Black Arrow #3

[Glippernip]

Black Arrow #3

The Morning After

Written by Jim Crawbuck
Edited by Joel Sawyer

Little John Dearden woke up the next day. His body was so tender that the simple act of sitting up was uncomfortable. He could barely see through his swollen eyes and it felt like every joint was resisting his every move. He wanted nothing more then to shut his eyes and have this day pass him by, but he knew that wasn’t an option. Today he was to meet Conner in the training facility and go over the holo-vid of the fight he had with Counter Punch. This was a task he was not looking forward to. He sat in the shower and let the water hit him while he quietly dreaded his upcoming day.

As if living that humiliation wasn’t enough. I know this is done so I can learn for next time but the thought of watching that confrontation sends chills down my spine. I’m glad my sister is not here. I love her but she is another symbol of my inadequacies. I know this kind of thinking is exactly what Conner always tells me is my down fall. I just can help it. Am I the only one who sees that I’m not the hero they want to think I am? Are they all so blinded by their own expectations?

He leaves the comforting solitude of his extended shower and makes his way down stairs where he sees his mother.

“Oh baby,” cries the former Black Canary, “Your eyes are still all swollen.”

“Morning Mom,” replies John, trying to hide his discomfort. He knows he won’t fool his mother but he’s hoping she won’t make an issue of it.

“Let’s get you some juice and some food,” requests a concerned mother.

Sure I’ll take a small distraction. “That sounds nice Mom”, replies John.

Dinah Lance-Queen smiles at her youngest son the soothing way that only a mother can do.

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After some small talk with mom and a lite breakfast, John goes to confront his day. He enters the gym were Conner is already settled by the holo projector studying the images.

“So what did I do? How did he evade me so easily,” asks John, peering over Conner shoulder.

“I don’t know," answers a confounded Conner Hawke, still studying the images. “I see no dramatic tells in your movement. Your technique is fluent and gracefu, andl you moved with nearly perfect position every time. He seems to read you as if it was choreographed. Not even Cassandra Cain could read that well.”

“Who?”

“Someone I knew long ago. She was the best at anticipating movement. The best I’ve ever seen,” answers Conner.

The two brothers spent the next few hours sitting with the projector trying to find out what Counter Punch was doing to counter John’s moves. They rewind and freeze frames, they zoom in and out, they analyze each and every movement John makes. They scan the surroundings looking for hidden equipment or accomplices. Their studies find no conclusions.

“What’s taking so long in there boys,” asks Oliver upon entering the gym.

Oliver hobbles over to his sons to see what they are working on. There are images are frozen on the projector. Black Arrow falling on top of a kick from counter punch. Black Arrow’s head is bent over his shoulder a little more then it can naturally reach. Small fragments of helmet and visor are orbiting the point of impact.

“That had to hurt,” laughs the old veteran.

“Why don’t you stop teasing and pull up a seat, Dad? We can’t seem to figure this one out,” asks Conner.

“Bah. I don’t do that no more," answers Ollie as he begins look over the trophy wall. He pulls down a mounted green bow. “If Green Arrow can’t figure it out I’m sure this old has been can’t, either”.

“Dad, you are Green Arrow”, Conner argues.

Oliver waddles over to a mounted quiver and with shaky hand pulls out on arrow.

“That was a life time ago. You were Green Arrow last. Plus, I called ‘not it’ about 25 or 30 years ago,” retorts the former president.

“How can I argue that," unhappily grunts Conner.

Ollie struggles to knock the bow he’s holding. After several attempts he finally gets a good start on his pull. His chest pops out. His hands stop shaking and he eyes down a target across the large room whose bull’s-eye is peppered with black shafts. His focus is penetrating as his eyes narrow like a hawk or an eagle, spotting their prey from above. He lets the arrow fly and it imbeds itself into the back of the one arrow that is in the center of the bull’s-eye.

“Wahoo!” Ollie pumps his fist in the air. Then he quickly hunches over and grabs his back with an “Oo Oo. You old dog, you still got it! I think it’s time for a bath. I’ll see you boys later. Don’t work to hard”. Then he hobbles out of the gym, hunch over, in a sudden rush.

“I wish I was around when he was in action. It must have been awe inspiring,” says John.

“It was. He was the best at what he did. He was also a selfless and a wise leader as President. If you ask me, it is the latter that is more awe inspiring,” Conner replies, “To be the man Oliver Queen is is a worthy and honorable goal. To be the archer that Oliver Queen was is a superficial and frivolous goal. Do you understand me, John?”

John just sits and silence and bows his head. Why? Why is it wrong to want to make my family proud. Why is the want to be the best, like the Arrows before me, selfish? Why do I feel like my whole family understands but me?

“It is pride you fight, LJ. It is jealous and envy that beat you down. I can see it,” Conner says filling the silence, “Go meditate and rest. Your soul seems weary. I’ll call you if I find something”.

LJ somberly shuffles out of the gym and back to his room.

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Later that night, John calls Lian. Her husband answers the phone.

“What happened to you, LJ," Joshua says when he sees the picture of John on the video screen.

“Your wife has to make the chin protection stronger,” John replies tilting eyes away from contact.

“I guess that’s what she been working on down stairs all day,” says Joshua, picking up on that the topic might be sensitive one. “Would you like me to get her for you?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind," answers John.

Joshua Lyons walks over to a door and opens it. He screams into it “Lian, LJ’s on the phone. I think he wants his armor.”

A few seconds later, Lian emerges from the doorway.

“How’s it hanging, Speed Bag,” asks the flippant older woman.

“Not very good, Aun….Lian. I need to find Detective O’Leary. I must speak with her”.

“Ooooo. Little Johnnie’s got a crush. Ooooooo,” taunts Lian.

“It’s not like that at all. I shot her and I must apologize,” retorts LJ.

“So we think were Cupid now. Do we?” Lian laughs.

“Please, do not laugh. I just want to know were she lives. The incident is haunting me,” pouts John.

“Alright, Captain Sunshine! I’ll get it for you, and while I’m at it I’ll see if I can find a sense of humor for you also,” snaps Lian. “Here, I’ll put the address in this suit and I’ll come bring it to you. I’m still working on the one you mess up last night. Here's some free advice. Next time some one is going to hit you, move”.

[Glippernip]

Later that evening, outside Fairview apartment complex, Kristan O’Leary is going for a walk. She often goes for walks when she needs to think or cool down. She loves being a cop. Her Great Grand Dad was a flatfoot, her Grand Dad was flatfoot, her mother and father met in the academy, and she’s always dreamed of being a famous detective. That’s why being inactive due to an injury in the line of duty feels like a punishment to her. She damns her arm that’s confined to a sling as she plays with the top of her Zippo lighter. T onight she really needs a late night walk to her favorite coffee shop.

She doesn’t easily fall victim to the ‘creeps’ and she’s learned to rely on her instincts. In fact, she trusts them more then her brain usually. So when the awkward feeling of being watched washes over her she doesn’t just blow it off. She pauses for a second, reaches into her pocket and lights up a cigarette. She walks about two more blocks and slides into an alley between an old pub she frequents and a closed bakery. She is trying to give whom ever is following her a chance to do what they want. She sees it as a good way to blow off steam. She unbuttons the latch on her gun’s ankle holster and releases the safety. Ever since last tournament in the academy octagon, were see won the 145 pound weight class in the men’s division, she has been bragging she can take any man on the force. Most of them she says she can take with one hand tied behind her back. Now she figures it’s time to prove it.

She leans up against a dumpster, takes a drag of her cigarette and waits for her pursuer to reveal himself. After her second drag she sees a head in the darkness peeking around the corner.

“I’m only warning you because it’s the law. I’m cop and I’m armed. Don’t be shy now, slick,” she speaks to the darkness. Then she takes a long deep drag and tightens her scrunchie.

“I know who you are, Kristan,” replies a man stepping out from around the corner. The shadows still cloak his details.

The dark form that approaches Detective Kristan O’Leary is very wide and is a great deal taller then her. Kristan, who stands 6’ even, is not used to being that much shorter then anyone. The man seems thick and she feels the heaviness of his steps. For the first, time and only for a moment, she felt panic. She quickly swallows it back and waits for the light to hit him.

“Oh, jeeze! Walter? Is that you,” squeals the detective, “What has happened to you?”

The light reveals a man who stands about 6’7”and is built like his beer belly ate some one else’s beer belly. His skin has a reddish-orange coloring.

“I was chosen. I’m special now,” replies the man she called Walter. Then he knocks his fist together. It makes a sound like someone hit a brick with a cinder block. “You broke my heart, and I want you to see what you gave up”.

“That was like eight years ago,” she argues, “ and most guys just lose weight.”


To be continued……………………..