The Greatest American (?) Hero
Outside, Michael quickly scans the darkened alley, but James is already gone.
“I didn’t think I’d taken that long to get out here,” Michael muses. “Hmmm...Perhaps he was going for smokes. I can’t think of much else that would motivate him to move that fast.”
And now that he’s thinking of it, a pack of smokes does sound just the thing. He could wait at the hotel for James to get back then borrow from him, but he doesn’t want to seem like a stalker (nor does he want to wait that long for a smoke). Remembering that there’s a market a just a few block from the hotel, Michael decides to walk on over. He’ll get his cigarettes and have the perfect excuse for when he ‘accidentally-on-purpose’ runs into James. Perfection!
Picking his way down the dark and smelly alley is seeming less and less like a good idea with every squishy step, but Michael has never been one to let a minor detail like a bad idea stop him. All the same, he’s glad when he finally makes it to the dubious safety of the lit, though empty street. Damn! Still no sign of James. “Where could he have gone!?” Oh, well. At least Michael will soon have some cigarettes to console him.
Continuing on, it turns out the store is further away than he’d remembered. Ready for that hit of nicotine, Michael is crushed when he arrives at the store to find the windows dark. “Dammit!” he snarls. The bloody store was closed! It’s all he can do to not stomp his foot like an overgrown child. He huffs and stalks back toward the hotel, incensed that he’d walked all that way in the almost-dark for nothing. No cigarettes. And worse, no James. Where the fuck could he have gone?!
In spite of how much ground his long legs can cover, it seems to Michael that it’s taking an awfully long time to get back to the hotel and he’s growing a bit uneasy now. He can’t see any other pedestrians about, and there is only the occasional passing car to give any illusion of life to the empty streets...oh, and the footsteps of the two guys who just stepped out of the alley behind him.
Hoping against hope that they’re not going to cause him trouble, Michael continues walking (“Don’t look like a victim. Don’t look like a victim...”). But, sure enough, just as they near the next alley, they start closing in on him, their clearly-scripted routine, so cliche` that Michael has to roll his eyes in disgust, even as he knows he’s about to be robbed.
“Hey, man. That dude’s wearing an bad-ass jacket. Bet that cost some change.”
“Yeah, looks that guy might have some money on him.”
“You think, so?”
“Oh, yeah. Why don’t we ask him?”
There is a slight pause in the conversation (Michael has brief image of their starving brain cells screaming out for oxygen), then: “Hey, buddy, nice jacket. How’d you afford something like that?”
Michael ignores him and keeps walking.
“Hey! You deaf, man!? My friend just asked you a question!” They’re getting closer now. “He wants to know if you got any money on you!”
Michael’s already pissed off and just wants to get back to the hotel and go to bed—he doesn’t have the patience for this juvenile shit. He whips around and snaps: “Piss off, you fucking arseholes! Get the fuck away from me!”
Jerk 1 turns to Jerk 2 and asks in outrage, “Did you hear that? Did you hear what this faggy-sounding foreigner just said to us?”
“Yeah, I heard it! I just don’t believe he was dumb enough to say it!” Jerk 2 answers.
Regretting the words even as they come out of his mouth, Michael snarks, “I have a hard time believing this whole conversation! The least you could do it try to be a little original.”
The two thugs exchange a vicious look, and the previously ridiculous situation becomes lot less funny when he sees that they’ve flanked him and are trying to corral him into the alley. Realizing that he’s made a huge mistake in confronting them, Michael tries to run for it, but stops short when Jerk 1 suddenly pulls out a knife.
“Not such a smart-ass little faggot now, are you?” he says, grinning along with Jerk 2 at the way Michael pales.
“You, know,” Jerk 2 says, giving Michael a wink and a sickening leer, “we were just gonna take your money. Maybe rough you up a little. But since you decided to give us lip, we’re gonna really make you pay now.”
The two men have forced him back into the alley. Now, they’ve got him trapped and he’s lost his chance to get away. Really, properly scared now, he’s starting to think that he’ll be lucky to come of this with only a serious beating. As he’s psyching himself up for what’s to come, he sees a figure suddenly appear at the entrance to the alley. With the moon behind the clouds, it’s too dark for Michael to see anything about the silently-approaching figure but a general outline. Is the person friend or foe? With his luck so far, Michael doesn’t bank on the odds being in his favor.
As the mysterious figure continues to sneak up on them, Michael tries to play it cool and not alert his would-be attackers to the other’s presence. But when the clouds break and a sliver of moonlight cuts across the figure, briefly illuminating the black mask covering most of the man’s face, Michael barely manages to stifle his gasp of shock. Amore`!
Catching Michael's eye, Amore` puts a finger to his lips in a shushing motion as he sneaks up behind Jerk 2 and taps him on the shoulder. Jerk 2 turns around in surprise, and Amore` opens his clenched fist, blowing some kind of powder (‘Glitter!?’, Pixie-dust?!’) into his eyes. When Jerk 2 clutches at his face, Amore` follows with a solid hook punch to the jaw and Jerk 2 sags to the ground, unconscious.
Occupied with Jerk 2, Amore` hasn’t noticed that Jerk 1 has circled around behind him, knife raised. Michael looks up just in time to see the knife ready to come down and shouts, “Behind you!”
In one smooth motion, Amore` spins and blocks Jerk 1's arm, grabbing his knife hand, twisting his wrist to make him drop the knife, then he drops to one knee, his free hand driving into Jerk 1's groin with an uppercut so vicious that Michael winces in sympathy. When Jerk 1 doubles over, gagging, Amore` smoothly dodges out of the way and stands, bringing his other fist down on the base of Jerk 1's neck, rendering him as unconscious as his buddy, Jerk 2.
Michael just stands there, gaping like a fish, unable to believe what he’d just witnessed. “Holy shit!” he breathes. “That was fucking incredible!”
Amore’ looks up at Michael, “Are you hurt?”
Still stunned, Michael repeats: “Holy shit! That was fucking incredible!”
Amore` asks again, sounding more concerned, “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
Michael finally manages to answer, “Er...yes, yes...I’m mean, no! Er, yes! I’m alright, that is—you stopped them before they could harm me. Thank you! You saved my life. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.”
“You’re welcome,” the masked vigilante replies. “But you saved mine, too, so I guess we’re even. Now you need to call the police and report this.” He gestures at the unconscious thugs.
Michael’s strangely disappointed that a hero with a name like Amore` doesn’t have some kind of sexy accent—anything but the flat American accent with which he was addressing Michael. He doesn’t realize that he’d said it out loud, until he hears an annoyed:
“Sorry to disappoint you. And for the record, the press came up with that stupid name, not me.”
“Sorry,” Michael says, embarrassed. “I think I might be in shock.” As if to prove his point, his mouth continues running, “I did think you’d be taller, though. But it’s ok,” he adds hurriedly, when Amore`s mouth drops open in offense. “Er...I mean, there’s nothing wrong with your height...er...Oh, Jesus Christ! I’m sorry...,” he trails off awkwardly.
Though the man’s face is mostly covered, Michael doesn’t have any trouble imagining the pissed off expression under the mask. But it was true–-actually, it was more than OK. Now that the moon was fully out, Michael was able to get a decent look at his rescuer, and in his opinion, the man was the perfect height, and build. Michael’s gay-dar was pinging hard. The tight black outfit (which Michael’s still-addled brain had already dubbed ‘Magneto Chic’) showed off Amore`s lean body perfectly. And though he knows it’s just his adrenalin-fueled imagination going into overdrive, Michael somehow knew that the man’s face would be gorgeous—even though the only bit of skin exposed was the lower third of his face and jaw and a small strip of pale skin at the back of his neck, where the edge of his black knit watch cap met the top of his turtleneck.
Michael only realizes that he’s been staring when he hears a put-upon sigh and a slightly exasperated, “Would you like a picture? It’ll last longer, and give you more time to figure out what else about me you can insult.”
“Oh, my God, I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to insult you...you’re gorg...er...” thoroughly embarrassed, Michael runs his hands through his hair. “Look, this is a lot to take in. It’s not every day that a super-hero swoops in and rescues me from being robbed and possibly murdered.” He makes a weak attempt at a charming smile, “You’re not exactly catching me at my best.”
He glares at Amore`s snorted, “I should hope not.”
Looking serious now, Amore` tells him again, “Look, you need to call the police before those two idiots come-to. I recognize who you are and that you probably don’t want the press to get wind of this-–for that matter, neither do I—but those two need to be in jail where they can’t hurt anyone else.”
“I know, and I’m calling now,” Michael says, pulling out his mobile and dialing. He tells the police dispatcher what happened, and she assures him that the police are on their way. After, he tells Amore`, sincerely, “Thank you, again, for saving me.”
Amore` smiles at him (Michael’s knees go a little funny—there’s something about that smile...), “And, again, thank you for saving me. I’ve waited with you as long as I can, but I have to go now. I can’t be here when the police arrive.” He turns and walks toward the street.
Proving that he’s completely lost his mind, Michael calls after him, “What, no kiss?”
Amore` stops and turns back toward Michael, surprised. “Huh?”
“Everyone else gets their hand kissed, Amore`. I’m feeling kind of cheated out of the whole ‘super-hero experience’.”
Amore` smirks at him, “‘Everyone else’ somehow managed to not insult me multiple times within one sentence, either. But if it really means that much to you...”
He comes over, takes Michael’s hand, and bends his head to lay a soft kiss across his knuckles. Michael catches a glint of a strangely familiar blue through the eye slits of the mask, then looks down at Amore`s bent head and sees a lock of wavy chestnut hair which has escaped the confines of the watch cap. Suddenly, Michael can’t breathe. No...It can’t be...
Amore` looks up at him, mouth quirked up in a smile, “Satisfied now?”
Fortunately, the faint sound of sirens save Michael from having to speak.
Amore`s head whips around in panic. “I have to go!” he shouts.
And just like that he was gone, running into the night, leaving no trace of his presence but the echo of his rapidly fading boot falls.
As for Michael...If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now. Just as Amore` had turned to run, a breeze had kicked up and Michael had caught the unmistakable combination of gingerbread and apples. Only one person in the world smelled like that. Michael leans against the wall of the alley in shock: “James!”