Chapter 84 Professional.

Chapter 84: 84 Professional.

People and their mentors always seemed to have complicated relationships.

Take Casper, for example. As much as I hated the man’s guts, I couldn’t deny that he’d dragged me out of the dirt and raised me better than I probably deserved.

Of course, he had only done it so I’d spend the rest of my life working for him.

So... yeah. Complicated.

Still, between Rhea’s completely unhinged former employer, his collection of Japanese kaiju rejects, and my little arrangement with the Death Rumble, I was getting pretty good at keeping things in separate boxes in my head.

You had to be when professional villainy was your career.

Most superheroes figured that out pretty quickly. Having a secret identity alone meant learning how to switch between lives without letting one bleed into the other.

So while fighting in the Nights to dig up information on Delirium and his freakshow was obviously important, it wasn’t exactly something I could let consume my entire schedule. Bills didn’t care about mad scientists or underground monster fights.

I was a professional criminal, after all, and my rent wasn’t going to pay itself. If someone needed a villain capable of making a credible threat on short notice, I needed to be available.

It reminded me of my fight with Elastic Man, actually. The bastard had made every piece of metal I touched feel like wet jelly, completely screwing with my grip and eventually my head.

By the time I got home, I was so fucked up I could barely manage to make the trip without swerving all over the road before eventually passing out.

Apparently his powers did something to my magnetic sense. It had felt like being on a very bad acid trip.

Occupational hazard, I supposed. Though I couldn’t imagine most freelancers had to deal with getting their asses kicked by a man made of rubber or trying to catch bullets that suddenly decided to become slippery.

Regardless, work was work, which meant we still had to meet Lacey and go over the details of our upcoming clash with the Superstars.

The Omnidome looked just as impressive as I remembered it.

Built alone along the waterfront, the place resembled an enormous open-air amphitheater, with rows of seating climbing higher toward the rear while the arena itself remained exposed to the sky. It had been around since the early days of the Golden Age, somewhere between the late thirties and fifties, back when nothing boosted public enthusiasm for superhumans quite like a world war.

People apparently found it comforting to know their heroes could lift tanks and jump over skyscrapers, especially when those heroes were wearing the nation’s flag across their chests while doing it.

It became considerably easier to believe in superheroes when vampires wearing swastikas were trying to conquer the world.

These days there were far fewer openly patriotic heroes. The government still maintained its own specialized divisions, naturally, but most of the big names had gone international sometime around the seventies.

The ones who remained tended to operate without flags, symbols, or anything else that could easily identify them as government assets.

Of course, people still talked.

Terrorist cells that disappeared overnight. Foreign facilities mysteriously reduced to rubble. Whispers about government experiments involving new super-soldier formulas. The usual stuff.

I’d once had a government operative try to recruit me. Calling him a spook would’ve been generous. That man had the kind of stare that made you think he’d put a bullet in your head and feel absolutely nothing about it.

I got out of the car and glanced across the parking lot before spotting Steve’s van.

It was hard to miss the thing. Not a lot of people who weren’t pedophiles drove beat up nineties white vans.

I walked over with Psyren beside me and gave the side of the battered white van a few solid knocks with my fist. "Steve! You in there?"

There was a muffled thump from inside, followed by some movement.

Psyren tilted her head. "Is he sleeping?"

"Probably."

The rear doors suddenly opened and Steve poked his head out, sunglasses already on despite being inside a van. "Eyyyy! There they are!"

He climbed out, and that’s when I finally noticed just how much stuff was packed inside.

Blankets. Clothes. A small cooler. A pillow. Enough personal junk to make the obvious conclusion unavoidable.

I stared into the van, then back at him.

"Are you living in this thing?"

Steve shrugged as though I’d asked whether he’d had breakfast. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Most times."

I stared at him.

He grinned.

I decided I didn’t want to know.

Steve’s usual outfit hadn’t changed much. Loose trousers, oversized shirt, tinted shades, and the general appearance of an overgrown skater who had somehow wandered into adulthood without noticing.

I’d known him long enough to understand that the lazy appearance was mostly an act.

The moment he spotted Psyren properly, however, all of that disappeared.

"Eyyyy! There she is!" Steve threw his arms wide and pulled his sister into a crushing hug. "My little sister! Coming all this way for her first big villain gig! Aw, Psyren, I’m so proud of you!"

Psyren laughed and hugged him back just as enthusiastically. "Thanks, bro! It’s gonna be amazing. I know it!"

I couldn’t help smiling.

Whatever else you could say about Steve, seeing him with Psyren was actually kind of heartwarming. Considering how she usually acted, that said something.

From what I’d gathered, Steve had practically raised her. He’d even gotten her protection through the Death Rumble before she started working with me.

Not exactly the safest form of protection, but the mob protected its own, and that protection had probably saved her life. Maybe even her sanity.

There were plenty of people who would’ve loved to get their hands on a psychic as powerful as Psyren, and governments weren’t exactly excluded from that list.

There was a reason so many powerful psychics ended up on the wrong side of the law.

Survivorship bias was one hell of a thing.

Steve finally released Psyren and turned toward me with another enormous grin. "Eyyyy! And there’s my guy! My bro! My friend!"

"Oh, hell."

He came in for the hug before I could dodge.

I wasn’t exactly a physical-contact kind of person. Working in the mob had a tendency to teach you that people usually only got that close when they were about to kill you. A knife, a gun, a fist made of molten lava—whatever the method, proximity usually meant trouble.

But Steve was a good friend, so I endured it and gave him a few obligatory pats on the back.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three.

I pushed him away.

Steve stumbled backward slightly before catching himself.

"Whoof." He smelled like weed. And booze. Usually both. If I hadn’t known the man for years, I’d probably have been concerned.

"We were about to head inside," I said, jerking my thumb toward the Omnidome.

"Eyyy! Perfect. I’ve been waiting for you guys."

"How long?"

Steve pointed proudly at the van. "Slept in there."

I looked at the van again.

I had never asked where Steve lived. That had always seemed like one of those lines in the professional relationship that was better left uncrossed. His personal life was his business.

Still, considering the man made enough money to buy a mansion, voluntarily living in a beat-up van was certainly a choice.

"Glad to see you’re taking this seriously," I said.

"Why wouldn’t I?" Steve threw an arm around Psyren again. "My baby sister’s getting ready for her big day! This is huge!"

Psyren laughed and jabbed him in the ribs.

I snorted and pointed toward the entrance. "Come on. Let’s get inside."

We started toward the doors, Psyren and Steve following beside me.

As we approached, I looked over at Psyren. "Remember, we’re professionals. We’re here to do a job. Respect the heroes, respect the villains. Everybody involved wants to walk away from this without needing a hospital."

"Hey, I can be professional," Psyren protested. "Seriously."

The two of them walking together looked like the dictionary definition of white trash, so I wasn’t exactly convinced.

"Right."

"I can!" she insisted, giving me an offended sniff. "I can be completely dignified when I want to."

"Sure." I pushed open the door. "Anyway, this is mostly a meet-and-greet. We say hello, get familiar with the place, work out the plan, and establish any conditions we need beforehand. Questions?"

"Nope!" Psyren beamed. "I trust you, boss."

"Damn right you do!" Steve said. "Polaris is the best in the business, sis. You’re in good hands."

I shook my head and kept walking.

This was going to be a long day.