George Martin - Lowball

Back in the bullpen, Franny located his desk. It backed up to another desk, which belonged to Michael Stevens. The cops at the station loved to gossip and leer about Stevens-two live-in girlfriends and ace daughter. And I can’t even get a date, Franny thought. SlimJim McTate gave him an encouraging smile and handed him a file. “Here’s the list of missing jokers.”

Franny had just started to look through them when he became aware of someone staring at him. He looked up to find Apsara Na Chiangmai standing at the side of his desk, smiling down at him. Apsara was the file clerk for the precinct, and the most beautiful girl Franny had ever seen. Dark hair hung to her curvaceous ass, and her oval face had skin as smooth and perfect as old ivory. He’d tried to ask her out back when he first started work at the Five, only to be turned down. It had been done with charm and a smile, but it had still been a shutdown. Now here she was. She drew in a deep breath, preparing to speak, which thrust her amazing rack almost into his face. “Detective Black, I wanted to offer you my congratulations,” she said in fluting tones.

“Ah … oh … thanks.”

“Would you like to ask me out?”

“Ummmm…”

by Mary Anne Mohanraj

Detective Michael Stevens walked into the Jokertown precinct and paused, blasted by noise that didn’t help his pounding head. It had been a shitty day even before he came into work. Michael had woken with a raging hard-on, but he’d somehow slept through his alarm. Both of his girlfriends were already up and dressed, and his daughter was up too and hollering for her breakfast, so there was no chance of persuading one of the women to come back to bed, even if he hadn’t been late. And then Minal had gotten distracted by Isai pissing all over the kitchen floor, so the eggs had gotten overcooked, and if there was one thing Michael hated, it was dry eggs. Also, piss on his kitchen floor. Isai was supposedly done with potty training, but sometimes, she got distracted. He’d finally escaped the family drama and taken the subway to work, jammed between a guy covered in spikes and a woman who smelled like rotted meat. Michael had entered into the precinct with a sigh of relief, only to be greeted by this wave of noise slamming at him, like a steel spike jackhammering on his head.

Not a wild card-powered wave, just the normal morning frenzy at Fort Freak. What you’d expect in a station where a handful of underfunded cops tried their damnedest to keep the peace in an increasingly strange and difficult borough of New York City. Perched on the front desk, where she had no business being, Apsara leaned over, making sure that the desk sergeant had a full view of her generous assets. Hey, sweetheart. Got something for me? Her voice loud enough to carry over the noise. Darcy the meter maid was just leaving the room, thankfully-he didn’t need to hear her ranting about law and order and a civil society again.

Sure, that was why Michael had become a cop, to protect and serve. In the deepest parts of his soul, that desire was what pulled him through his days, the need to be a great cop, to prove himself. He’d grown up watching his folks struggle just to make ends meet; he’d promised himself that someday he’d have a job that was more than just a way to put food on the table and clothes on your back. Michael had never loved school, but he’d gritted his teeth and plowed through. He’d spent late nights over his books at the scarred Formica table in his mother’s kitchen, while she cooked bi bim bop and they waited for his dad to come home from his second job. Michael’s folks had skipped vacations, skipped meals, even skipped Sunday church sometimes because they were embarrassed by their threadbare clothes. Clothes they hadn’t replaced because the money had gone to pay for Michael’s grammar school uniforms, his high school books, his college application fees.

He owed them so much that it stuck in his throat, love and gratitude tangled up with resentment. Michael had been determined to pay them back for it, and eventually he had, at least a bit. When he’d made detective, the pay bump had been enough that he could finally put the down payment on a condo for them, and help them out every month with the mortgage. He’d worked as hard as he could to rise above, to be better than everyone else-a better student, a better cop, and now, a better detective. Michael Stevens was determined to be the best damn cop on the force. But unlike Darcy, he didn’t need to talk about it all the time.

The door banged open and a kid scuttled in, shrieking. Really shrieking, in a voice pitched three octaves above normal. The hammering in Michael’s head escalated along with it, and he fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands. That wouldn’t look professional, but damn, if someone didn’t shut that kid up-oh, thank God. Beastie had him, and was covering that horrible mouth with one warm furry paw. There were days when Michael wondered why he didn’t just walk away from all the crazy here. He was a nat-untouched by the virus, at least so far. After the success they’d had a few years ago in taking down the Demon Princes, he could have transferred to any other city he wanted, left the freaks and weirdos behind to protect normal citizens instead. Michael could have risen through the ranks, become a captain, maybe more. He’d thought about going to D.C., applying to join the CIA or SCARE. But in the end he’d chosen to stay in Jokertown.

Michael slipped a hand into his jacket pocket to reassure himself that it was still there-yes. The visible manifestation of his reason for staying. A small red velvet box, holding a bit of captured sparkle-two of them, in fact. One box with two rings, for the two women who drove him crazy on a nightly basis. They were the ones who held him here-one joker girlfriend, one ace, both of them happy to share him, which was perhaps the strangest of all the strangenesses in his life. Minal, with tiny nipples that covered her torso, front and back-she looked ordinary enough when dressed, and walking the street, she could pass for normal. But her wild card burned within her, and just a brush against her torso was enough to set her simmering. No wonder she’d been such a popular hooker, back when she’d made her living walking the streets. Any other woman would have been insanely jealous. But his girlfriend Kavitha just smiled and dragged Minal off to bed, sometimes inviting him along. Maybe it was her ace powers that made Kavitha so self-confident?

When she danced, her brilliant illusions turned real enough to walk on, real enough to fight with. They’d learned that the hard way, two years ago, when their daughter had been kidnapped by a Jokertown gang. Kavitha had been a pacifist-she still was, in most ways. She did work for the Committee on occasion now, always stipulating that she would only use her powers for peaceful endeavors. But Kavitha had fought like a tiger that day, when their daughter was at risk. Michael didn’t know if being an ace had anything to do with her welcoming attitude toward Minal; he was just grateful. In another city, their family would have garnered way too much attention. In Jokertown, Minal was just one freak among thousands, and their threesome was unconventional, but more the kind of thing that got you harassed by your buddies, rather than got you fired.

Besides, where else would they raise their ace daughter? Where else could Isai fly free when she transformed into a giant creature with the body of a lion, the head of an eagle, and a wingspan wider than six parked cars? Cleveland? Last year, Isai had started kindergarten, and had become the public school’s problem for seven straight hours of the day-and somehow, the school had coped, which was a minor miracle in itself. Michael didn’t know how they’d manage otherwise, with Minal finally in culinary school, and Kavitha performing most nights and leaving town periodically for the Committee’s bizarre projects.