Sunday Morning

The market is one big contradiction. There’s so many places to hide- under the tables of cakes and breads, between the little stands of fruit. On Saturdays when the store is packed, there’s even enough room to cram into the freezer cases. And because you’re probably wonder, I did it once, and don’t recommend it.1

At the same time that there are so many dark niches, it’s all brightly lit, with cameras and mirrors galore. I can see myself in the curved metallic structure above me, body elongated and strangely curved around it’s bowl. Distracted, I reach into the salad wall blindly, not really caring if I grab a bag of all greens or mixed with old cabbage and carrots.2

I do, however, care very much that I’ve grabbed a wrist. Babbling apologies, I turn to see who I’ve bumped into, and suddenly wish I’d stayed at home to watch the Hogan Knows Best marathon.3

“Ah … Keith Johnson.”4

I grimace. “Von Dreadnaught.”5

He grimaces, too. After years of wearing his ridiculous mask, the top half of his face is clear of freckles, scars, and has a sort of boyish elasticity to it. No crows feet, at least. The bottom half of his face is hideous, simply hideous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Half of it is the color of milk, and the rest looks like an animal had chewed on it at some point. I tear my eyes away, using my guilt as leverage as I recall the acid I threw on him, and the dogs the police had released.6

“I don’t go by that anymore,” he mumbles conversationally, stuffing a plastic bag of leaves in his basket. “I changed it back after a couple weeks of therapy. My group showed me that I was actually telling people not to dread me, and … well. It’s just plain old Arthur Von Kress now.”7

It was off putting to see him this way, in a polo, jeans, and generally not batshit insane. I smile weakly, commenting that it was a nice name, and pretend to be very interested in the salad dressings. After a moment, he nods and says, “Well. It was nice to see you again, Keith. Stay, uh, in touch. I guess.”8

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not listed,” I tell Arthur Von Dreadnaught-Kress, picking at my nails. “So, y’know …”9

He nods in understanding. “Yeah, well. See you.”10

“See you … “ I shrug him off, feeling sick, and bustle to the cereal isle.11

I pass the Kashi and the Total, stopping in front of my savior. The Captain Crunch Crunch Berries are calling to me, and after my embarrassing encounter, I grab two of the big boxes. One of them will be my lunch and dinner today, I decide.12

There’s a high chuckle from behind me. “Keith, if you eat like that, you’ll loose your great ass.”13

I wheel around, suppressing a whimper. This isn’t actually happening, is it? Have I walked into the Twilight Zone? For a second, I ignore everything else around me, trying to hear Rob Serling giving my introduction from the next isle over, or maybe through the PA system.14

But Blacksoul is in my face, winking at me. Her top is as low cut as ever, only now it’s a cotton blend rather than PVC. I notice she’s had her creepy beauty mark removed. Good for her.15

“B-blacksoul … It’s … great to see you … “16

She chuckles again, and breaks it off just before it turns into a cackle. “Yeah, you, too. What’ve you been up to, big boy?”17

Nervously, I put my hand to my hip, feeling surreptitiously for my gun. But I don’t have it. Of course I don’t. I’m in track sweats and a hoodie. It’s Sunday morning. I am shopping for freaking Crunch Berries, for God’s sake!18

Setting my jaw, I stand up straighter, trying t make myself taller. Sad truth is, I’m always towards the front of photos, and Blacksoul is wearing these kinky spiked things. I have an inkling that they’re shoes, but I have a hard time looking away from her chest long enough to double check.19

“I’m good,” I tell her, not wanting to give too much away. “Thongs- no, things. Things are good. You?”20

She shrugs and reaches over my head, pulling a box of Cheerios from the shelf. “I’m good, too,” she tells me, playing with the box. She slips a long nail under the tab and rips it back, and suddenly the thin scars on my back are throbbing. I remember her nails well. She hands the box to me. “Can you open the bag? I can never get it.”21

The plastic rips easily, and I raise my eyebrow. I’ve seen the woman cannonball through a wooden fence, and have a lot of doubts she’d have any trouble opening her Wheaties.22

She smiles and takes the cereal back, slipping a long hand in. “The nails make it difficult,” she giggles, slipping a Cheerio between her lips. I don’t know if anyone else in the world has a cereal fetish, but I know I do now.23

I clear my throat, shifting positions. “So … So are you still working for mad billionaires?”24

“Nah,” Blacksoul sighs, sticking the box back onto the shelf. “After you blew up Avery’s mansion, I decided it was time for a change of pace. I work as a dental assistant now.”25

I’m a little surprised, but it’s pleasant. Smiling, I nod. “That’s good. I’m glad for you.”26

She smiles, too, adjusting her blouse. “Yeah. It feels nice to be working clean for once. No guns to my head and all.” She returns to her cart and looks back. “So, uh, hey. Maybe we could get together sometime? I’d love to talk more.”27

I hesitate, unsure, and slowly warm up to the idea. “Yeah. That’d be … That’d be nice.”28

“Okay. I’m listed under Danika Mason. Call me sometime,” she says, walking her cart to the end of the isle. She blows a kiss as she turns the corner, and I reach out to catch it, only half aware of what I’m doing.29

Flustered, I snatch another box of Crunch Berries from the shelf. This one is for the car ride home.30

Storming out into the main floor of the store, I swing around in a circle, checking all around me for any more old foes. I’m like a fish out of water. The carpet has been pulled out from under me. If my supervisor was dead, he’d be doing gymnastics in his grave.31

I’ve been a special agent for a few years now, nothing to brag about. I’ve seen my fair share of crazy goose chases, diabolical men and women of questionable sanity, and one or two near-Armageddons. Stupid gadgets, big ass guns, and sweet cars. Crappy disguises, crappier partners, and the crappiest of situations were all under my belt. I’d been wired, shot, tied up, threatened, awarded, forgotten, and once I was dropped into the ocean after crashing through a windshield when my car hit a tree. In Atlanta, a family was still mourning because their daughter’s boyfriend died tragically just a week ago. My hand was still tender from the water IV the fake paramedic’s had haphazardly shoved under my skin.32

But this. Today. Sunday morning. A morning that should have been filled with TV and guilt over not going to church and maybe some Hulk Hogan was the weirdest, most bizarre morning of my life. And I’ve woken up naked in a field covered in printer ink before. That was during my college years.33

Taking a huge calming breath, I step out of the way of a particularly old lady with her cart of cat food, and look into my basket. It looks like I’ve got everything except for toilet paper, so I make a bee line for the other side of the store.34

I coast down the row of toiletries, glancing at the deodorants for a minute after remembering I’m almost out. I find the Gillette, but pause, having seen the Axe. I hate the stuff, because, personally, I don’t want people to know I’m coming from a mile off. It’s a bit of a work hazard. But I enjoy the idle fantasy of having my clothing torn off by a dozen women in bikini’s and tennis outfits. Danika “Blacksoul” Mason’s there too, dressed in the same silk robe she tried to kill me in.35

“Having the Axe fantasy?”36

I almost attack, ripped out of my dream and back into the nightmare. I relax the tension in my arms, only to have it travel into my chest. As I realize who’s spoken to me, all of the blood in my body crowds into my heart, and the organ shuts off, leaving my empty and numb.37

Dr. Hatelove.38

Possibly my most dangerous enemy. I don’t have to ask myself what she’s doing here, though. There was a place and time when we would have shrugged off all other duties to visit the market on Sunday morning. Afterward, we’d take everything home, and then have brunch in the café two blocks from the apartment. Sunday was always our favorite day, and it made sense that it was ground into both of our systems.39

I nod in answer to her question, tight lipped. “Yeah. It’s a favorite.”40

Hatelove laughs, leaning to her left. “Oh, I know. Remember when those commercials first came out? You left the TV on in the bedroom for a week.”41

“Heh.” I drop the Gillette into my basket and try to suppress the memories of that week. I wonder what’s running through her head. I wonder if she feels sorry for the bomb she planted at the center of my life. I wonder if she was always a double agent.42

“So.” Hatelove lets the word dangle in the air, fishing for me to continue.43

But I’ve been reeled in before, and I know that hooks only lead to near death experiences and a lip piercing you never meant to get. Hatelove sighs, folding her arms. She’s got nothing on her, no basket or cart, and I start looking around for her henchman. Maybe he’s got the groceries. But besides a sweaty man and his sever looking wife, I don’t see anyone besides us.44

“Okay, look, Keith.” Hatelove reaches out and squeezes my arm, her smile slipping. “Okay … I know we didn’t part on good terms. And I know that was my fault, but … Well, we’re both adults, and I think it’s important we put the past behind us.”45

I glance down at her hand resting on my arm, and look away just as fast. She’s got a chunk of flashy rock on her ring finger.46

She catches me. “We’re getting married on December 17. Keith, I want you to be there with me.”47

“I was, Lacey!” I whisper harshly. “The first time you walked down the aisle.”48

She runs a hand through her hair. It’s cut short, up by her ears. I’ve never seen it above her shoulders. Hatelove turns away, wiping her eyes, and then spins back. “This isn’t the place for this.” She sighs again, this time in defeat. “Alright, Keith. Uhm. If you decide you want to come … or just talk about things … call me. Okay?”49

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.” But I won’t. It’s a lie, and we both know. She leans in for a hug, and I almost do , too, but then we just turn away, walking in different directions. She has a fiancee to find, and I need to decide on two-ply or four-ply.50

I grab the toilet paper and head to the registers, placing my life on the black conveyor belt and watching the teenager behind the counter figure it out. Some fruit, bag of salad, a couple of microwave meals, way too much cereal, milk, deodorant, my scruffy beard bed head and the odd tan line on my finger, and a four pack of Charmine.51

She bags it up and I run my card through the debate slot, punching in my number. It’s the year Hatelove and I met, and I gotta remember to change it. Maybe to the year I was accepted into the service and my life went to shit.52

Leaving the basket in the stack by the register, I head out to the parking lot, when I see them. Von Kress-Dreadnaught and “Blacksoul” Mason are laughing together by the potted plants not five feet from the door, purchases at their feet. I think about dodging around them and hightailing it to my car, but something stops me. I find myself thinking back to the crazy people they used to be, of their plans and how I wreaked them, messing up whatever future they had envisioned.53

It hits me hard, but that how all of the good lessons should hit: square in the jaw, leaving you sprawling on the ground in amazement.54

“Hey. Hey, Art, Danika.”55

They look up, eyes wide. As surprised and unguarded as I felt. Danika smiles. “Hey, Keith.”56

“Get everything you needed?” Arthur asks, putting his hands in his pockets.57

I look at my bags and nod, smiling slowly. “Yeah, I think so. I probably forgot about something, though.”58

Arthur shrugs. “Happens to the best of us.”59

“Yeah.” I look out to the parking lot, searching for my car even though I know full well where it is. “Hey, listen. Do you two want to grab brunch?”60

They don’t answer for a moment, and it coaxes me to glance at them. They stare at each other, and then laugh. “We were actually just thinking about doing that,” Danika laughs, picking up her bags.61

“The café on Third and Booker?”62

“Sounds great,” they say together. “I just have to take these home,” Arthur says. “I’ve got ice cream. How about in twenty minutes?”63

We start walking to the parking lot. I say, “Yeah, I have milk. And I need to make a quick call.”64