The Legacy of Eros - Dark Son Ch. 02

"Ain't that the damn truth," she allowed.

"I'd better warn you right now, I'm no feminist," I leaned in and told her softly.

"You don't think I deserve as much as one of my male counterparts earns?" she studied me intently.

"No; you deserve to be paid as much as the market will bear. The crime where you are concerned is that fans don't line up in the same droves to watch you as they do the men of the League despite you winning more games and titles. The same goes for endorsements."

"That's a rather critical answer."

"I'm not here to win brownie points, Ms. Figueroa," I pressed on. "I'd rather be despised for being honest than lauded for my ability to mangle the truth."

"Cheers to that then," she nodded.

"What are you two saluting to?" Kyle showed up.

"To honesty. We both think it isn't something we see very often," India explained.

"To honesty," Kyle toasted then we all drank. A hostess came by and exchanged our empty champagne glasses for full ones then moved along. We three engaged in some meaningless small talk until Louise Dresser came our way.

"Hey gang. Are you getting along okay?" she blessed us with her dazzling dentistry.

"Is there going to be a minimum bid for tonight's auction?" I tangled her up.

"Ah ... I don't know," her smile became brittle. "Worried about ... yourself?"

"Damn right. In comparison to Mr. Football hero and Ms. Cuteness, I figure I'll be going for pocket change. Rather humiliatingly so."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Stud," Louise let some emotion seep back into her facial expressions. "You are an up-and-comer in International Business Finance - a real catch."

"Now he knows how I feel," India jibed.

"Damn Skippy," I winked at India ... who giggled.

"Come on now you three," Louise pretended to feel aggrieved, "this can be a pretty good time if you just let it." And so it was. Mind you, Barry Bushnell was an egotistical ass - the direct opposite of Kyle. Aaron was a big believer in Aaron and otherwise was rather boring. Superficially, Ms.'s Feldman and Pierre thought the Sun rose and set on themselves as did Mr. Ping.

While Inez Neustadt was rather gloomy initially, she gravitated into our orbit as the safest place to be herself. She even lightened up a little, seeing as how none of us were hitting on her (she was incredibly beautiful).

"What do your significant others think of this nonsense?" was her first heartfelt question.

"We'll see," I shrugged.

"Not a fan," Kyle nodded sagely. "She didn't want me to come."

"I'm going solo so far this year," India confessed. "You?" to Inez.

"I'm going solo now too," she responded glumly. "With my hours ... it is kind of tough to get and keep a decent partner."

"I've heard things on the streets are heating up?" I wandered into dangerous territory.

"You could say that," Inez scrutinized me. "On one hand you've got the various criminal gangs with all their leaders wanting to be the next Kori Ivankov and on the other you have a host of costumed wackos showing up and busting everyone's heads. It is a mess."

"I bet it is a mess with tons of overtime hours too," Kyle commiserated.

"Oh God, yes," Inez sighed. "And it is only a matter of time before that violence spills over into the realm of innocent civilians' lives."

"How close were you to bringing Mr. Ivankov down?" Kyle beat me to the punch - thankfully.

"From what I've heard from the Federal Marshals, they had Kori's latest ex-girlfriend ready to spill her guts on Kori and a legion of his associates. They had a real convincing case too."

"They can still go after his associates though, right?" India wondered.

"Now it will be a bloodbath as - I hate to say - they don't know which cops are legit and which ones are on the take ... to another mobster," Inez shook her head. "You have family in this city?" was aimed at India.

"Yeah, though I've helped them move out of Portlandia and to a nicer abode uptown near St. Michael's (Cathedral)," India replied.

"Portlandia is rough," I mused. It was as bad as Brocton in some ways as it combined a decaying warehouse district with several low-income housing complexes. It wasn't quite the warren created by a lack of urban planning from a hundred years ago (aka Brocton), but it compensated by housing as many poor people in one area as possible.

"What do you know about Portlandia, College-boy?" Inez asked while India eyed me.

"International Business Finance is more than just created shell companies for the rich to hide their ill-gotten booty," I elaborated. "It is also about how one rehabilitates the poorer and neglected parts of any city, or even nation."

"Gentrification," India glared. Clearly not a favorite word of hers.

"Poe-tay-toe - Poe-ta-toe," I rolled my shoulders. "You find it really difficult to create better schools without some sort of urban revitalization - gentrification - plan. You need to create an environment where small businesses feel safe and have the client base to succeed. Hate it if you want, but the theory works in practice."

"For the rich developers maybe," Inez poured on the unhappy.

"For the small business owners who aren't facing extortion, theft and vandalism on a weekly basis," I countered. "You create a better small business base and you will see better, more community-proactive schools."

"Hey, let's talk about a less onerous topic ... like gun control," Kyle jumped in to save me from the ladies. Not so stunningly, while us guys were for more lax gun laws, the ladies were all for banning handguns ... and anything bigger. At least it got us off the topic of bashing my legitimate career path. It turned out India had never fired a firearm before, but had lost a cousin to gun violence - thus her stance.

All three of us offered to take her to a gun range, which was rather hilarious as we did it simultaneously. India agreed to contemplate the offers while Inez gifted us with a bit of praise.

"You guys really aren't a bunch of assholes," she appeared to be surprised. Sensing our confusion, she added, "Since you are all Alpha-types, I figured you would be more like Aaron, or 'The Brush'." She hadn't met Mr. Ping yet.

"Thanks ... I think," Kyle chuckled.

"Oh, I can be an asshole," I grinned. "To see the scintillating parts of my character you have to piss me off first - really get under my skin."

"Like what? Your invisible family no one talks about?" she skewered me.

"No. I don't talk about my family so there is nothing to annoy me about when people joke, pursue, or create stuff off the cuff about them. I don't talk about them and that's that."

"I can understand that ... though it leaves me curious as to what happened between you three," Kyle interjected.

"I'm sure for an ace detective like Ms. Neustadt it has to be a mystery she wants to solve though," he finished up.

"Why don't you want to talk about your family?" India sallied forth.

"Mom is dead - murdered. Dad is in prison for a long time, but not for the murder of my Mother. There is nothing else to discuss," I gave up the bare bones.

"Your real name - your birth surname - isn't 'Haven' is it?" Inez probed.

"I'll let you figure that out and - oh look, they want us for something," I evaded.

"Yeah," Kyle rescued me yet again. "The crowd must be ..."

"The mob ...," India joked.

"The mob must be getting restless," Kyle concluded so off we went to be introduced to the larger Megalopolis High Society crowd.

[~]

We were introduced. They gave out our vitals along with our occupation and real, or prospective, salaries. Then the bidding began with the caution to not make the 'purchased' (aka the ten of us) do anything naughty. Ah-ha ...

By democratic process, I was chosen to go last (of the men and last overall) while India went last of the women. Kyle and Ms. Feldman went first for their perspective genders.

How rich was this crowd? Bidding for a weekend with the appropriate Rube started at ... $10,000 and went up, up, up. Normally I would have been filled with trepidation, fearing I wouldn't even get one bid. I'm handsome, but hey, I never thought I was worth ten grand-handsome. I shouldn't have worried.

In the crowd I spotted Angelheart / Skye Steiner, dressed to the '9's and getting all kinds of attention ... and missing most of it. She didn't bid on any of the other eight so I figured I wouldn't be utterly humiliated (though I wasn't aware of Skye having a huge bankroll).

In the first eight, 'The Brush' garnered the most at a $108,000 after an intense bidding war between a rich matron and a couple of gay artistes. Aaron went for the least at $17,000 (Bwahahaha!), but I was looking to bust his record (get even less). Unfortunately, the crowd seemed to realize at India they were staring down the last two contestants and the bidding began to accelerate.

Mind you, India was very attractive (cute even) with a divinely sculpted ass and muscular thighs (which she exhibited through a daringly stylish slash in her evening gown. She garnered $54,000 ~ second only to Ms. Dresser by eleven thousand. Then it was my turn. For a split second I had the sensation no one was going to bid. There was utter silence.

At which point this female oncologist from the city made the opening bid, much to the amusement of her girl posse. The next bid came two seconds later. Before I realized what had happened, I was going for $52,000 ... then $55K.

"One hundred thousand," came a bid from the back. I had to track down the voice ... and my blood froze. Even at this distance I could tell the bidder had the most gorgeous sapphire eyes.

Skye, who had been silent up until now raised her hand.

"One hundred and ten thousand," she announced boldly.

"One hundred and fifteen thousand," the oncologist simply wouldn't give up.

"Two hundred thousand," Sapphire eyes (aka Theresa 'Terry' Markov aka Princess Penumbra) declared with authority.

"What the fuck?" Bushnell cursed, forgetting his lapel mic was still active. "Who is this guy?"

What an arrogant turd.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand," Skye tried to look through the crowd to see who the competition was. At this point I knew she was playing with either Golden Boy's, or the Night Watchman's, money. I didn't know who the second guy was in real life, but he was loaded ... maybe as loaded as Golden Boy.

"Half a million," Terry glared virulent hate through the crowd toward Skye. The crowd stilled then began to mutter ominously.

"Five hundred and ten thousand," a third female joined the fray. She hadn't bid on anyone either up until now.

Skye was on her earpiece, desperately pleading for ... something ... more money maybe?

"Five twenty-five," Terry was fearless and resilient.

"Five fifty," from the other lady. I scanned her through my glasses, but she read as normal. I was suddenly skeptical.

"Six hundred thousand," Skye bleated. She was clearly at the end of her financial tether.

"Seven hundred and fifty," Terry glared hate at both her competitors.

"One million," the strange lady didn't miss a beat, or a second. There was another hush.

"Well, it seems we've made our first milestone in the first hour of this Charity event," the announcer proclaimed. "Are there any other bidders?"

Skye looked at me imploringly. Terry looked darkly volcanic. Neither spoke.

"With a one million dollar bid, we award Mr. Haven to ..."

"Ms. Boniface Franklin," the lady proclaimed in a rather regal tone. There was definitely more going on here than met the eye.

[THE ESTEEMED MS. BONIFACE FRANKLIN]

Despite her awesome rack, the mature, raven-haired Ms. Franklin was going with a silk turquoise, off the shoulder evening gown ... with the inappropriate, up-to-the hip slit on the right side. Yes - her boobs defied gravity, which was the clearest sign of a metahuman woman there ever was and despite my glasses reporting her as a 'normie' woman ... until I got within ten feet.

At that range my glasses suddenly scrambled (as if passing through the disruptor field's active range) and began reporting the super-powered women before me. Sadly, inside this range I couldn't get access to my Father's database of known and suspected metahumans. All I could go on was the information before me.

It wasn't good news. Rather, it was really, really bleak news. There was nothing 'fancy' about Ms. Franklin. She had super-dense flesh, flight (level undetermined) and a quantum field which coalesced around her hands. The super-dense flesh meant hyper-strength and damage resistance (levels undetermined).

"Greetings Reynard," she addressed me in an imperious tone. "Though we've never met, I feel I've known you my entire life." She extended a hand my way so I stopped, bowed and kissed the proffered knuckles.

"What?" I faux-gasped. "Are you saying we passed one another in the same kindergarten class?"

"Hahaha," she chortled. "I'm older than I look, Reynard ... Haven." I didn't like the way she drew out my last name either.

"You certainly spent enough money on me - for charity - so where would you like to begin?"

"We have all weekend, though I understand I have to keep you here until midnight and then drop you off at the second round of events tomorrow at eleven in Municipal Park," she reminded me of my scheduled itinerary.

"Here doesn't mean we can't go out on a balcony for some semi-secluded time, I offered.

"Why, Mr. Haven, are you being fresh?"

"No, Ms. Franklin. I'm simply being curious why you would expend so much money on a man you've never met and who has never heard of you - before tonight."

"The money is a perk of my profession - I'm in International Relations with the United Nations. I've got more money than I know what to do with and this charity is as good as any other. As for you - I feel I know more about you than you feel comfortable discussing out here in the open," she gave me a side glance as she moved us through the crowd.

"Haven," a woman stepped in the way of our progress and put a hand to my chest. "I'll get you next time." It was Terry.

"Young lady, you don't have what it takes to play in my league," she looked down her aquiline nose at Princess Penumbra.

"Oh, you think so?" Terry grew combative.

"She knows so ...," I intervened.

"Do you know her?" Terry demanded.

"Never met her before this evening," I dissuaded Terry of 'us' having any relationship I was aware of.

"I take it you two know each other though," Ms. Franklin scanned us both.

"He's just the asshole who broke my heart," Terry seethed.

"And just who would you be?" Ms. Franklin regarded Terry.

"Theresa Markov."

"Ooohhh," she let her gaze wander back to me before returning to Terry. "A thank you - from both of you - would seem to be in order."

"I'd thank you," I addressed Ms. Franklin, "but I'm not afraid of Theresa. I'm starting to be afraid of you though."

"You got between me and MY MAN, so you're not getting any thanks from me either ... and why does SHE (Ms. Franklin) scare you when I don't?" Terry grumbled.

And then Skye showed up ...

"Reynard, are you okay?" she inquired.

"As 'okay' as I can be in the given situation," I forced a grin onto my face.

"Don't you even start ...," Terry seethed anger towards Angelheart.

"And who are you again," Ms. Franklin asked of Skye.

"I'm Skye Steiner also known as Angelheart," she announced with some heat.

"And has he broken your heart as well?" from Ms. Franklin.

"NO! He's my boyfriend!"

"One does not exclude the other," Ms. Franklin sagely pointed out.

"Reynard, do you know this woman?" from Skye this time around.

"No, and the more she is NOT adjusting to the turns in this conversation is worrying me and should be worrying you two," I tried to reason with the two younger women.

"Wait ... are you a metahuman? You don't scan as a metahuman," Skye whispered to the three of us. "Do you have some sort of life scan screen?"

"What makes you think I'm a metahuman?" Ms. Franklin fibbed perfectly.

"Yeah, she is," I coughed, "and she has got some pretty impressive screens up too."

"You think so?" Ms. Franklin rounded fully on me, eyes alight.

"I know so," I muttered.

"Are you in danger?" Skye requested of ... me perhaps?

"I'm not in any danger," Ms. Franklin declared. "I think you two need to back up and let this encounter play out without any of your antics ruining the evening ... for me, or anyone else here."

"Skye - Terry - just so we are clear; EVERY ONE of us has a secret identity we need to keep under wraps ... starting with you two. I can handle this," (meaning my date with Ms. Franklin) which was a lie.

"I'll be close by," Angelheart pledged.

"I will too," Terry promised as well. Like that couldn't lead to disaster.

Ms. Franklin steered me away from my miniscule fan club until we once more had some glasses of whatever and some alone space.

"You aren't asking me who I am," she noted.

"It is a question I wouldn't answer so why ask it of you?" I riposted.

"How nice of you ... except I know who you are," she smiled oh so haughtily.

"Who am I?" I kept up a less than panicky face.

"The son of Baron Cedric Bedlam and Starslayer," she whispered in my ear. Very few people used my Mother's Race's given name. Most referred to her as Viscountess Venom (from the Nine Nobles Nefarious), or Venus Starslayer (her 'Earthling' name).

"You sound like you knew her," I held myself in check. I feared the answer.

"I sure did. I was there when the heroes put an end to her rampage," Ms. Franklin informed me with a cruel twist of the lips.

"You make murder sound so sterile," I exhaled my rage.

"It wasn't murder. She was too dangerous to let run around free and too powerful to be contained in any prison cell at the time. She was put down because she was a threat to all terrestrial life, Reynard Haven."

"She was my Mother."

"She was a monster."

"Yeah. The Night Watchman told me the same thing though he didn't tell me the name of my Mom's murderer. Now that I find myself face to face with someone who was there when it happened ... I'd like to know your name."

"Boniface Franklin ... but you know me as ..."

[~]

"THE FESTIVAL OF CRIME HAS ARRIVED!" bellowed a random partygoer who had suddenly jumped up onto the stage. His voice was ... festive and I really wanted to punch his lights out as I was 'this' close to accomplishing one of my life's three goals - finding out who killed my Mother!

"I'm going to flatten some people," I seethed. Ms. Franklin effortlessly held me back by grabbing hold of my elbow.

"Hold up, or you could start a bloodbath," she cautioned me. "Let's see what these idiots want before deciding to clean house."

Oh yeah, the Festival of Crime were some notoriously obtuse criminal metahumans who were known for their 'outside of crime' presence and political opinions more than their criminal undertakings. In their ranks was Festivus (who claimed to be an ancient Roman spirit of festivals), Kwanzer, Christi Claws, Lunatic Faster, the Resurrecting Bunny, Killer Valentine, Ronan the Atoner, Bumpkinhead and Dark Saint.

Despite being mostly metahumans (as opposed to augmented humans), they committed their crimes with firearms on hand.

"Alright you Trump-supporting, White Imperialist Colonizers," Kwanzer began his spiel ... even though Megalopolis had gone Democrat by a 8% margin during the last presidential election ... and over half the crowd was non-White ... thus not in the regular position of being Imperialists, or Colonizers ... but hey, who was I to interfere at this juncture? "It is time to pay the MAN!"

"He means the 'Common Man', you White Imperialist Bastards," Bumpkinhead interpreted for us ... somewhat, "rich, billionaire parasites!"

"Hey man, I'm on a roll here," complained Kwanzer to Bumpkinhead.