well past the point of moving a quarter. It wasn’t easy and it didn’t happen overnight. But it did happen. His first successes were minimal ones in the grand scheme of things; an inch or two of wobbly levitation for a few seconds followed by a splitting headache or bloody nose. Gradually, with practice Max’s abilities grew. In time he could manipulate most everyday items as well without touching them as the average person could using their hands.

Max and Melissa’s parents died in a plane wreck when the twins were ten years old. After the funeral the twins moved in with Big Max until it was time to strike out on their own. One day not long after they came to stay with Big Max the jack slipped while he was working on his truck, pinning the old man under the vehicle. Little Max tried to use the jack at first but the damned thing was broken. In desperation he tried the only other tool he could think of; his mind. The resulting mental heave the boy gave the vehicle flipped it onto its back and gave Max a two-day migraine.

After recovering from his initial shock Max’s grandfather took the news that his grandson was telekinetic rather well. Righting the truck and concocting a cover story were a challenge but they managed it. The next order of business was a stiff drink for Big Max and glass of chocolate milk for Little Max while they talked about the boy’s ability. This would eventually grow into abilities, plural.

As he developed more confidence with his TK Max spent more and more time exploring what else he could do. He discovered he could see in ways most people couldn’t. When he concentrated the right way he could see as well in a pitch black room as most people could with the lights on low. Concentrate another way and he could actually see through things. This had provided endless entertainment around girl’s bath and locker rooms until the time he accidentally got a look at Melissa taking a pee at school. The shame and disgust of breaching his sister’s privacy like that nailed the lid shut on his peeping Tom days. It didn’t stop him from looking into other things of course. He just quit using the ability to see people naked.

Telepathy had come early on. He had always shared a bond with Mel and the two often knew what each other was thinking. Max speculated it was simply an outgrowth of that. With a little focus he could access other people’s thoughts and memories. Physical contact made it easier but anyone he could see within fifty feet was an open book if he chose. Over the years this range would expand to one hundred yards for most of his powers.

Flight and the ability to put a force field around himself were two of Max’s favorite things. Big Max urged caution when using the first. If the wrong people noticed him he’d wind up on a dissecting table in a lab somewhere. Max had already thought of that and had shown more discretion than most young men his age probably would have. Still, the temptation was hard to resist and from time to time he would go tearing off into the sky.

Usually he went at night and aimed himself out across the lake where the odds of being spotted were slimmer but that had its own risks. He almost drowned one time when he got tired out and barely made it to within swimming distance of the shore before crapping out entirely. Another time he got so turned around he ended up a hundred miles south of the city and had to call his grandfather. Big Max’s response had been simple; he told the boy there was a ticket waiting for him at a Grey Hound station ten miles away and that he should spend the trip home contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase “grounded for a week”. Oh and next time he did something so stupid he could get himself out of it.

Testing out his force field had been trickier. Big Max obviously had no desire to hurt his grandson. He loved the boy deeply and thought his new talents were a gift to be nurtured. They finally came up with a plan. Big Max got his hands on a piece of two inch thick sheet steel a bit taller and wider than Little Max. After trimming it with a cutting torch they loaded it into the truck and took a trip up north to a fifty acre patch of land the family had owned since Big Max was a boy.Grandfather and grandson took the metal slab out into the woods along with a small arsenal of weapons. A crowbar, baseball bat, bow and arrow, wrist rocket and numerous guns were in the collection. Moving everything was a breeze . They piled the hardware onto the steel and Little Max floated everything out to a secluded corner of the property.

Over the course of the next two days Big Max threw everything he had at the metal slab while his grandson stood behind it trying to shield it. They discovered that most melee weapons couldn’t get anywhere near Max and most civilian firearms didn’t fare much better. Until he got tired everything from a .22 all the way up to a .12 gauge shotgun at point blank range just glanced off. Max felt the impact of the projectiles like punches to whatever part of his body was covered . It hurt and wore him down but at least he wasn’t injured or dead.

It didn’t take Max long to discover that he could reach out and telekinetically swat incoming rounds out of the way before they ever reached his force field. He was a smart kid and forever exploring new ways to use his powers. Along the way he discovered that he got a sensation not unlike a mild electrical surge a few seconds before he was about to come under attack . This helped Max out numerous times when dealing with his peers. He was an inveterate smartass and no respecter of the fact that pretty much everybody was bigger than him. A combination of early enrollment in a local martial arts program and extensive unarmed combat tutoring from a certain former Marine helped discourage most people from putting their hands on him more than once or twice.

One final , very taxing gift manifested towards the end of puberty for Max. He found that he could actually see a few minutes forward in time. It was incredibly tiring, about the equivalent to lifting the family truck and holding it for five minutes. But it had its uses and with time it got easier if not to the same degree as his primary gift did.

When Max graduated High School he went on to college and took the kinds of courses generally favored by people in law enforcement. He had no intention of putting on a badge for a living but he figured if you intended to spend your free time sneaking around busting up bad guys it helped to know the stuff the pros knew. He also got a degree in business management and opened what would go on to become one of the Chicago area’s most successful comic book and hobby stores.

The store –and everything else in his life-was initially financed by Max’s telekinesis. It had taken him about five minutes to figure out that a regular job would seriously cramp his goal of becoming a superhero, albeit one who was virtually unknown. That daring do leaping off sky scrapers shit might work in the comics but in the real world vigilantism was illegal and governments had a nasty habit of pulling apart things they didn’t understand to see how they could make more of them.

The first order of business was a trip to a local casino. Max and his grandfather had studied various games of chance and figured out which ones worked best with what abilities. They both knew that what they were doing fell somewhere between cheating and outright theft but felt few qualms about it. The money Max took was only a tiny percentage of what most places raked in from other suckers in the course of a year and he used it in a variety of philanthropic ways. Mostly it went to keeping the store afloat and Max fed in the early, struggling days of the business. As time went on though more and more money got funneled into things like food shelves, homeless shelters and after school programs to keep kids off the streets and out of trouble. Using his powers to completely screw up the lives of various drug dealers, violent offenders and human traffickers was fun but if you didn’t attack the root causes of crime all you were doing was pissing on a forest fire.

For the most part Max kept his extra-legal activities under very deep cover. Meth labs had a tendency to burn down or explode. Money would go missing from accounts or private hidey-holes. Anonymous tips to the cops that included incriminating video or audio recordings were not exactly uncommon. And from time to time this or that particularly unpleasant career lowlife would show up at the St. Francis or Mercy emergency room with an assortment of broken bones and a sudden determination to turn his life around.

The cops knew something was up. They weren’t stupid. It was pretty obvious to the pros on both sides of the law that starting in the early nineties somebody in Cook County had decided the area needed an enema. As long as things were kept quiet and nobody got killed the law looked the other way. The bottom feeders had an understandably different take on things but whoever it was that was complicating their lives was a ghost.

Things almost went public towards the end of the 20th century. A short, vicious war was fought between Chicago’s mystery man and a ring of human traffickers who had the misfortune to pop up on his radar. For a brief period of time the windy city vigilante took a more overt hand in fire hosing the filth out “his” town. Witnesses reported a diminutive man in ninja attire breaking up business meetings and beating the crap out of entire rooms full of heavily armed Eastern European scumbags.

Dozens of homemade throwing spikes and knives were retrieved by police and ER docs. They usually needed to be extracted from legs, wrists and other painful but not fatal parts of the perps-turned-victims. Several wound up on E-bay and from there into the private collection of a certain local comic store owner.

Things finally quieted down in late 2000. The local head of the group found himself staring down at the moonlit waters of Lake Michigan from a hundred and fifty feet in the air. The shore was nowhere in sight and the scary little man somehow making the whole nightmare happen didn’t seem in a mood to screw around.

The two came to an agreement in very short order. The traffickers would move their operations the hell out of Cook County by Thanksgiving day. In return nobody affiliated with them would get the chance to make a 20 mile swim in fifty degree water after being dropped from the height of a small high-rise.

A couple other outfits tried to fill the vacuum but it was short lived. After one shot-caller lost an ear and mixed bag of fingers and toes to a midnight skinny-dip in the middle of a blizzard the message stuck. Guns, drugs and stolen goods were one thing. Selling people anywhere within the 302 area code would put those doing so in the most literal form of grave peril. The crews backed off and the emergency rooms got less crowded again.

In addition to the casinos Max branched out into other revenue streams. When you can read minds it isn’t hard to learn which stocks are good investments and which ones are headed for the toilet. You just had to hang out in the right places to overhear the necessary information.

When one of your hobbies involved derailing the lives of people who dealt in pallet-loads of cash skimming some of their ill-gotten gains was another lucrative, if not terribly ethical way to keep yourself flush with ready green. But the casinos held a special place in Max’s heart and he couldn’t keep away from them.

So it was that Max Krier found himself sitting at the Roulette table in his favorite chair across from his favorite croupier. His casino host Grace made sure he had everything he needed and then, as per the arrangement they had worked out over the years left him mostly alone. Max played for the better part of an hour, taking the house for a bit over a hundred k .

Part of what salved Max’s conscience over committing what amounted to grand larceny was a habit he had picked up early on. When he sat down at any gaming table he would scan the other players, pick out the most unprincipled scumbag in the bunch and proceed to ruin him. The casino staff had long since noticed the pattern. Mr. Krier invariably won more than he lost but the business itself always came out ahead. They didn’t understand how it always worked out that way and they didn’t much care. They just knew Max was good for their bottom line and treated the staff better than almost any of their other regular guests. That was enough.

Eventually Grace came around and “suggested” he might like to take a break or hit the craps table. Max followed her lead as he always did. Grace was good people and it didn’t cost him anything to spread the damage he did her employers around to more than one game. As was usually the case on his visits Max finished off the night with a game of high-stakes poker. He enjoyed the game for a number of reasons, not least because it afforded him the opportunity to dig around inside people’s skulls, pick out the bottom feeders at the table and drive a bulldozer right through the middle of their finances.

By the end of the night Max was up three quarters of a million dollars. That did not include the two teenaged indents whose contracts one player wagered or the pink slip on a brand new luxury automobile another rocket scientist stupidly threw into the pot. The car got sold before he checked out of the hotel. The kids got a ride to Chicago on the hotel jet. Charlize met them at the airport and explained that the nice man who owned them was setting them free just as soon as arrangements could be made to do so.

By week’s end both were back out in the world, free citizens again. The discovery of a modest trust fund-just about half the sale price of a brand new luxury automobile- in each of their names came as quite a pleasant surprise. It wasn’t the first time Max had done something like that and was one more reason he was so well regarded by the Mandalay staff.

Max checked out Sunday morning. A couple hours later he was installed in yet another high end hotel room with a balcony and westward-facing view. He spent the day resting, reviewing his plans and catching up with Charlize. The kids he had sent her were settling in and she was already trying to track down surviving relatives who could take them in. The projects he had assigned her were moving along nicely. The possibility existed they would prove unnecessary but if not he wanted to be able to pull the trigger on Mr. Owen Chastain with a single phone call.

Monday morning Max rose early. He was full of anticipatory energy and hadn’t slept well the night before. Ideally Brandon would be free by the end of the day. If not it would mark the start of a very short and vicious war. Either way he had not seen his nephew in months. As much as he looked forward to doing so, Max also worried the kid would hate him. Just a little bit of basic planning on his part and things never would have gotten this far.

Max had a very specific plan in mind for the first part of his nephew’s retrieval. He left the hotel in the later part of the morning and timed his trip to the Chastain residence so that hopefully Brandon would be alone in the house when he arrived. Of course that was no guarantee they could actually talk. His sources had indicated Brandon’s owner was fond of caging the boy from time to time as a reminder of his station in life. If that were the case or some other wrinkle arose he had fallback plans but ideally he wanted some one on one time with his nephew before confronting Owen.

The Chastain residence was a nice looking two story house on a quiet residential street in one of the better of local suburbs. Max recognized it from the photos in his file. A slow pass by the house coupled with a multilevel scan confirmed that Owen was gone and Brandon at liberty within the house. He circled the block and parked in front of the place.

Getting out of the car took an act of will on his part. Max could never remember a time when he scared easy but at that exact moment he was terrified. For all he knew Brandon had spent every spare minute cursing his uncle’s name for the jam he was in. The slim possibility existed that the boy would tell him to drop dead and fuck off out of his life for good. Max didn’t know if he could handle that without breaking.

Finally, after several minutes of calming exercises Max screwed up his courage, exited the car and made the short trip up the front walk to the door of the house. By the time he rang the bell Max’s fear was gone, replaced by anger. He had looked through the walls to try and spot his nephew and when he did he nearly ripped the front of the building off with his telekinesis. Brandon was inside, doing housework bare-assed naked with a collar around his neck. Max had known that this was a common enough occurrence not just for his nephew but for domestic indents in general. Knowing a thing and seeing it happen to the person you loved most in the world were two different things.

A quick peek inside Brandon’s mind as he came to answer the door gave Max hope. Brandon was thinking about several things at once. His chores, the night before in bed with his owner, an upcoming trip to FanTan and his uncle. Specifically, Brandon was wondering where Max was, if he was out of the hospital yet and if so how things were progressing on his rescue. Max nearly leaped over the roof. There was never any doubt in the kid’s! Alright!

When Brandon opened the door after taking a second to put on some shorts he just stood there blinking in disbelief at first.

“Uncle Max?” He asked. Then,when it became clear that he wasn’t hallucinating his face broke into a huge grin. “Uncle Max!” Brandon swept him up into a hug, lifting him off his feet.

For Max it was both a joyous and disconcerting experience. He had changed the kids diapers for God’s sake! And here the junior moose in training was lifting him up like a case of soda. Still, it was the best thing to happen to him since he went into the hospital. Max returned the hug and laughed out loud.

“Hey kid.” He said when his nephew finally set him down. “Been awhile.”

[mechgogo]

Brandon nodded and wiped his eyes. He’d dreamed of this moment every day for the past four months. At the center he had told himself day in and day out that even if his uncle was too sick to come for him someone who worked for him would. Uncle Max was loaded and doted on him.

When transfer day came with no response he feared the worst. Had his uncle died and the Bureau bastards not said anything? After that the driving thought in his mind throughout all the humiliations and degradations was that sooner or later his late mother’s wealthy and very scary brother would show up to rescue him. Part of him had wanted to give up hope, just resign himself to seven years of serving Mr. Chastain in and out of bed. But he knew his uncle was still alive. The law said they had to tell him if a relative died. And he knew his uncle. The guy had once run into a burning gun store for someone he didn’t even know. If he was alive Max Krier would come for him. It was only a matter of time. And now here he was.

It took him a minute to find his voice. “I emailed you an’ I…I tried to…I….”

Brandon lost it then. The last several months had been pure Hell. First his beloved uncle had gotten sick and nearly died. Then his parents were murdered by that asshole drunk driver and he was sent to serve out their debt. Then Mr. Chastain had bought him, first at auction at FanTan and then again, after three dehumanizing days, for good. Three months of having to submit to the sexual attentions of a man older than his father had taken their toll on his psyche. And not just Chastain either. His owner had loaned him out to pretty much anyone in his social circle who expressed an interest. He broke down crying and all but hurled himself into his uncle’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Max caught the boy easily. Even without his various gifts he could have done it. He had always been strong for his size and a burning rage enhanced it. He spent a couple minutes comforting his nephew and shedding his own share of tears.

“It’s ok now.” Max promised, patting Brandon’s back gently. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere without you. They’re gonna hafta kill me to get rid of me.”

Brandon nodded. His dad hadn’t cared for Uncle Max. He’d called him shiftless and a bum and worse. But Brandon could never remember a single instance of his uncle failing to come through when the family needed him.

“I’m sorry Bran.” Max told him when they had both regained their composure. “I fucked up. I had your mom taking care of all my affairs while I was sick and didn’t have a fallback. I’ll never forgive myself for what you went through because of that. I just hope you can eventually forgive me.”

Before the boy could answer him, Max’s head whipped around. He had felt a very low-grade tingle at the back of his neck. A woman about his own age was coming up the sidewalk from the house next house down on the garage side of the Chastain place. She had brown hair and looked fit. She struck Max at first glance as the sort of woman who went to college seeking a husband, not an education.

“Excuse me.” She said as she approached. Brandon had straightened up and was standing beside Max at the sight of her.

“Oh shit!” he muttered. “Mrs. Carmody. Fucking busybody. Bet you anything she’s already called Mr. Chastain.”

“Relax.” Max said calmly. “I’ve got this.”

Max met the woman halfway. He smiled and held out his hand. He could be very charming when he wanted to be and most people tended to react instinctively to a smile and offered handshake.

“Hi there!” He said. “Max Krier, Brandon’s uncle! Nice to meet you!”

Mrs. Carmody shook his hand, a little put off. Whatever reaction she was expecting this clearly wasn’t it. “Brenda Carmody. A pleasure.”

She let go of Max’s hand turned to Brandon. “Brandon, I don’t think your master is going to be very pleased when he finds out you went behind his back and told this person where to find you!”

“And I don’t think Mr. Carmody will be very pleased when he finds out what you and Mr. Wallace from down the way have been getting up the last few months.” Max said coldly. He had been scanning the bitch in search of some hidden bit of dirt from the second he became aware of her. The handshake just kicked the door wide open.

Mrs. Carmody stared in shock at the announcement. Her mouth goldfished a couple times as Max went on. “Kinda doubt Mrs. Wallace would approve very much either. And what do you think your husband would say if he knew that so-called “heavy period” that laid you up so badly in April was really you recovering from getting rid of the bun Mr. Wallace put in your oven? How much did he donate to the pro-lifers last year?”

Mrs. Carmody was incandescent with embarrassment. “I.. you… you don’t have any…” she sputtered.

Max named several different dates, times and locations of liaisons between her and Mr. Wallace. That shut her up. “Now how about you go back home and leave me and my nephew to get caught up ok? You mind your business and I’ll do the same. Sound fair?”

Mrs. Carmody didn’t walk away then. She ran. Max gave the meddlesome witch a smile and a laugh as she fled. Behind him Brandon was grinning his head off.

After that they were left in peace. Max and Brandon sat on the porch chatting for a bit. Brandon explained that he couldn’t invite Max in and that he wasn’t even technically supposed to be having a conversation with him.

“Mr. Chastain said if you really cared about me you’d have come before I transferred out or sent someone. He said I’d be punished if I ever got in touch with you. And he never lets me have any money so I couldn’t even call you from a payphone or buy a pre-paid.”

Max nodded, taking it in. Mr. Chastain, he decided, needed his ass kicked. And not just for the sexual indignities he had subjected Brandon to.

“You leave him to me.” He said and nodded at his car, a rented Impala the same color as his one at home. “I’ve got a suitcase full of cash in the car with your name on it. If that doesn’t work…let’s just leave it at me not going anywhere without you.”
Brandon nodded. For the first time since his parents had died he wasn’t worried about what would happen next.

The conversation ended when, out of nowhere, Brandon screamed and jerked spasmodically. Max had been listening in on the boy’s thoughts as they chatted and the surge of pain hit him like a kick in the nuts. He knew exactly what it was; that damned chip the bastards put in the necks of all indentured servants was shocking him. He resisted the urge to reach out and just break the thing, ending his nephew’s pain literally with a thought. The problem was, that would be impossible to explain away as an unfortunate but natural occurrence and raise uncomfortable questions Max didn’t feel like answering.

Brandon scrambled inside and the screaming stopped almost immediately. The phone rang and he answered it. Max waited on the porch, eavesdropping. The conversation was about what he expected. Chastain had become aware of his presence-the nanny cams around the house had been responsible not Mrs. Carmody- and was not pleased. Brandon spent much of the conversation trying to explain, denying he had anything to do with his uncle’s being there. Chastain didn’t believe him at first and shocked him repeatedly. Max got progressively more and more pissed off. No matter how things went he might just have to give Owen Chastain a good smack.

Eventually Branson came out and handed Max the phone. “Hello?” he said.

“Mr. Krier,” Chastain said . “Owen Chastain, Brandon’s owner. I have to tell you, I don’t much appreciate my privacy being violated and my property….”

“And I don’t much appreciate watching my nephew get tortured for no good fucking reason!” Max interrupted.

“It wasn’t torture Mr. Krier, it was discipline. Brandon was told not the try and contact you and….”

“And he didn’t! I tracked you down on my own. Trust me, it wasn’t hard. So congratulations Mr. Chastain. You’ve just spent the last few minutes electrocuting an innocent kid over nothing!”

Owen didn’t respond to that right away. “If that really is the case then I’ll find a way to make it up to him. In any event, you’re not welcome at my home without me present Mr. Krier. I’ll give you and Brandon two minutes to say goodbye and then another thirty seconds for you to get in your car and start driving away. After that Brandon will be disciplined with his chip every ten seconds until you are off my street. Do we understand one another?”

Max seethed. The guy really was a slime. “Fine.” He said. “I’ll be back at six tonight. You and I have business to discuss.”

“You can come back when it’s convenient for…”

“Six. P. M.” Max informed him. “I’m giving the phone back to Brandon now. Before I do Mr. Chastain you might want to consider a couple things. First; I made a promise to my nephew that I wouldn’t leave this town without him. I’m going to keep it. Second; I have the resources to have ordered a snatch and grab on Brandon. I didn’t have to try and deal with you man to man but I believe in giving people a fair break whenever possible. Third; I have joint US/Australian citizenship and the Aussies don’t extradite runaway indents. Especially those under the guardianships of a national. You enjoy the rest of your day Mr. Chastain. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Max handed the phone back to his nephew then. They hugged and Max apologized for getting him into trouble. Brandon told him not to worry about it and said he’d see Max soon. Max couldn’t help but feel a glow of pride. Even after everything he’d been through the kid still had faith in him.

[mechgogo]

Max sped down the interstate, headed for his hotel. Once there he would spend the next several hours catching up on his reading, reviewing fallback plans, exercising and resting. He has always been a fitness buff and the past several months of forced inactivity had wreaked havoc on his body beyond the affects of the disease that had nearly killed him.

A local cop stopped him on the way back to the hotel. The law did not take kindly to violations of the Indentured Confidentiality Act. When questioned about how he had learned his nephew’s whereabouts he lied. He explained that when he got well enough to understand what had happened to his family he immediately sent a representative to the nearest center to try and locate Brandon. When that didn’t get him anywhere he went in person and appealed to the head of the center directly. The woman had been sympathetic but completely unhelpful beyond advising him of his rights and options under the law, all of which he already knew.

That part was actually true. Max had sent a rep because he was still not supposed to be out of bed at that point. He had known what would happen but half of what he did was create plausible covers for all the otherwise inexplicable shit that happened around him. When the proxy hit a wall he ignored his doctors, hired a driver and showed up at the same center in a wheelchair and pajamas, the very picture of misery.

Most of the staff had felt bad for him. It really was a pretty tragic scenario when you thought about it. But they couldn’t help him without risking jail and unemployment. Max had played the distraught and thwarted relative role even as he plundered the minds of everyone around him. When you knew how, telepathy was easy. Covering up how you actually came by all manner of information you weren’t supposed to have was the tricky part.

“Somebody must have felt sorry for me because a few days later I got an anonymous note.” Max told the officer. “The return address was actually from a local pizza place. It contained Chastain’s name and address. I copied it down, tore up the note and envelope and flushed them. So I’m afraid I can’t help you out. Sorry.”

The cop scolded him about violating confidentiality but really there was nothing he could do. The law forbade giving out the information or seeking to bribe Bureau personnel to acquire it. Acting on an anonymous tip was frowned upon but technically legal .

At six pm Max pulled back up in front of the Chastain residence. Owen was already home, his late model SUV parked in the drive. Owen was waiting for him on the porch. He was, like most people, taller than Max. An engineer by trade and almost ten years Max’s senior the overweight, balding man was just a couple years shy of being three times as old as the teenager he’d spent the last three months fucking in the ass on a nightly basis. A quick peek inside the house showed Brandon upstairs locked in dog kennel.

Max decided enough was enough. He reached out with his mind and cracked several of the pipes that fed the underground sprinkler system. Then he turned the water on just enough to send it through the pipes but not enough to activate the sprinkler heads. By morning the lawn would be a swamp.

“Mr Krier.” Owen greeted him. If there was no overt hostility in the words neither was there any particular warmth.

“Mr. Chastain.” Max replied. The two men shook and Max helped himself to several key pieces of information from inside his opponent’s brain. The way things looked to be heading they would prove useful in the coming days.

“I’ll come right to the point Owen.” Max said “May I call you Owen?”

“I prefer Mr. Chastain.”

“And I prefer my nephew not get ‘disciplined’ for something he didn’t do. I’ll make this simple.”

Max set the briefcase he was carrying on the porch railing and opened it up. He pulled several bundles of cash from inside, dropped them carelessly on the porch and re-closed the case. Then he stacked the bundles atop the case and presented it to Chastain, holding it like a pizza delivery guy holding a fresh pie for a hungry customer.

Owen looked at the top of the briefcase. Max had carefully stacked fifteen one-hundred count bundles of one hundred dollar bills on it in five stacks of three. More money was still inside the case. A lot more. And Krier was treating it like it had been printed by Milton Bradley rather than the US treasury.

“This right here is double what you paid for my nephew.” Max told him. “Now personally, the idea of buying my own flesh and blood from someone turns my stomach. But I’m trying to be reasonable about this. The way I see it, even with food and clothing, additional utilities and wear and tear on your house you’re still ahead by a serious margin. You can take this, lie to the feds, tell them whatever purchase price you like for tax purposes and I’ll sign off on it. Then you can go out tomorrow and buy yourself a new kid . Or two if you like. I honestly don’t care. All I care about is my sister’s son. Where is he by the way? I was hoping to see him.”

“I’m sorry Max but I’m going to have to decline.” Chastain said. “I’ve grown very fond of Brandon and I’ve no interest in letting him go. Now, if you’d like, we can arrange a visitation schedule. I understand you travel out this way frequently. I’m not against letting him see you. You can even send him birthday and Christmas presents if you like. Maybe even the occasional care package. I’m not heartless.”

No. Max thought You’re just a fucking middle-aged pervert who likes who to cornhole kids, lock them up in dog kennels and zap them with electricity when you get in a bad mood. Asshole.

What Max said was. “Could I get you to hold what’s on top for just a second please? I don’t want it spilling everywhere.”

Owen took the money after making it clear to Max that he wasn’t accepting the offer. Max opened the case again and pulled out another seventy-five k. He pilled that on top the same way he had the original amount.

“Ever seen a quarter million dollars in one place Owen?” he asked. “Because there’s double that here. Think about it. We’re talking almost three times what you make in a year. And for what? A kid you know doesn’t want to be in your bed, no matter how obedient he might be when you summon him there? Come on!”

“Now, I don’t blame you for what happened three months ago. Shit, I blame myself. You saw a young, good looking kid available for sale and you did what most guys with the resources and the law on their side would do. You whipped out your wallet and bought yourself a prime piece of ass. Perfectly natural and reasonable thing to do under the circumstances. No way you could have known at the time that there was someone out there with the interest and resources to rescue the boy.

But I’m here now. And I’m making you an extremely generous offer. So why not be reasonable? Take the money. Shit, take all of it! You think I care ?”

Owen actually gave the offer some thought. He would have been stupid not to. Max Krier was much as Brandon had described him; rich, relentless and focused to the point of obsession on retrieving the boy. The problem was, he had meant what he said. He had come to care about Brandon a lot. He was good looking, charming and fun to have around. And for all that he was hetero the kid was fantastic in bed. He had no intention of giving him up for any amount of money.

Max sighed when Owen said as much. “You know Mr. Chastain,” he said as he put the bundles of cash back in the case “I really wish we could have come to an understanding. It’s too bad really. But it doesn’t change anything. Whether you decide to be reasonable or try and fight me the result is gonna be the same. Brandon’s coming home with me. I promised him and I promised my sister.”

“I thought your sister was dead." Owen said "And for all your confidence Mr. Krier you forget; the law is on my side.”

“She is dead.” Max snapped. “Thanks for reminding me. The promise I made was when Brandon was born. I was in the delivery room and I promised her I’d always look out for him. As for my confidence, it comes down to resources and priorities. I’ve got more at my disposal than you ever will. And only one priority;" Max punctuated his next words with a jab of one finger at the house behind Owen. "that kid.”

He handed Chastain a business card from his store. His name, cell phone and where he was staying were written on the back.“You take twelve hours and think about it. The offer’s good til then. Half a million in cash for somebody you paid seventy-five thousand for. After that, I start exploring less expensive solutions. Good night.”

Max got in his car and drove off then. As he drove past the Carmody home the fasteners holding up their fifty-six inch flat screen TV came loose from the wall. It fell to the floor, smashed into several thousand dollars of useless landfill fodder and nearly squashed the family’s weird, alien-looking bald cat.

When he got several miles away Max pulled over in a secluded spot and took out the pre-paid he had used the previous day. Charlize answered on the third ring.

“Yes Mr. Krier?”

“Hey, how’s everything at home?” Max asked.

“Everyone’s fine. I managed to reach April’s grandmother. Her flight leaves tomorrow. You did say first class was alright?”

Max nodded. “Yeah, no problem. And Sonya?”

“Her Aunt is proving hard to reach but I left a message. It may take a little longer. How are things on your end?”

“Not going as well as I’d hoped. Some people just don’t respond well to diplomacy. What’s the status on the website upgrade?”

“I’ve got most of the graphics you asked for but some of the coding is proving tricky. Why? When did you want to go live?”

“Tomorrow, day after maybe. Think you can get a working rough by then?”

“With the right language, I should, yes.”

“Good girl. Got some other info for you on that, got a pen?”

There was a rustle of paper on the other end. “Go ahead.”

Max proceeded to give her everything he had plundered from Chastain’s mind. It would fill in the missing gaps Charlize needed to handle things on her end if Owen decided to continue being a hard ass.

“I know it’s short notice hon but I’d really like to go live this time tomorrow. If you can make it happen I’ll see if I can’t find a few bucks in the budget for a nice bonus.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“All I ever ask. Talk to you tomorrow. Hug the girls for me.”

Max went to bed early that night. He went back to the hotel, did some cardio and a few minutes of boxing and kung-fu forms, had dinner and was asleep by ten. His body was mending fast from the disease that had devastated it but he knew better than to overdo it, especially over the next twenty-four hours.

The alarm went off at five am. Max groaned and said several bad words. He had never been a morning person. Very little happened in his life before nine or ten am. Still, business was business and you worked the job, not the hours. His grandfather had taught him that.

After a shower and some time in the fitness center he hopped in the car and drove back to Owen Chastain’s neighborhood. The briefcase full of money and a bag of clothing in Brandon’s size were in the Impala’s trunk. Who knew, maybe his intuition would be wrong and Owen had seen the wisdom of playing ball.

He pulled up in front of the house a few minutes after seven. An en route fast food drive-thru had provided breakfast. The front yard was a flooded-out marsh thanks to his little stunt the night before. Max grinned into his second cup of coffee and looked inside the house. Brandon was downstairs making his “master” breakfast. A trip through his nephew’s thoughts revealed that Owen had spent the night reminding him of who was the real power in his life. Still, he was in good spirits, confident that his ordeal was heading to a conclusion.

Upstairs, Owen was showering, unaware of either Max’s presence or the thousands of dollars of damage done to his yard. Max had picked the timing of Chastain’s morning routine out of his mind and had arranged things so that his arrival would coincide with the older man hosing down his bulk. Max glanced at the car’s clock. Seven oh four am. He distinctly remembered saying twelve hours.

Max clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Some people just won’t listen to reason.” He said to himself. “Tragic really.” Then he focused on the house and kicked Mr. Owen Chastain’s morning straight into the shitter.

The first thing to happen was down in the basement. An invisible hand turned the house cold water valve completely off, then buried the needle on the dial that controlled how hot the house water supply was allowed to get. To someone unaware of what was really happening this created an affect identical to an unexpected and perfectly explainable temperature surge.

The scalding water hit Owen just as he was washing his privates. He screamed, covered himself and tried to turn his back to the shower nozzle. At that moment the soap squirted from his hand and landed in just the right spot to be underfoot. Funny how that sort of thing always happened at the worst possible moment.

Owen pirouetted, windmilled his arms and went down hard in the tub face-first. His skull cracked into the edge of the tub just below the hairline on the right hand side. He slumped, semi-conscious but still screaming as near-boiling water washed over his back and ass. Blood began to color the water from a cut on his scalp.

Downstairs, Brandon heard the commotion and came running. Max felt a surge of pride in his nephew. All the abuse the dirty old bastard had heaped on him and he still had enough compassion to go investigate when it sounded like Chastain was in distress. He really was a great kid.

Max let the water run until Brandon reached the second floor landing. Then he reset the water controls to where he had found them. When Brandon banged on the door and tried open it, inquiring after his owner’s well-being, Max held it shut a few seconds, simulating a jam. He finally let Brandon in and sat there grinning as he finished his breakfast.

He watched the show while he ate. Chastain was down hard, bleeding from a split scalp. He had a mild concussion and there were some second degree burns blistering his back. Nothing life threatening but it would be awhile before he slept face-up again. The hot water hadn’t done his crotch any favors either. Max figured it was only justice given what he had been up to with Brandon since day one.

Brandon turned off the water and tried to help Owen out of the tub. It was no good though. Chastain had an easy seventy-five pounds on the boy and was slippery from the shower. It was like watching a spider monkey try to lift a greased sea lion.

Max popped the last bite of his breakfast into his mouth, opened the trunk of the car and, still chewing, strolled up the walk. He rang the bell and waited while Brandon struggled some more. Then rang it again and waited still longer while the boy called 911.
Brandon finally opened the door, phone in one hand distraught manner writ large on his face and body language. On top of everything else, the smoke alarm was going off as Owen’s breakfast began to burn.

“Hey kid.” Max said cheerfully. “Everything ok?”

Brandon frowned in confusion. “Uncle Max? What are you doing here? No, no everything’s going all to hell. Master, I mean Mr. Chastain slipped in the shower and is bleeding all everywhere and I can’t get him out. And now the kitchen is catching fire. One sec, I’ll be right back.”

Brandon sprinted off to deal with the crisis in the kitchen. He would have burned himself on the hot pan if Max hadn’t shielded his hand. Paramedics arrived a few minutes later and took the situation in hand. Brandon hovered around his uncle and explained what he understood to have happened. When a squad car showed up and the cops started asking questions Max explained that he had stopped by to see if Mr. Chastain had thought about his offer the night before and found everything in turmoil.

They loaded Owen into the ambulance. Max made it clear he intended to follow. When Brandon indicated he wanted to ride with his uncle, Chastain had just enough faculties to order him not to. So instead the boy rode shotgun in the ambulance while the driver's partner worked on Owen.

When they got to the hospital Owen and Brandon were hustled into the inner recesses for a fast bout of treat em and street em. Max hung out in the waiting area. He spent his time monitoring events with his telepath and x-ray vision. A head and neck x-ray, a few stitches, a scrip for some pain meds and some burn ointment and the orderlies loaded Owen into a waiting taxi. Max followed them home in the Impala.

Back at the house Max renewed his offer. Owen was still a bit out of it but was still lucid enough to give a very clear, one-fingered answer. Max just shrugged.

“Have it your way Owen.” He said as he left. “Nice lawn by the way. Fixing to plant water-lilies were you?” Brandon watched his uncle go and knew that somehow the morning’s drama was entirely his doing.

[mechgogo]

The day passed. On the surface, Max seemed to be taking it easy. He lounged in the hotel hot tub, had a massage, read a few comics. Some time was spent with his lawyer examining options to gain Brandon’s freedom through the courts. Usually when someone went into the system their friends and family had two weeks to raise the money to buy out their contracts. Once the grace period expired they were transferred to another state for sale to a stranger with the necessary wherewithal.

Max and Brandon’s case was exceptional. There were extenuating circumstances and the attorney was confident that, with time, they could free Brandon well before his scheduled release date. Max made all the appropriate sounds and told the lawyer to get things moving. Privately he had no intention of waiting that long. The song and dance with the courts was just a sideshow to make it look like he was doing what normal people would do under similar circumstances.

Charlize called around supper time. The website was ready to go she said. The problem coding had been sorted out and all it needed was Max’s word to launch. Max congratulated her on a job well done. He told her to take the new site live at ten the next morning and in the meantime to get some rest. She had worked like a dog and earned a break.

Bedtime came early for Max that night. At nine o’clock he put up the Do Not Disturb sign, called the front desk to let them know he was not to be bothered for anything less than a life or death emergency and lay down. Three hours later the alarm clock went off. Max silenced it immediately. He got up and proceeded to get dressed in what for most people would be the pitch dark of the room. It wouldn’t do for the cops to be asking why someone spotted a light shining under his room around midnight in a couple hours.

Max’s entire outfit for his late night excursion was black. Most of it would seem fairly innocuous to anyone who nosed around in his wardrobe . The pair of knee-high Minnetonka moccasins? Lots of people wore those. They looked great and were comfy as hell. Black cargo pants? Nice change of pace from jeans and khakis thanks.

The long sleeved black t-shirt and leather jacket were a nod to his recent illness and fondness for motorcycles. He didn’t want to get a chill and have a relapse. A pair of matched collapsible ASP batons might take some explaining as would the featureless black mesh mask and cowl but he had plausible excuses for those too. The two rolls of quarters tucked into his pockets were a departure from the array of homemade throwing knives and spikes he usually took with him on patrol but rolled coins were a damned sight easier to explain and just as effective in his hands.

When he was done Max glanced, as he always did at such times in the mirror. A little thrill surged through him as it did every time he wore what he thought of as his uniform. The batons and mask were taken from the outfit he wore at home when he went out on an op. He’d left the body armor, combat boots and SAP gauntlets behind as well as the police scanner. None of that could be explained away if and when the local cops went through his luggage. Well, maybe the boots but his public persona wasn’t generally known for wearing them so questions might get asked.

Max grinned behind the mask. He actually did most of what he considered to be his real work in everyday street clothes. Hanging out in places listening in on peoples thoughts, finding out where this or that criminal enterprise was stashing it’s dirty laundry. That didn’t stop him from getting a geeky rush as he saw himself. He knew it was silly. You’d think at thirty-eight years old he’d have outgrown that sort of thing by now. And you’d be wrong.

Max stepped to the balcony. It was dark outside. This part of town was not especially well lit after ten pm. That and the high level balconies were major reasons he had chosen this particular hotel. He hopped to the rail, took a look out into the dark and let gravity have its way with him.

Five floors down Max came out of freefall. He bit his lip behind the mask to keep from laughing out loud. Good God what a rush! He peeled off away from the building, high enough not to be noticed by the few people still up at nearly one in the morning but low enough to be either below radar or lost in the ground clutter. He kept his speed relatively low as he looped out and away in the direction of the Chastain home. When he was a few miles away from the hotel he compared his course to the aerial photos he had studied before coming out west, made a minor correction and hauled ass.

Normal drive time from Max’s hotel to Owen Chastain’s residence was thirty to forty-five minutes depending on weather and traffic conditions. Cross country travel for someone flying in excess of a hundred and twenty miles an hour was less than five. As Max tore through the sky he kept his personal force field up and his eyes open for any terrain features he might have missed when planning this part of his campaign against Owen Chastain. He had failed to do so once back home. A county-wide blackout and near-death experience had been the result.

Max was almost sorry to approach Owen’s neighborhood. Telekinesis and telepathy might be the most useful of his gifts but damned if flight wasn’t the most fun. He slowed to the pace of a car, then a bicycle and finally a walk. It took a little circling to find the right house but when he did Max grinned and stooped on the place.

A quick scan of the house showed that Owen and Brandon were both asleep in Owen's bed. Max said a silent prayer of thanks for that. If the kid had been kenneled it would have seriously complicated what came next. Max hovered a few feet above the roof. He kept low and prone despite a complete absence of lit windows or waking minds anywhere he could see or otherwise detect. Reaching out with his own mind Max went to work.

The first order of business was to make a small puncture in the hose that carried natural gas to the kitchen stove. If a forensics expert found enough of the hose to examine it the rupture would appear to be simple equipment failure. Several minutes of waiting followed then as Max let a quantity of gas build up. Next he disabled the nanny-cam covering the kitchen. Max wasn’t worried about what an investigator would find on the hard drive of the computer linked to the camera. Neither it nor most of the house would exist in a few minutes.

A quick dip into the utility drawer produced a “strike anywhere” kitchen match. A quick scrape across one of the burners produced what a certain Warner Brothers character would call “an Earth shattering kaboom”. The resulting explosion turned most of the first floor into an inferno. Windows blew out and several walls collapsed. Burning debris slashed through the attached garage which shared a wall with the kitchen and volcanoed up into the second floor. Fortunately Owen’s room was on the opposite end of the house.

Both Owen’s SUV and the sedan he mostly kept around for Brandon to run errands in went off like bombs. Wreckage from the blast was no respecter of property lines . Flaming shrapnel punched through a window of the Carmody residence while more embedded itself in their roof. Max had really taken a dislike to Mrs. Carmody during their brief encounter.

Upstairs, Brandon and Owen were both hurled from bed. They woke to the roaring of flames and the bite of smoke already in their lungs and eyes. The house smoke detectors were screaming their little electronic heads off. Thanks for the heads up guys.

The floor was already hot under their feet. The two stumbled to the door on all fours. A quick check showed that it felt warm but not the kind of hot which meant the area immediately outside the room was on fire. They opened the door into Hell’s waiting room. Smoke filled the hallway and flames were climbing the walls and ceiling. Most of what was left of the stairway was covered in fire. More fire was erupting through a hole in the far end of the hallway above where the kitchen had once been. A window exit was their only real chance at getting out alive.

Back into the bedroom, coughing and hacking, lungs and sinuses streaming. Between the smoke and the heat it was getting impossible to breathe. The window opened with ease. Max made sure of that. The screen was punched out and Brandon went out first. Max would always give Owen points for that.

Brandon slid out the window feet first. He dangled at the end of his reach, pushed off from the blazing hot wall and landed on the lawn below. He picked up a couple bruises and got a little singed but nothing serious. When Owens turn came he wasn’t so lucky. Flames punched through the wall, searing his skin and when he fell he landed wrong. One leg took most of the impact and something tore loose in his knee. He screamed and rolled off to the side.

In the distance sirens could be heard coming on fast. Every light in the neighborhood was on now. Up on the roof Max was having an increasingly unpleasant time as well. The roof was getting griddle-hot. Angry red fangs of fire were stabbing up through the shingles and a choking smog of soot and embers was playing hell with his breathing. As soon as he saw that Brandon was clear and not seriously hurt he took off into the night sky, careful to hide amid the billowing smoke. That presented its own share of discomfort but nothing close to what being caught on camera would do.

A few minutes later Max was back in his room. He had sprinted most of the way back to the hotel and was sweating from the exertion. The possibility he might reek of smoke to some observant cop or hotel employee was a non-issue. Spend a couple minutes winging through the sky at NASCAR speeds and the only thing you’re going to smell of is fresh air. He stripped, packed his flying clothes, got back into bed and waited.

The room’s phone rang first. He ignored it. Answering the phone on the first ring or even first series of rings would look suspicious under the circumstances. After five rings the phone shut up only to restart again a few seconds later. This time he got it on the third one.

“It’s one in the fucking morning!” He snapped into the receiver. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Krier,” said the person on the other end “but this is the front desk. The police are here. They need to speak to you right away.”

“The cops?” Max asked muzzily. “Fuck for?”

“It seems there was an explosion at the home where your nephew is…um… staying and…”

Max’s tone changed instantly. “An explosion?!? The hell didn’t you say so! Omigod! Is Brandon ok? Shit! Get my car! And my bag from the safe! And…. Shit!”

Max dropped the phone and went into “panicked relative freaking out trying to get dressed after being woken up from a sound sleep” mode. He literally ran into the two uniforms on his way to the elevator. He was the very picture of disarray. His shirt was on inside out, pants buttoned but not zipped and while his tennis shoes were on the right feet they weren’t tied. One of them wasn’t even all the way on . The back part of the shoe hand caught on his foot heel and he was gimping along at a job to the elevator.

“Are you Max Krier?” The lead cop asked. He was a big guy, built like a linebacker . His partner was a wiry little Asian dude. Neither one looked pleased to see Max. A nervous looking hotel employee hovered behing them.

“Yeah.” Max said. “Nice to meet you.” He went to dodge around them. “’Scuse me.”

The officer took him by the arm. “We have some questions sir.”

Max shrugged the hand off and rounded on the guy. He jabbed an angry finger up into the direction of his face. The officer had a foot in height and a hundred pounds or more of muscle on Max . The overall affect was like watching a Min-Pin try to dominate a Rottweiler.

“I just got woken up from a sound sleep to hear that my dead twin sister’s only kid has been blown the fuck up officer! You wanna talk? Talk on the way to my car. Otherwise arrest me. Then get ready to explain yourself to my attorneys!” He turned and tried to continue down the hall only to be put in a joint lock and shoved face-first into the wall.

Max struggled. “Get your fucking hands off me goddamint!”

“We can do this here or I can take you in for questioning sir.” The officer said calmly. As an added incentive he grabbed Max by the belt and lifted him up off the floor until his feet dangled a few inches in the air.

Max squirmed a little more before giving up. “Fine! Just put me down! But as soon as we’re done I’m going to my nephew!”

The officer set him down and Max turned to face the guy. He straightened himself out and glared up, craning his neck .

“What d’you wanna know?” Max demanded.

“Um, excuse me.” The night staffer , who’s nametag read ‘Jeremy’ said nervously “Is there any way we could do this in Mr. Krier’s room? The other hotel guests might n…”

Max lasered Jeremy with a look. “Fuck the other guests! I don’t see any of them with blown up family!” The poor kid paled at the assault and seemed to shrink a little. Max sighed. “Fine! This way!”

When they got to Max’s room he discovered that he’d left his key behind. Jeremy used a master key to let them in. The police looked around at the state of the room. The balcony doors were open and the place was about as tidy as could be expected after the occupant had been woken up in the wee small hours to be told his only remaining relative had been in an explosion. While the Asian guy poked around, the linebacker produced a notebook and pen.

“Can you tell us where you were at aproximiately one o’clock this morning?” He asked.

Max glanced at the clock. “What, you mean twenty minutes ago? I was here, asleep! Where else would I be?”

“And can anyone else confirm that?”

Max gave an exasperated sigh. He gestured to the room. “You see anybody else here? I was asleep. Alone. I’m recovering from a critical illness and I was worn out so I crashed early, told the desk to not wake me for anything but an emergency.”

“And was there some particular reason you anticipated an emergency tonight?”

“No! But I don’t anticpate a car crash either. I still buckle up. Look, is this going somewhere? What the hell happened? Is Brandon ok? Is he hurt? That asshole who owns him goes to what is it, Saints Pacific? Jeremy, get me the fastest route to Saints would you please?”

The cop could have been a golem he was so unflappable. “You were involved in a confrontation with Mr. Chastain Monday evening weren’t you Mr. Krier? And another one over the phone at approximately eleven am? You also were present when he was hospitalized with burns and head trauma Tuesday morning.”

Max sighed and clenched his fists. It wasn’t hard playing the part of the pissed off, keyed up relative. All he had to do was let his natural emotions from the past few days out while pretending he didn’t know anything about a bunch of stuff he knew everything about.

“Yes, I showed up at his home looking to buy out Brandon’s contract. I admit, I timed it initially so he wouldn’t be there. I wanted to see my nephew alone so I could assess his condition without Chastain exerting any undue influence. He got wind of my visit, started zapping Brandon with his chip, called to tell me to get lost and I did so. I came back at six pm with a suitcase full of cash. It’s in the hotel safe. Jeremy can show it to you if you like. I offered him half a million in cash for a seventy-five thousand dollar contract. He refused. I told him to think it over and said I’d be in touch. Then I left. At seven the next morning I returned. I…”

“And the purpose of that visit?” The officer interrupted. “And what exactly did you mean by,” he checked his notes “I’ll explore less expensive solutions?”

“And can you explain this?” The bulldozers partner was holding out Max’s file on Owen.

“I meant I’d take his ass to court. My attorneys tell me I’ve got a pretty solid case for Brandon’s release. Especially if I’m willing to cover the cost of his contract. Which I am obviously and then some. Thing is the courts take time and I’d rather my dead sisters kid not spend one more minute getting fucked in the ass by some middle-aged faggot than is absoloutely neccassary. So I came out here and made an offer.

The purpose of the visit was to see if he had changed his mind or if I should just start suing his ass. I was as surprised as anyone when I found out he’d got hurt. And what’s up with trying to tie my presence to him falling in the shower anyhow? I never even set foot in the house!

The file, I got an anonymous note in the mail not long after I tried to get Brandon’s location through normal channels. I hired a team of investigators, told them to get everything they could on Brandon’s owner and the conditions he was living under. I’m not responsible for somebody in the Chicago Bureau breaking the regs and there’s nothing illegal about hiring a PI firm. Anything else? Because I’d really like to get going.”

“We just need to verify your whereabouts Mr. Krier. I’m sure you can see how this looks.”

“Yeah, it looks like all the family I’ve got in this world might be dead and I’m sitting here with my thumb up my ass when I should be on my way to see if he’s ok!”

The cop glared at him. “Mr. Krier, you need to calm down sir.”

“Tell me that when it’s your kid getting blown up pal! Lets see you get woke up at one am to ‘Hey guess what somebody you love just got set on fire!’ and see how fucking nonchalant you are!”

Bulldozer moved to take hold of Max again but this time Jeremy intervened. “Actually, the hotel security cameras can verify Mr. Krier’s presence all night. And doesn’t your car have GPS sir?”

Without waiting for a response, Jeremy got on his two way and had hotel security check to see if Max had left his room after putting up the DND. The response quickly came back that Max had stayed in from the time he closed the door to the time he almost trampled Jeremy and the cops.

“There,” Max said testily. “Now can I please go? And while we’re at it, I’ve cooperated fully with you. Can you at least tell me if Brandon is alive or not?”

“Your nephew and his employer made it out alive Mr. Krier.” The Asian officer said. “They both suffered some minor injuries and smoke inhalation but they should be fine. You’re free to go but we’d advise against leaving town. The DA may want to interview you if this turns out to be arson.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because I’m gonna go through all this bullshit and offer some degenerate bastard six times the value of my nephew’s contract and then blow up the house he’s sleeping in when I don’t get my way.” He shook his head and stalked out.

“Un-the fuck-believeable!”

[mechgogo]

Max found Owen and Brandon in the waiting room of the Saints Pacific ER. Both were sitting in chairs looking shocky. Someone had found them hospital pajamas and slippers to wear. Both had been sleeping naked as was the rule under Owen’s roof and hadn’t had time to put anything on. Brandon spotted Max and ran to him.

Brandon wrapped his arms around his uncle and just held on. He shuddered and cried into the top of Max’s head. Max returned Brandon’s hug. It was always a little weird getting embraced by him these days. He had carried Brandon around on his hip as a baby and now the boy loomed over him.

“You ok kid?” Max asked. “You hurt?”

Brandon shook his head. “I’m ok. We were in bed and there was a…”

“Brandon! Get over here!”

Max and Brandon both turned to see Owen limping over. “I’ve told you before you’re not to speak to that man without my permission!”

Brandon lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry Master,” he said “I just..”

Owen glared at Max. “This is your fault isn’t it?” Owen demanded, ignoring Brandon.

Max affected a confused expression. “The hell are you talking about? I was asleep in bed when the cops showed up at my hotel saying your house blew up.”

“And you had something to do with it! Same way you’re behind everything else that happened to us tonight!”

Max turned to Brandon. “Brandon, what is he babbling about?”

Max knew exactly what Owen’s problem was. His conversation with Charlize about the website had been camouflage in case anyone was listening in. When the paramedics had taken them to the hospital, Owen had expected to be fast-tracked into treatment. He was financially well off and heavily insured. Or so he thought.

Instead Owen found himself destitute. Someone had reported his credit cards stolen, completely gutted all his financial assets and killed every scrap of insurance he had. As he stood there in his hospital issue slippers and pj’s his total personal holdings consisted of a bungalow at FanTan naturists resort and Brandons contract.

“I said don’t speak to him!” Owen snapped. Forty-eight hours earlier he had had a good life. A nice home, plenty of money and the affection of a cute and, if not necessarily willing, at least obedient houseboy. Now his home was destroyed, most of his wealth gone and he couldn’t even pay for an aspirin to cut the pain of his injuries. He snapped and went for Max.

Max let the idiot grab him. He needed people to see that what he was about to do was self defense. As the other hand came in at his face he ducked and twisted free. The incoming fist whiffed over his head as hospital security and a couple cops came hurrying over. Max handled the problem himself before they ever got within range.

As he evaded the badly aimed punch, Max kicked Owen in the side of his already injured knee as hard as he could. Owen screamed like a stabbed infant and started to go down. A right to the side of the jaw finished things. Owen lay there in a daze. Everyone else in the room, including the various security officers just stared in disbelief. Owen had six inches and an easy hundred pounds on Max. By most people’s reasoning the only way Max should have been able to take him out was with a baseball bat.


That kind of reaction always baffled Max .People were always underestimating him because of his small stature. It never occurred to them that a guy who had always had a tiny body and a big mouth might need to know how to throw his hands. Toss in a lifetime obsession with spandex-sporting weirdoes who solved most of their problems with their fists and it should have come as no surprise that Max Krier had been studying unarmed combat most of his life. Besides, who ever heard of a superhero who didn’t know how to throw a decent punch?

Max stood over the downed man. “You put your fucking hands on me you piece of trash?" He demanded. The anger in his voice and body language lit up the room and were no act. If anything, it was taking a supreme act of will to restrain himself from not just spreading Owen across half the waiting room with his mind.

"I’m not some helpless kid you can beat the shit out of or force yourself on because of some bullshit law that never should got passed! You try it again and I’ll whip your ass!”

Security separated them and everybody got calmed down. More or less. Owen sat in his chair glaring at Max as Brandon filled him in on what he already knew.

“So basically the holdup is due to you not having any money or insurance.” He said. “No problem.”

Max walked over to the admissions desk. The nurse on duty was a cute little bespectacled thing named Brittany. He brought the bag of clothes he had picked up for Brandon with him.

“Hi Brittany.” He said, smiling. “Max Krier, nice to meet you. Look, I understand there’s a little wrinkle with getting that idiot I just decked in to be seen. Normally I’d let the prick cool his heels til Hell froze over but my nephew’s with him too and I can’t leave until he gets treated. So, this is for you.”

Max pulled a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to her. The girl made a token attempt at refusal and then made the money disappear.

“This is for them.” Max pulled two ten thousand dollar bundles from the bag and pointed over to where a young mother with a sick little girl about the age he had been when he floated a quarter for the first time sat.

“And this,” another twenty k in cash was piled onto the counter. Brittany’s eyes got wider with each deposit. The security gaurds drifted over as well. “is for Mr. Chastain and my nephew. Now, could you please call Dr. Hydecker and let him know that if he doesn’t get his lazy ass down here in the next twenty minutes the unpleasant little man who has been plaguing his patient like a bad case of the crabs is going to locate and publish every last indiscretion he’s had in the last twenty years?”

Max gave the girl his best smile. “I’m rich and unprincipled you see.”

Dr Hydecker didn’t quite make the twenty minute deadline Max had arbitrarily picked but he did arrive in short order. After that Owen and Brandon were whisked into a room. Tests were run, scans were done. Bandages and ointments were applied and a brace was found for Owen’s bad knee. Max tagged along. The doctor tried to get rid of him but Max calmly and politely pointed out that this was his dime and he was the only living blood relation of one of the patients. So the staff tolerated his presence as long as he kept out of the way. While the medics did their thing Max called the hotel and made arrangements for Owen and Brandon’s accommodation.

When everything that could be done had been done an orderly rolled Owen out towards the exit in a wheelchair. He and Brandon were both still in the pajamas Max had found them in. Both were yawning their heads off and Max couldn’t blame them. He was wiped out himself and he hadn’t had anywhere near as rough a day as they had.

Several of Owen’s friends were waiting for them when they came out. All were male and larger than Max . He knew from both his file on Owen and scans of Brandon’s mind that every single one of them had made use of the boy since he came home with Owen.

Mark Bergstrom took the initiative. Max particularly disliked Bergstrom. He had a fondness for bathroom play and rough lovin’. Brandon shrunk into himself at the sight of the man.

“Owen! Are you alright?” He asked. Then he spotted Max. “What are you doing here?” Apparently Max’s reputation preceded him.

“Checking on my nephew and paying your boys medical bills because something happened to all his money and insurance.” Max said.

The guy tried to crowd Max. “Yeah,” he said, jabbing a finger into Max’s chest. “you happened.”

Max rolled his eyes. “The fuck am I gonna carpet-bomb his,” Max twitched his head at Owen “insurance and finances and then go and pay cash to cover his medical bills for? Makes more sense for me to let him twist in the wind, get up to his nuts in debt so I’ve got more leverage to buy Brandon’s contract. And get your hands off me right now.”

“Or what?”

Max smiled. “Find out.”

Max turned to Owen. “Your friends wasted a trip Mr. Chastain. I took the liberty of setting you up with a room at my hotel. Nice luxury suite, everything you want. All on my dime. I thought we could get some sleep and talk business after we’ve rested and had a bite to eat.”

“That’s very generous of you Max.” Owen said. “And I appreciate you covering my care but I think we’re going to stay with my friends instead.”

Max shrugged. “Have it your way.”

Max turned to Owens crew. “You guys know what a cooler is?” He asked.

Before anyone could answer he enlightened them. “It’s a guy who sucks the luck right outta any space he’s in. Casino’s employ ‘em to help kill a hot streak. Somebody’ll be up fifty, sixty grand, cooler’ll sit down beside them and bam! Next thing you know they’re so deep in the hole they’re looking at a ride in a white van and a chip in their neck.”

Max took a sip of his vending machine coffee. It was awful stuff with a rotten flavor and so hot just sipping it gave his tongue that scalded “white” feeling. But it had caffeine in it and he wasn’t in the mood for a soda.

“Now personally, I respect loyalty. Few traits in this world are more admirable to me. But if I had a daughter spending the summer backpacking through Europe,” He looked at Paul Antrim, the man to Marks left.

“Or a wife undergoing chemo.” Sam Reynolds opened his eyes a little at that.

“Or a house currently undergoing extensive remodeling Mr. Bergstrom, I wouldn’t be real quick to bring a cooler into my home. Never know what could happen. And Bergstrom, seriously; take your fucking hands off me.”

Mark ignored him. “Are you threatening us you sawed off little jerk?” he asked. The other two had fanned out, surrounding them.

Max shook his head. A look inside the guys mind told him how the next few minutes were likely to play out. Oh well, if they didn’t want to be reasonable.

“Nope. Just making an observation. I mean let’s look at the facts for a second. Owen’s life is in ruins right now. Cops questioned me about my involvement but they can’t touch me.”

Mark grabbed Max by the front of his jacket and lifted him off the ground. “How about I touch you you little runt?”

Max thumbed the lid off his coffee cup and threw the contents into Marks face. Most of the scalding liquid hit him in the eyes. He dropped Max, grabbed his face and screamed. He recovered quickly and made a grab for Max, intent on getting some retribution.

Max landed lightly and stepped in. Mark’s assault was all the legal justification he needed to hammer the prick. Two fast jabs up under Marks ribs played havoc with his breathing. When the bigger man doubled over Max hit him again, this time in the temple. Two hundred-plus pounds of Pacific coast beef hit the floor out cold.

Max felt an electric surge as Antrim moved in. Max scanned him, saw where the blow was aimed and let it appear to land. A forcefield absorbed the impact when the punch hit him across the back of the head. On camera it looked like he’d been rocked by a cheap shot from a much bigger man rushing in to blindside him.

Max staggered a little, shook his head. He dropped and spun, seeming to lash out blindly. The back of a hard little fist caught Paul directly over the fly of his pants. Paul gagged and started to fold. As he went down Max, still seemingly dazed, appeared to stumble into him and straightened up suddenly. The back of his head caught Paul in the teeth. He went down hard and didn’t get up.

“Uncle Max! Look out!”

Max was already aware of the incoming rush from Reynolds. Brandon didn’t know that however. He threw himself at the older man and the two went down in a tangle as cops and security guards came rushing over. There was a brief scuffle, the sounds of two people hitting one another and then a particularly loud cry as Sam gained the advantage and mounted Brandon.

He sat there straddling the boy’s hips. His lip was split and one eye was starting to puff up. Brandon had the beginnings of his own shiner and a bloody nose. Sam hauled back his fist.

“You uppity little shit! I’ll teach…”

Max pivoted . The move served two purposes. First, to improve his position relative to the two combatants on the floor. Second, it added momentum to the kick whipped into the vast acreage of ribcage left exposed by Reynolds upraised hand. A quick peek under the skin confirmed what a lifetime’s experience had already told him; two broken ribs and a bruised lung. Max contemplated using a little push of power to fracture his sternum too but the courts might find such an injury excessive.

The uniforms were in range now and Max saw what they intended. As Reynolds folded around his injury, Max snatched him up by the crotch and front of his shirt. On camera it looked like he was holding a grown man four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than himself up by sheer brute force .
It certainly felt to Sam like his balls were being squeezed in Max’s painfully strong little hand. In actuality it was all telekinesis. Not that Max couldn’t have lifted someone Sam’s size. He just didn’t want to be in contact with the bastard for what came next.

Max turned as the first guard on the scene pulled is taser. He held Sam up like a shield as the electrified darts launched and Reynolds took them in the back. Sam screamed as thirty-five thousand volts surged through his body.

One of the cops had his sidearm out and pointed at Max, finger inside the trigger guard. Max dropped Reynolds and raised his hands. He started to bend his knees, clearly intent on getting on the ground. Then he sent a little twitch of power to the officers trigger finger. Not much, just enough to cause the weapon to discharge twice while pointed at an unarmed and apparently compliant civilian.

Max dropped to the ground as the gun roared. He covered his head with his hands. People screamed and dropped to the ground. Another telekinetic nudge guided the bullets so that they didn’t actually hurt anyone. The first round passed through a recently vacated chair and hit an unoccupied gurney. The other stopped when it went into a wall and hit a support beam.

Max felt bad about scaring everyone, not to mention all the grief he’d just caused the cop. But he needed leverage to make his assault charges on Reynolds either go away or at least be reduced. The prospect of avoiding all manner of legal and media headaches should make the local authorities much more reasonably inclined towards him.

After the screaming stopped and Owen’s friends were taken off to be treated other officers took statements from Max and various people who witnessed the fight and attempted shooting. Max agreed not to press charges if no one else did and promised not to sue the department if they’d just quit hassling him. With his friends out of the equation Owen really had no choice but to accept Max’s offer of help.

The three of them piled into Max’s car and drove back to the hotel. Brandon rode shotgun so Owen could stretch out in the back. A hotel employee very kindly pushed Owen along in a wheelchair to his room. The room was down the hall from Max’s and every bit as nice as the one Max was staying in. When Owen gestured for Brandon to join him Max vetoed the idea.

“It won’t do anyone any harm for him to stay a night with me Owen.” He said. “My couch pulls out so there’s plenty of room. And with your bad leg I’m guessing you might want the extra space in bed.” He expected an argument but Owen just nodded his head and complied. He was too tired and worn down from the events of the day to fight anymore.

Max pulled out the hide-a-bed in his rooms couch and let Brandon have the main bed. He wondered how long it had been since the boy had done more than nap in a bed without someone else joining him. Max sat on the edge of the bed beside his nephew and felt a surge of love for Brandon pulse through him. He really was a great kid. It was too damned bad Melissa wouldn’t get to see what kind of man he’d grow into. The thought of his sister made Max’s eyes well up and he thumbed the moisture out of them before it could spill over.

“Uncle Max?” Brandon asked.

“Yeah buddy.”

“Am I going to go home with you soon?”

Max shrugged. "That’s up to Mr. Chastain. I think he might be coming around though.” He grinned down at Brandon. “Might be getting the idea you’re not exactly good luck to have around y’know?”

“I hope so.” Brandon said and yawned. “You um, you didn’t have anything to do with the fire did you?”

“I’d set myself on fire before I put you in harm’s way Bran.” Max said. And it was true. The entire house could have fallen in on them and while Owen might not have made it out alive, Brandon would have emerged without a scratch.

“Ok. I didn’t think so. It was just a really weird coincidence you know?”

Max nodded again. “Yeah, I can see that. Still, works in our favor doesn’t it? He’s gonna be desperate now. The money I’m offering him for your contract will get him back on his feet. Oh, speaking of which, thanks for having my back tonight. That Reynolds guy woulda had me if you hadn’t jumped him.”
That last was pure bullshit of course but after four months of being completely helpless Brandon needed something to make him feel like less of a victim.

“You ended up pulling him offa me Uncle Max.” Brandon said. Then he grinned. “Still, it was pretty badass the way you picked him up and used him for a shield.”

Max chuckled. He’d had fun and wouldn’t deny it. Over the years he’d caused quite a bit of mayhem. It never got boring either. But there was just something more deep down satisfying about beating up on a person who had done terrible things to someone you loved .

“I wouldn’t have been on my feet of you hadn’t intercepted him Bran.” Max said. He bumped the side of his fist against the boys shoulder. “You did good. I’m proud of you. Now get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Brandon yawned and turned over, closing his eyes. “Night Uncle Max.” He said. “Love you.”

“Love you too buddy.”

[mechgogo]

All three of them slept late Wednesday. It had been a stressful night for everyone to say the least. Max woke first and sat watching Brandon. He thought about the last few months and everything his nephew must have gone through. It would be easy to experience it firsthand. Just take a little stroll down a few neural pathways and really get a slaves-eye view of life under the yoke.

He decided to pass. Brandon deserved his privacy. It was enough for Max to peek a little to determine whether or not Brandon actually wanted to be rescued. Sometimes indents bonded with their owners. It wasn’t unheard of. If that were the case he’d have to rethink his plans. It wasn’t though. Brandon had resigned himself to his new life but he wasn’t happy in it and he damned sure wasn’t in love with Owen Chastain. So unless Mr. Chastain wanted to find out what else Max could take from him he’d do the right thing and sign the boy over before day’s end.

Max treated everyone to a late breakfast at a nearby restaurant and then they all adjourned back to the hotel. Owen was still trying to figure out what he was going to do next and none of his friends were being very helpful. After the previous night’s events they were keeping him at arm’s length, at least until he resolved things between himself and Max. Brandon was still a little rattled but he was handling it better than his owner. It made sense really; his life was about to finally get better for the first time since his parents died.

After breakfast Max sent Brandon to go play in the hotel pool while he and Chastain talked. The two men sat in chairs at a table nearby watching him and sharing a pot of coffee. They both loved him in their own way and both wanted what they thought was best for him. It was simply a matter of the two ideas being irreconcilably opposed to one another.

“He’s a great kid isn’t he?” Max asked.

Owen nodded. “Uh-huh. Real sweetheart. Well behaved, obedient, polite. Your sister did a great job raising him.”

Max glared at him. “My sister would stab you in the balls if she were here Owen.” He said coldly. “And probably whip my ass for not just shooting you.”

Owen shivered and felt his bladder loosen. Three days ago he would have shrugged and rolled his eyes at threats from some militant or talk of all the horrible things Max would do to him when he got the chance. Three days ago his bank accounts had been full and his home hadn’t been a pile of smoldering wreckage.

Max produced a quarter and started walking it back and forth across the backs of the fingers of his left hand. There was no power behind the action. It was a simple dexterity exercise he had mastered years ago.

“You need to take a hard look at where you are Owen.” He said. “You’ve got obligations to that kid that you just can’t meet anymore. It ain’t all one way you know. How long do you think it’s gonna take my lawyers to ramrod through the paperwork to get him free now that you’re homeless and broke huh?”

“I’ve still got my place at FanTan. And my job. I can rebuild.”

Max shrugged. The quarter continued its trip back and forth across his hand. “For now you do. What happens if you suddenly don’t? You know what happens to former contractors who find themselves in the system? It ain’t pretty let me tell you.”

Despite how beaten down he was Owen couldn’t help bridling at that. “You keep denying you had anything to do with what happened to me and yet you talk so casually about the idea I might lose my job and my bungalow. How can you be so cavalier about ruining a person’s whole life? It’s like you don’t even care.”

Max sipped at his coffee and nodded at Brandon. “I could ask the same of you; how you can sleep at night when day after day you rape that kid you claim to care so much about?”

“That’s different! The law says I’m within my rights! And I’m good to him! Ask him yourself he’ll tell you so!”

Max rolled his eyes. “You keep him in a fucking dog kennel Owen.”

“Only sometimes.”

Well gee that made it all better didn’t it just? Jackass. “Look Owen we can sit here all day listing one another’s moral shortcomings. God knows I’ve got my share. But it’s not gonna change anything. You’re broke. You’re homeless. You’ve got no car and no medical insurance. Jesus Christ man! You couldn’t even pay for the clothes you’re wearing right now! And I’ve got a suitcase full of money and only one thing to spend it on. Now why don’t you stop pretending you’ve got a chance in Hell of winning this thing, cut your losses and let him go? Walk away while you’ve still got a few scraps of your life left.”

Owen didn’t answer right away. As much as he hated to admit it Max was right. The bungalow at FanTan was almost two hundred miles away. He didn’t have any money for accommodations in town and the one or two friends that would actually take his calls couldn’t help him. Noone wanted to risk having his bad luck rub off on them. He hated what he’d been reduced to and he placed the blame squarely on Max Kriers wiry little shoulders.

“You know,” he said finally “you claim to want what’s best for Brandon. Have you ever bothered to ask him? For all you know he’s happy here. Maybe you’re taking him away from where he really wants to be because you can’t bear the idea of what we do together.”

Max laughed out loud at that. He’d been inside Brandon’s mind seeking out the answer to that very question. If Owen had the first clue what the boy thought or felt for him he’d have sold him already. But what the Hell, if couldn’t hurt to play along.

“Fair enough. We’ll let him decide. If he wants to stay he can stay and I’ll see what I can do to get you back on your feet. If not, you quit being so obstinate. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They called Brandon over and explained the situation to him. It was only fair really. He wasn’t a child anymore and deserved a right to some say in his future. If he decided he wanted to stay things would remain as they had been between him and Mr. Chastain in most ways. Max would visit from time to time and send packages at Christmas and his birthday and probably other times as well. Owen even offered to let Brandon have some say in whether or not he served anyone but him intimately.

If Brandon decided he wanted to go with Max Owen would sign off immediately. The two of them would go back to Chicago and Brandon would go to school in the fall just like every other free kid his age. He’d have a curfew and chores and help out at the store a few hours a week for some pocket money. There’d be rules he had to follow just like when his parents were alive. But he’d be free and living with Uncle Max, not a piece of property subject to the sexual demands of some stranger .

Brandon didn’t even have to think about it. “I wanna go home.” He said. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to what he meant.

Owen felt himself crumple inside. He knew Brandon hadn’t liked most of what they did together in bed but he had been kind to him as long as he behaved. The affection he felt for Brandon was real and he had hoped that at least some of it had been reciprocated.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Owen asked. “We’ve been together three months son. We had some good times together. Remember last month when we went deep sea fishing? I really thought we’d bonded.”

“I’m not your son you fucking old pervert!” Brandon snapped. “I’m just some kid you bought and fucked in the ass whenever you wanted to. You wanna share a memory?” He was shaking now and stepped towards the table. His fists were clenched and he was starting to cry.

“How about our first night at your house huh? Remember that? Remember telling me you knew I didn’t like having sex with you and that that was part of the turn-on for you? Remember putting me on my knees in the middle of a circle of your fucking friends and you all giving me a come bath you sick fucking faggot motherfucker!!!”

Brandon threw himself at Owen then. Max did nothing to intervene. The kid needed to get some payback after what he had been through. He just grabbed the coffee carafe and got out of the way. The table went flying as Brandon went through it on his way to his soon- to- be- former owner. Brandon got his hands around Owens throat. He rode the older man to the ground and landed a few solid , cursing hits before Max grabbed him from behind and lifted him up off his feet.

“I wish you’d fucking burned to death you motherfucker!” Brandon screamed. “You hear me faggot? I wish you’d burned!”

Max carried the shouting, swearing teenager over to the pool and threw him in. It was even money whether the people staring were doing so because of Brandon’s outburst or because of how effortlessly the much smaller Max had manhandled him.

“Cool off!” Max said when Brandon came sputtering to the surface.

He walked back over to where Owen was reclaiming his chair. Brandon had done some decent work on him. A split lip and bloody nose now joined the list of the battered mans injuries.

“Well,” Max said, grinning “guess we’ve got our answer.” He gestured to one of the hotel employees who had been nearby. When they came over he asked them to bring his bag from the safe and the hotel concierge.

While they waited other employees righted the table and got a first aid kit for Owens hurts. When the concierge arrived Max explained that they needed a witness to the transfer of Brandon’s contract and she agreed to serve in that capacity. The story of the previous night’s events had flashed through the hotel grapevine in record time. It wasn’t every day they had a guest get questioned at one am over suspected arson and attempted murder. For her part, the well dressed young woman thought Owen was getting off easy. She had a brother Brandon’s age and only her sense of professionalism kept her from spitting on the battered contractor.

Max took the transfer forms from the suitcase along with a pen. He left the case open so he could access Owen’s payment easier. The amount of the transfer fee had intentionally been left blank. Max got in one final twist of the blade when he counted out fifty one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Owen.

Owen just looked at the relatively tiny pile of money in front of him. “That’s, that’s not what we agreed….” He stammered and gestured at the cash. “You’re offering me less than…”

“Less than what you paid in taxes when you initially purchased Brandon’s contract.” Max finished for him. “Yes, I am. And yes, I know; Monday I offered you one-hundred times that. Monday you had a chance to be reasonable. You decided to show me your ass instead.”

He made his own gesture at the money. “So that’s the new offer. You can take it and have me out of your life for good or you can continue to be an unreasonable asshole and see what happens.” He locked eyes with Owen, silently daring him to be stupid and reject the offer.

Owen looked away before Max did. He gave a resigned sigh. Max looked inside his head and had to restrain himself from giggling like a little kid. The bastard was completely broken! There was actually a room inside his skull where he was curled up, hugging himself and crying. Served the fucker right after everything he had put an innocent kid who had never done him a speck of harm through.

Owen took the money. Max filled in the transfer amount and all three of them signed in the designated spaces. Then Max informed Charity, the concierge that Owen would be checking out of his room immediately.

“Could you please have a car and driver take Mr. Chastain wherever he wants to go so long as it’s very far away from me and my nephew?” Max requested. “Just bill it to my room. Oh, and this is for your trouble.” He passed Charity seven one hundred dollar bills. “Please give two to the driver and keep the rest for yourself. Mr. Chastain will be along directly. He and I just need a minute alone.”

Charity disappeared and the hotel employees who had been hanging around after straightening up the mess Brandon’s tantrum had created found other things to do. Over in the pool Brandon was watching the proceedings intently. He floated in the water with his elbows and forearms on the edge of the pool. He had seen the money change hands and wanted to cheer and punch his fist in the air. Uncle Max had done it! He was going home!

Max held out his hand for Owen to shake. Their business was concluded. There was no reason to be uncivilized now. Owen nervously took the proffered hand and Max clamped down on it. He reached inside Owens head and helped himself to the man’s nascent plans for rebuilding what was left of his life. Max had plans of his own. He just wasn’t sure yet if he was going to follow through with them or not.

When Owen tried to let go Max held on. He leaned in close and pulled Owen down so that his face was next to his ear. “If you ever so much as send my nephew a Christmas card,” he whispered “I will find you and I will make a lampshade out of your skin. Then I will kill you. Understood?” A little extra grind on the nerve cluster at the base of Owen’s right thumb punctuated the remark.

Owen nodded nervously and Max let him go. “Good. Now; fuck off.”

Max turned his back on Owen then. He picked up Brandon’s contract and waved it with a grin. “So what d’you think kid? Welcome home bash with all your friends this weekend at the house?”

Brandon and Max spent the rest of the day relaxing. Max had wanted to take Brandon clothes shopping but the boy explained that Owen had done the same thing the first day after bringing him home. He didn’t want any kind of connection between how his despised former owner and his beloved uncle did things if it could be avoided. Max agreed that made sense so instead they hung out for awhile, talked, had lunch and took the Impala out to see a movie.

Max spent a few minutes on the phone updating his lawyer and getting things in motion to have guardianship of Brandon transferred over to him. It wouldn’t be difficult. Melissa had been adamant that if anything ever happened to her and Tony Max would get sole custody. Tony hadn’t thought much of his generally good-for-nothing brother-in-law but even he agreed that after himself and his wife Brandon simply did not have a more devoted champion than Max.

At one point Max inquired of Charity about the driver she had arranged for Owen. Another little green portrait of Mr. Franklin bought him an introduction to the man. Max tipped him again and grilled him on where he had taken Owen. True to the plans Max had gleaned from the defeated slaver’s mind he had asked to be taken up to FanTan, the naturist resort where he owned a bungalow and had first acquired Brandon.

It made sense really. Owen didn’t really have anywhere else to go. The resort was distant enough that Max shouldn’t bother him and there were plenty of cute indent kids around to comfort him if he decided that was what he needed. Max thanked the driver for his help and reviewed the idea he had been chasing around since first becoming aware of Brandon’s circumstances several month’s earlier.

At Max’s insistence Brandon was in bed at 11 o’clock. He had had a rough couple of days and needed his rest. There’d be plenty of time for celebrating later. Max sat up awhile watching his nephew sleep. Memories filled his mind and not just of the boy. A lifetime of always being there for his sister, always using his powers to her benefit. Whether it was looting a poker table for a years tuition money or sending some idiot with more hands than brains to the emergency room it didn’t matter. She was his little sister; two minutes his junior and the most important person he had ever had in his life.

Brandon’s birth hadn’t changed that. It had simply meant that sixteen years ago the world had acquired a second person that no rational human being wanted to harm while Max Krier lived. He sighed. Some things are just inevitable really.

Max ran a small, calloused hand over the boys hair and kissed his sleeping forehead. “You get your rest buddy.” He said quietly. “Uncle Max is gonna make it right.” Then he went to the closet and got into his flying clothes.

[Snark]

Enjoyable! It takes a bit of stretching of my suspension of disbelief; but as a reader of the old comic books the stretching wasn't too painful. A nice tale, well written. Decent editing, good character development.
Thanks for the work.

Now get back to "A Slave's Strength"!