Bronzeville || A Superhuman Tale - 2

Chapter Three

His two hours with Kenny Shen had been more than worth the time. She was a wonder, tough, strong, and determined. Her actual Gift was her exceptional vision, which was more acute even than Tommy's own. Not only could she perceive items at great distances and in minute clarity, but she had the ability to peer through most any solid object and clearly perceive what lay beyond. She was a veritable Heimdallr.

That was the true wonder. Most people blessed with such Gifts—what Tommy thought of as "mental" Gifts—were, on average, a little stronger and tougher than the average person, but not much more. His beloved friend Amy Lascar had been barely one-hundred and five pounds sopping wet, and not the least athletic, but once on a lark had impressed him by bench-pressing nearly 200 pounds.

When he and Kenny had begun training together soon after they met, Tommy had taken her to the gym to get an estimate of her physical limits and was shocked to see Kenny, a thirty-six-year-old widow and part-time lawyer, press just over 400 pounds, nearly four-times her body weight. The feat wasn't quite superhuman, but it was certainly prodigious. In their frequent bouts together, he had found her not just strong but quick, tough, and aggressive. She shrugged off blows that easily would've floored men more than twice her size, soaked in lessons like a sponge, and threw her punches and kicks with untempered fury. She was no Sam Babington, but she could hit really hard.

And he liked her ... liked her a lot. She was one of the blessings he had seen so many of in the last year: a true, honest gem of a person. And he blushed even now as he walked down the street toward his lunch meeting with Camille, thinking of Rhonda's jibe earlier. He indeed had enjoyed a slight twinge of jealousy at Rhonda's growing friendship with Kenny, but he also saw the bond that had sprouted between them.

Now, more than ever, he was happy the two had such a friendship.

As Tommy reached his destination, a Cuban place about fifteen blocks from Camille's precinct house, he looked up the see the young detective by the front door.

"You're early," he said.

"I am," she replied. "We're slammed today, and I can't stay long. I wanted to make sure I got here and ordered." She looked at her watch and noted, "You're a half hour early yourself.'

"Yeah, I try to be. Anyway, I was down this way with a friend."

The lunch rush was still twenty minutes away, so they took the seats they liked.

"To start," said Camille from a seat facing the door, "thank you for once again saving my life. I don't know what you were doing up there, but I'm glad you were."

Tommy laughed. "I stick around and watch the festivities, sometimes. You guys are wicked good at what you do."

"Not the other night, no," she said emphatically.

"I saw the news this morning," argued Tommy, looking at her sideways. "That was a major coup ... scads of very bad men dead or in custody, crates of military-grade weapons seized."

"Oh, no," the young detective replied, "the operation as a whole ended in a smash ... well, mostly. Chief of D's came by this morning, Commissioner called, even the DA swung by for a handshake. Everyone wants a piece of this ... oh," she continued excitedly, "and the FBI kids are pissed they didn't get in on it ...."

Camille began laughing, only to raise her hand slightly to answer the quizzical look he gave. "But Mueller tore me a new asshole for hitting the roof without backup ... and he was right. If you hadn't been up there, the headline wouldn't be 'Camille Thomas, two-fisted badass that ran down two terrorists.' It would have been 'officer killed in rooftop gun battle, story at ....'"

Her story was interrupted by the server who took their order.

"Hey, don't let this guy have the check," she told the retreating server. "Anyway, it wasn't perfect. We stopped our recon after finding the guys in 409. There was another bunch of them, some Russian friends of theirs, in 509, right upstairs."

Tommy gave a guilty look and a faux cough. "Sorry about that," he whispered apologetically.

"Hey, we never would've found that building without you, Tommy," she again halted him. "Things are sometimes unpredictable. We made a plan on what we knew, and it turned out well. No civilians hurt, two officers treated and released, and nine very bad men off the street ... including that guy you bitch-slapped," she said, lowering her voice and moving closer, "who had a INTERPOL Red Notice on him."

"You're pretty excited, aren't you?" he teased the detective.

"I really am. I'm sorry." The young woman could no longer suppress her laughter. "I talk a lot when I'm this way."

Their sandwiches soon arrived, and as they ate, Camille continued to talk. "Look, um ...," she said between bites, "can I maybe ask another favor?"

He looked back at her with a slight smile. Both Eric and Camille were respectful of his time and only asked his help when the issue was important and they were in a bind. "Camille, you were there for me and mine when I needed it. I'll always be there for you, especially since you are one of mine now."

"Ohhh ...," was her only reply.

He thought she might tear-up but headed it off.

"Camille, anything. What do you need?"

"Okay," she said, her voice gentle and still emotional, "remember that warehouse when we first met? ... the one that Chinese guy led us to?"

"Sure," said Tommy, "Gon, the guy from near Hong Kong, came to the states with a brother and sister. Neither had seen the sister since they arrived."

"Yeah," she said excitedly. "I think that might be part of this whole story. We've just opened a case with the feds and couple of other cities on human trafficking. A few days ago, I noticed that warehouse on a list of places to be surveilled. After some research, I found the same company that owns that warehouse owns four properties in Chicago. I can't get any real response from the CPD detective on the Chicago end, so I was hoping ...." She hesitated.

"What? That I'll run by and take a look? ... absolutely. Easy as falling off a turnip truck," he drawled.

"Well, I know it's your vacation ...."

"Nah, it's not a vacation," he protested. "I'm going for real work."

"Well," she smiled, "it is you and Sam getting together ...."

Tommy smiled back, sighed, and rolled his head and eyes skyward. He wanted to shout a dramatic 'et tu brute', but settled for a deflated, "Have you been talking to Rhonda?"

A laughing Camille nearly choked on her sandwich.