Out of the Ashes, Part 3

Out of the Ashes by Misty Meenor A Comic RetCon Universe Story The Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian characters are the property of DC Comics. "Okay, let's see. Two Glock 19's? Oh, please, that's a purse gun -- two submachine guns, H&K MP5's, nice choice -- where are you guys getting these things? Assorted ammo. No explosives -- good boys -- and a bunch of zip tie handcuffs. No masks, though. Why is that?" I looked up at the men, expectantly. I had their heads seriously messed up. It was obvious they couldn't decide whether to run, or stick it out. Bald Guy produced a nasty-looking knife. "That's no business of yours, girlie. Don't ya know who we are?" I pulled a few of the zip cuffs from out of the bundle. "Oh, I know you. You're a couple of the Cartel's disposable soldiers…" Then I gave him a feral grin. "But -- you don't know who I am."

---

My eyes narrowed. What are the Bone Fists doing here?

Two big guys in Fist gang colors were loitering at the nearest exit. At their feet was a large black duffel bag. I looked around. Two more Fists in the center court, another black duffel bag. I stood up, and pretended to stretch my legs, walking a few steps to where I could get a glimpse of one of the other mall exits. Two more guys, one more bag.

The place was practically crawling with big rough-looking dudes in gang colors acting suspiciously. A high-end mall has security cameras on their security cameras; somebody should have seen these guys plastered across a dozen monitors by now. Where were the rent-a-cops? Probably hiding, if they were smart. But they should have called the real cops, at least. Unless they were bought off, or prevented from doing so.

How much manpower do you need to lock down a mall?

The Bone Fists could probably manage to cover the main exits, but I knew they didn't have the manpower to cover all the employee back ways, the loading docks and such. What could they be up to?

It was half an hour to closing time, so assume that whatever they have planned is set to start then. Mall closes. People leave. Stores close... And empty their tills? That's a lot of tills.

How could they possibly manage to rob all those stores?

I thought about it, and cursed. They don't have to rob every store. This isn't a robbery, it's extortion.

The Fists worked for the Cartel. They weren't here to rob, although they would; that was icing. They were here to make an ugly scene. The kind that made customers think twice about shopping in this mall, and made store owners think about relocating.

Then the Cartel would have a quiet word with the mall owners, in a boardroom somewhere: Tsk. Such a shame what happened. Be a terrible thing if it happened again, eh? What you need is a better security company. We can help you with that.

But… a robbery after closing time wasn't ugly enough. What was I missing?

A chill ran down my back. Oh, crap. They want hostages. It's not just extortion, it's publicity: let everyone know the Crime Cartel is back.

I gathered up the shopping bags and my purse and took them into the jeweler's, where Dolores was being served by an older gentleman. I set them down at her feet. "Can you watch these? I'm feeling a little green…" That got me a startled look. I whispered in her ear. "Bone Fist is watching the mall exits. They're planning something nasty. Mall security might be compromised. Better call it in." I left her scrambling to find her phone in her purse.

Security cameras. The Fists might not care if they were seen, but I did. I needed to get changed, and not be obvious about it. It would take too long to get rid of these clothes, but maybe I could shapeshift something to cover them up.

Strolling casually towards the nearest exit, I stepped inside the first clothing store I came across. Moving behind a rack of clothing, I envisioned a pair of worn baggy camouflage pants, hiding my shorts. That seemed to work, so I crouched down out of sight for a second and finished the job. The twenty-something woman who left the store was several inches taller, with weathered skin, short spiky black hair, and ring piercings in her lip and one eyebrow. She was wearing a canvas army-surplus vest over a shapeless faded t-shirt, and her camo pants were tucked into heavy boots.

As I neared the exit, I gave the gangers a friendly smile. The taller of the two had his head shaved and tattooed with some kind of dragon thing, the other wasn't exactly short, but built stockier, a muscle builder type.

"Sorry I'm late, guys. What's the signal?" I took advantage of their confusion to simply pick up their duffel bag and head outside, leaving them no choice but to follow.

"Hey!" Bald Guy managed to get his hand on my shoulder, but I scarcely noticed; I simply kept walking. Outside, I took a few steps away from the doors, and squatted down to unzip the bag.

"Don't stick your nose where it don't belong, bitch!"

I glared at him. "Oh, shut up. Let's see whatcha brought me."

Shorty tried to snatch the bag from me, but I slapped his hand away. He grunted in pain and held his arm against his chest.

"Okay, let's see. Two Glock 19's? Oh, please, that's a purse gun -- two submachine guns, H&K MP5's, nice choice -- where are you guys getting these things? Assorted ammo. No explosives -- good boys -- and a bunch of zip tie handcuffs. No masks, though. Why is that?"

I looked up at the men, expectantly. I had their heads seriously messed up. It was obvious they couldn't decide whether to run, or stick it out.

Bald Guy produced a nasty-looking knife. "That's no business of yours, girlie. Don't ya know who we are?"

I pulled a few of the zip cuffs from out of the bundle. "Oh, I know you. You're a couple of the Cartel's disposable soldiers…"

Then I gave him a feral grin. "But -- you don't know who I am."

I was out of the crouch and on them in a flash, snatching the knife from Shorty's hand before he could even move. I don't know which one of us was more surprised. I was fast.

These guys each had several inches in reach and a hundred pounds on little ol' me, most of it muscle. Both were experienced brawlers. As Dan, I had been in my share of fights; I might have been a match for either one of them, but trying both of them together would get my ass kicked every time.

This time around, I had to really work at not killing them. It wasn't easy; I could have turned their insides to mush with a single punch, broken their necks with a slap. The degree of control necessary to twist an arm without twisting it off didn't come easily.

In the end, it was like dealing with recalcitrant toddlers; they didn't want to be cuffed with their arms around the post of a No Parking sign -- yeah, don't ask me to babysit -- but it happened anyway.

"No masks. You weren't trying to hide your faces. You expected to be caught."

Neither of them would make eye contact. I sighed, and tapped my lower lip thoughtfully. "Well… you could get found like this… or, I could pose you." I pulled down Shorty's pants, to make my point. "Your call, gents. Tell me the signal you were waiting for." I pulled out a zip, and forced Bald Guy to his knees. I held him there with one hand on his shoulder.

Going to jail would enhance these guy's reputations. Going to jail after being found tied into a homoerotic pose, that would introduce them to a whole new social circle.

It only took a second for them to think it through. Baldy spoke up. "It's the closin' chimes. Most of the people will be gone, we were supposed to herd the rest of 'em into groups, an' then steal whatever cash we could from the stores."

"How were you going to get the cash out? The cops'd be swarming the place."

Bald Guy hesitated, until I gave Shorty's jockey shorts an experimental tug.

"Okay! Okay. Some of the hostages're ringers. Cash gets distributed among them. Hostage scene is long and drawn out, groups get mixed together, big scene for th'eleven o'clock news. Eventually we give up and hostages get released."

Something clicked. "And no masks, because you have no getaway plans. You intend to go to jail. Only to get broken out, later. In another big scene, staged for the news. That was Heatstroke's job, wasn't it?"

They answered by not answering.

"Could be a while. Heatstroke was in pretty rough shape. He might not make it." I offered experimentally.

"Nah, the doc said it'd be a few days, is all…" Bald Guy bragged, before a glare and a kick from Shorty shut him up.

Shorty had to get his two cents in. "Anyways, we're not goin' to jail, bitch! We ain't done nothin' wrong! That's not our bag, we never seen it before," he sneered.

I stopped short. He had me. I'd kept them from doing anything illegal, destroyed the chain of custody for the evidence, and I sure couldn't arrest them or press charges.

I sighed. "Ya got a point." I snapped Baldy's zip tie cuffs, and used another tie to wrap his arms tightly around Shorty's legs, with the post still between them. He was stuck on his knees, now. Then I snatched off Shorty's undies like a magician doing the tablecloth trick. Except it probably hurt more, judging by the squeak.

"Tsk. Tsk. Public indecency and lewd behavior. Is that the cops I hear?" Sure enough, there were sirens in the distance. Which would only provoke the Fists to trigger their plan early, if they heard them.

Move, move!

The best way to foil their publicity stunt was to keep the crime from happening. The easiest way to keep the crime from happening, was to take away their toys and get them out of the mall.

There wasn't a lot of time for sophistication. Four remaining exits, plus that pair in center court. My plan of attack was simple: come into the mall from outside, separate the Fists from their guns before they knew what was happening. Lather, rinse, repeat.

~o~O~o~

Have you ever tried to get in to a mall, just as everyone was going out? Or rush through a revolving door? There's no way to do it, when you're in a hurry. I hate malls.

Change in plan. Forget being stealthy. Make your own door.

~o~O~o~

The two Fists were lounging just inside the mall, leaning against the wall, the bag at their feet. I came in fast through the plate glass window, in an explosion of glass, making a noise they'd hear through the whole mall. The nice thing about plate glass, when it shatters, it's just gone. I picked up the gangers before they knew what was happening and threw them out onto the sidewalk through the new doorway I'd made, not too gently. Picked up the gun bag, and I was out.

I flew up, dropped the bag on the roof, and came in again on the opposite side of the mall. Four exits, four very loud crashes, three bags on the roof and one in my hand. With the exits clear, I hit the fire alarm, just to make sure people got the message and got the hell out.

Which left the pair in the center court. Who definitely knew somebody was coming for them, even if they didn't know who.

One of them was tall and skinny, crouched over the open duffel bag, slamming a clip into a submachine gun, glancing warily around. The other was enormous, leaning casually against a column, tapping a knife the size of a machete against his leg. The sides of his head were shaved, leaving a mohawk stripe down the middle of his skull. He must have been close to seven feet tall. One of the pistols from the bag was shoved into his belt. It looked like a child's toy.

Shoppers were streaming past us, hurrying out of the mall. A few noticed the weapons and changed direction to steer clear, hurrying faster.

I jogged up to them, the last duffle bag over my shoulder. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the alarm. "Thank God I'm in time!" I panted. "Boss wants everyone out, it's gone sour. Plans have changed."

Beanpole gave me a suspicious look. "That's not very likely darlin', is it? Considerin' I'm the boss 'n all." Mohawk guy stopped supporting the mall and came over to inspect me. It was like being ogled by a mountain.

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't mean you. I meant the boss boss. Tony's pissed about something. He wants everybody out." I glanced around, then whispered conspiratorially. "He's sending Heatstroke."

Beanpole blinked and looked to be wavering, but Mohawk interrupted, in a voice that sounded like a disgusted avalanche. "She's lyin'. Heatstroke ain't goin' noplace for a while."

I looked way up at him and nodded earnestly. "I know, right, big guy? I'd a thought so, too. That thing in his side, man, he's lucky t' be alive." I winced sympathetically. "But when Tony said, 'Get out there and tell 'em Heatstroke is coming', well, what was I supposed t' do?" I looked to Beanpole. "Would you cross Tony Three-Balls? I'm just askin', 'cause it looks that way t' me, an' I need t' know what to tell 'im. Me, I'm headin' out."

I moved to run past them and the giant moved to block my path, still tapping the knife and looking at me speculatively. I stamped my foot impatiently. "What?"

The flow of shoppers past us had slowed to a trickle. The longer I could drag this out, the more potential hostages would be out of the mall and safe. The cops should be here any moment.

I hoped.

Don't get caught with evidence when they do.

I unslung the duffel bag from my shoulder and dropped it at Beanpole's feet with a sigh. "Okay, tell ya what. You hold on to the guns. We all go to outside. You tell Manzilla here t' keep a close eye on me." I looked up at Mohawk and gave him a wink. "If it doesn't check out, you can let him have his way with me." I grinned. "But if it does check out, I get to have my way with him."

My God, female for not even 24 hours and I'm flirting?

A low rumbling came from Mohawk, like the precursor to an earthquake. "Heh, heh, Manzilla…"

I crossed my arms and looked at Beanpole expectantly. "Management decision time."

Beanpole seemed in actual discomfort. "Why didn't Tony call me, t' let me know, huh?" he asked petulantly.

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know, how many bars ya got, genius? Malls're full of dead zones, everybody knows that, it's all th' steel. Maybe he tried. Why'ncha call him and ask?" I actually had no idea how the reception was. I was worried one the few shoppers left would walk past with a cellphone to their ear.

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Look, it's too late to do it your way, anyway. Where's the rest of yer team, huh? Somebody's got 'em, that's what. You heard it happen! The closing chimes have come 'n gone, pal, and this fire alarm isn't in the plan, neither." I turned away from him slowly. "This is me, getting to where I'm s'posed t' be, too. You wanna stop me, now's the time." I took a few deliberate steps away.

Beanpole sighed, and kicked the remaining duffel bag in disgust. "Bring those -- and keep her close." He gestured with his gun for me to move. Mohawk snatched up the bags, then caught up with me and clamped a meaty hand on my shoulder, and the three of us marched towards the exit. I noticed with some relief that the mall was finally empty.

At that moment alarm died, the doors slammed open, and members of the SWAT team came pouring in, guns at the ready. "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST! GET DOWN AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"

"You lying bitch!" Beanpole's submachine gun was suddenly pointed at my head. Mohawk's hand was squeezing my shoulder, hard enough to break any normal person's, I think, so I assume he wasn't happy, either. "We have a hostage! I swear I'll kill her!" he called out.

I hurriedly called out, "Don't shoot!" and gave Beanpole an annoyed look. "You idiot, you're surrounded. Where are you gonna go?" I slapped the gun out of his hand, sending it flying down the mall. It let off a burst of gunfire when it landed, shattering a store window and grievously wounding a mannequin. Mohawk attempted to pick me up as a shield, but I wasn't budging. Instead I tossed him at Beanpole, sending them both sprawling at the feet of the cops.

In the tussle, a shot rang out, and something hit me in the chest. I stopped dead, and looked down in puzzlement, pressing my fingers to the spot, then up at the cops. I was stunned. "Y-you shot me…"

"You goddamn boneheads!" I raged. "You just shot the freakin' hostage! Don't you practice this shit?" I put my hands on my head. "Look! I'm unarmed. I'm going outside now." Without giving them a chance to seize the initiative, I stormed through them, hands on my head, and out the doors.

The minute I was outside, of course, I was in the air and back on the roof. I tossed the duffle bags back to the ground, where they landed in front of one of the SWAT trucks, loud enough to make the nearby cops jump. Then I was in the darkness above the mall, and circling around to Dolores' car, switching back to Megan on the ground.

~o~O~o~

On the way home I slouched and stared morosely out the window.

I'd been a cop almost twenty-five years. I'd worked my way up to Detective, and I'd been good at it -- good enough to get me killed. I knew how the law worked, in theory, at least -- gather evidence, build a case, fair trial by judge and jury, punishment for the guilty. It didn't always work the way it was supposed to, it was bumbling and inefficient and slow, it was a pain in the ass more often than not, but for all its warts, by and large I believed in it. I knew the rules, knew where I fit in the system, how everything was supposed to work. And if everybody did their job, the right people went to jail.

With a flip of a metagene, all that went out the window.

Now, I wasn't a cop anymore, maybe never would be again. I had powers that boggled the mind. Strength. Speed. Stamina. I'd just stopped a bullet for crissakes. And I could fly!

Useless. All of these powers were useless for upholding the law.

Mind you, if I wanted to be judge, jury, and executioner, they'd be great powers. I couldn't ask for better. I could dispense justice. I could kill Tony Carpaci tonight.

But I couldn't put him in jail.

I shifted in my seat. "Well, go ahead and say it."

Dolores gave me a puzzled glance. "Say what?"

"That you told me so. That I couldn't be a cop anymore."

"What? Honey, why would I say that? You did a wonderful job, you prevented a very ugly situation, and almost certainly saved some lives tonight. Nobody else could have done that."

I sighed unhappily. "I broke the law to do it. Assault. Forcible confinement. Property damage. I'm no different than they are, not really. Most of those guys will be back on the street by tomorrow, because there's no evidence to convict them of anything. My word against theirs -- and I can't even testify."

Dolores pulled the car over and turned to glare at me. "Stop that right now! You prevented a violent robbery at the very least. Somebody might easily have been shot tonight! There'll be fingerprints on the guns, the weapons had to come from somewhere, they can be traced. And you handed the Cartel a black eye tonight, don't forget that."

I shook my head. "You don't get it. If beating those goons up is okay, what if I'd accidentally killed one of them? It could have happened so easily, you have no idea. Would it still be okay, then? If one is okay, what if I'd killed two? Where is the line? What if I'd killed all of them?"

I kept my gaze straight ahead. "I could get out of this car right now, and find Tony Carpaci, and put an end to him tonight. You and I both know he deserves it. It would almost certainly save lives. Why shouldn't I do it? 'Cause I'm not coming up with any answers, here."

She blinked, and just looked at me for a moment. Finally she started the car, and we drove home in silence. But she had a look in her eye. I swear she looked… pleased?

"Sweetheart, I don't know what the answers are. But it means a lot to me that you're asking the questions."

~o~O~o~

We stopped briefly at her apartment so Dolores could run in and pack an overnight bag, then we headed back to the house and unloaded the evidence of my new life from the car. After unpacking everything into the spare bedroom -- I was the guest now, after all -- Dolores came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, kissing me tenderly on the side of the neck. My eyes nearly bugged at the unexpected erotic thrill.

She took my left hand, and slid a ring onto my third finger, whispering in my ear. "It's called a promise ring, it's perfectly common for a teenaged girl to have one. If you wear it like this, it means you're taken. You can use it to keep the boys away, 'cause baby, you are so taken."

"Oh, Angel, it's perfect!" I took a moment to admire the ring on my finger, a simple gold band with a single inset emerald, before turning in her embrace and throwing my arms around her neck.

"I figured green was your color," she smiled.

We were too busy to talk a lot after that.

~o~O~o~

The nightmares started that night.

"Megan! sweetie, wake up!" Dolores was shaking me. I woke up gasping for breath, with my heart hammering in my chest.

My eyes shot open and finally I was able to draw a deep breath, and gradually my pulse slowed. "Night… nightmare. Nasty one. What was I doing?"

Dolores' eyes were on me, worried. "You were thrashing and choking, it was horrible."

I sat up, alarmed. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No," Her eyes widened in realization. "That could have been ugly."

"Thank goodness for that," I breathed in relief. I noticed belatedly that I'd reverted to my original green form, and changed back to Megan.

"Want to talk about it?"

I shook my head slowly. "I don't remember much, it's gone now. Just… a sense of helplessness, being trapped. And a lot of pain."

We settled back down and I snuggled into her -- I did like being the cuddlee, rather than the cuddler -- and eventually she fell back asleep. I didn't need to sleep much these days, so I lay awake, listening to her soft breathing, and thinking.

~o~O~o~

The rest of the week was as difficult as Dolores had feared. The police department was making the funeral arrangements, so she was spared that much -- but they were planning a full military-style service for all six fallen officers, with an interfaith service at the Cathedral, speeches from the mayor and assorted community leaders and a military procession with an honor guard escorting the six flag-draped caskets to the cemetery. With full media coverage of course, although fortunately the grieving families were afforded some privacy.

Dolores did her share of grieving, too. After all, Dan was gone forever, with him a chance of a husband and kids and a normal happily-ever-after. I'd see a look in her eyes, and I know she was missing Dan and feeling guilty about missing him when I was standing right there. And about having me at all, when the other families had lost so much. All I could do was hug her, and tell her that I missed him too, and the life we might have had together. Neither of us could help the grief, but there was enough guilt to go around without having it come between us.

So it was rough. In public, Dolores was a grieving fiancée, sharing the spotlight with the other families. In private, we could comfort each other, but our own relationship wasn't a simple one either; to the rest of the world, I was literally half Dolores' age, and a minor to boot; we had to be very careful. In the short term, we were grateful we had each other. In the long run, I wasn't sure what the healthiest path would be for either of us.

I loved her, and I meant what I told her; I would always be with her, we would be a family. But we were both feeling our way, and it was too soon to say what shape that family would take.

~o~O~o~

And that's how it went. We got through the week, finally, and the week after that. The funeral was difficult, but we managed. It got ugly when Tony Carpaci showed up for the service, in his public role as successful businessman and pillar of the community. Surrounded by the press, of course. He stood on the steps of the Cathedral and made some statements about the "fine men, whose lives were needlessly spent", by a mayor and District Attorney bent on "schemes of self-aggrandizement", and the "unfortunate divisions in our community", and the need for "moral and political leadership", and then agreed to leave. Since he'd never really intended to stay, anyway.

Dolores spoke to the lawyer about the will, and he agreed we could continue to live there, since she was inheriting it, anyway. The legal details would take a while to settle out, but there were no complications.

The nightmares would come back when I slept. Fortunately, I didn't sleep every night. Most nights, I'd snuggle with Dolores until she fell asleep, then have the rest of the night to myself. About every other night, I'd climb into my own bed for a couple of hours. I'd always wake in a tangle of sheets, reverted to my original green form, gasping for breath, in a blind panic. I don't think Dolores knew about the dreams, and I never mentioned them.

I spent a lot of time 'learning' the fit and feel of my new wardrobe, so that I could shapeshift a duplicate of each item, matching the detail and texture of the fabric. Then I started to improvise, changing the pattern on a blouse or the style of a dress. Delores had been right, of course; there was a lot I needed to learn, but with actual clothes to try on, I was getting the hang of it pretty quickly. Before too long I could shapeshift most of my clothes so well Delores couldn't tell the difference. I did my makeup the same way, although Dolores warned me that I'd eventually need to practice doing it for real.

~o~O~o~

Dolores' compassionate leave had run out, and she'd been back at work for a few days now, easing back into an everyday routine. During the day, I was at loose ends, so I busied myself with the usual household chores. Not surprisingly, Dolores wasn't about to let that slide into a habit.

"So," she stole a taste of the spaghetti sauce I was stirring. "I made some calls today. When school starts next week, you're a high school senior."

I almost sprayed my own taste of sauce across the kitchen. "I'm a what?"

She turned to set the table. "You heard me. You said you wanted to get into college, so you need to finish high school, first, right? Of course, it won't be easy, with all the high school you've missed. I told them you were home-schooled, by illiterate badgers or something. Male ones, naturally."

I hated it when she was right. "You know, I just hate it when you're right."

She took pity on my dazed expression. "Oh, now, we both know the academics are just a small part of it. There's plenty of time to go to college, or anything else you want to do."

She gave me a quick hug, then turned to toss the salad. "Sweetie, you need to be out in the world, and the only way you can do it, is as a girl now. You have so much you need to experience. The whole rest of your life will be spent as a woman, and the sooner you get started living, the better. Admit it, you were going to keep putting it off, and hide in the house."

I sighed. "Maybe."

She caught my chin and turned me to face her, meeting my eyes intently. "Sweetie, you have to decide which of you is going to be the everyday you, Miss Mars, or Megan Morse, and which face you put on for emergencies. I love you baby, but I have to tell you, your choice is important to me. I need to know which one of you gave me this ring."

Put that way, the answer didn't take any thought at all. "We both did", I started impishly, then put a finger to her lips before she could retort. "But, there's only one answer, and I'm stupid for not seeing it as clearly as you have. Megan is the real me now, and you're right, it's time she got on with her life."

I bounced up on my toes to kiss her lightly on the lips, then turned away to drain the spaghetti. "But it doesn't mean I have to thank you for rubbing my nose in it," I pretended to grouse.

She laughed and smacked my butt. I hope it hurt.

~o~O~o~

The building appeared old and decrepit, fitting in well with the seedy industrial neighborhood. The sign I had been looking for was not large, or illuminated; hard to spot on the poorly lit street. It wasn't obvious, but the door was metal, with a solid frame, strong hinges and a very modern lock. Nobody would be getting in easily, if the owner chose to lock them out. Tonight it swung open easily and silently, as I stepped inside and let it close behind me.

I found myself in a small reception area. The floor was tiled in old cracked linoleum, a black and white checkerboard. A counter divided the room, with a few stackable chairs lined against the walls on the customer side. On the far side of the counter, a door with a beaded curtain led into a hallway.

The light-colored walls were sparsely decorated in an Asian theme; a bamboo fan, a Chinese calendar. The wall behind me featured a large oriental tiger, painted in red and black, detailed in gold leaf. On closer inspection, I realized all of the decorations contained a tiger theme of some sort. In contrast to the exterior facade, everything was well maintained and immaculately clean.

There was a bell, on the counter; I moved to tap it, once.

"That won't be necessary." The sudden voice made me jump; I hadn't heard anyone approach. A large, very well-muscled man had suddenly appeared in the doorway, stepping through the beaded curtain. He was wearing a loose white shirt and dark slacks, the shirt contrasting with his dark skin. His wiry hair was trimmed close to his head, showing a little salt-and-pepper around the edges.

He offered me a polite smile. "Can I help you, miss?"

"If you're Ben Turner, and this is the Tiger Dojo, then I hope you can."

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