[Life is Good] Chapter 55

The patrol went relatively smoothly after the sewer incident. We left a note for Daredevil, burned into a wall—her kind of sight should pick that up easily if she’s paying attention. Gwen and I had to talk Parker into it—she was dead set on tracking down Murdock, but neither of us were thrilled about another trip through the city’s septic system.

I called a police sergeant—number courtesy of Captain Stacy—after I mentioned my nighttime outing to her. She, for the record, was not happy about it. But after advising me to be careful, she handed over the number of the officer on duty that night and passed on the necessary instructions.

Oh, and we also arranged for me to participate in some training exercises with SWAT. In a few days, after school, a police car would pick me up from our agreed-upon location and take me to the training grounds.

The sergeant took my report, promised to notify the precinct handling that area, asked for a precise description of the scene and location, and then actually praised us for not disturbing the body. Before hanging up, she wished me luck.

From there, we ran the usual rounds—stopped a convenience store robbery, broke up a fight, and handed out a well-deserved beating to three fine young ladies who thought attacking a lone woman was a good idea.

First incident: We called the cops, got a bag of homemade salted nuts from a grateful old Indian woman.

Second incident: Just tied everyone up in webbing and left them to cool off.

Third incident: The victim cursed us out and walked away.

The absolute highlight of the night? One of the attackers, still stuck in the web, actually had the audacity to ask, "So, are you gonna untie us so we can go back and kick her ass with all six of us?"

Even Parker caved after a few minutes and agreed to let them go—with a half-hearted speech about how "violence isn’t the answer," blah blah blah.

Gwen? Oh, Gwen was fully on board with kicking the woman’s ass. Apparently, being called a "cheap knockoff of a dumb bug" really struck a nerve.

Then came the best part of the night—our superhero coffee break.

I loved every second of it, reveling in how much we were messing with people.

While making our rounds, we came across a 24-hour diner in a much nicer part of the city. The streets were well-lit, relatively clean, and the few pedestrians actually looked like respectable citizens.

We landed on a nearby rooftop for a short break, and Gwen, eyeing the diner, sighed, "Man, I could really go for a cup of coffee."

Parker instantly agreed, then hesitated before adding, "And… maybe a pastry."

Her stomach loudly backed up that request. Gwen giggled, I smirked.

"So what’s the problem?" I asked. "Let’s go get some coffee and grab a bite."

"Uh, we’re in costume!" Gwen shot back.

"And? You just pull your mask up to eat. Not an issue. My helmet has a thin fabric layer underneath—I can take off the visor if needed."

"We don’t have any money," Parker muttered. "No pockets."

"That’s because your suits look like something straight out of a sex shop," I deadpanned.

To be fair, their flexibility with all those flips and mid-air acrobatics in skin tight costumes had me breathless and drooling a couple of times.

"Sexy? Absolutely. But seriously, get a damn utility belt. Something simple, just for essentials. Buy a cheap burner phone, stash a twenty in there for situations like this. Super useful."

I reached into one of my belt’s compartments, pulled out a crisp fifty, and grinned.

"Tonight’s on me. Next time? You two owe me. Deal?"

And just like that, we walked—yes, walked—right into the diner, still in full costume.

Inside, it was surprisingly busy for this hour. Four out of eight tables were occupied, plus a couple of women sipping coffee at the counter.

Our entrance caused the expected reaction—every head turned our way, eyes widening.

Most just looked curious… but some? Some tensed hard.

I scanned the room and, sure enough, caught a few very familiar bulges under jackets and shirts. Firearms.

For a second, I regretted bringing the girls in here. But then I took another look.

This wasn’t a hostile crowd.

This was the Wild West saloon effect—armed, dangerous people, eyeing newcomers, waiting to see if they’re about to bring trouble into their favorite late-night spot.

So I did the only sensible thing: grabbed both girls by the elbow and casually led them to an open table.

"Sal…" Parker whispered, voice tense. "They’re armed."

"And?" I replied just as casually, not bothering to lower my voice. "It’s America. Everyone has the right to defend themselves. They’re sitting, eating, not waving guns around. Not our problem. And we’re not cops, so it’s not like we’re here to check gun licenses."

I sat down and gestured for them to do the same.

"So let’s just drink our coffee, eat some sandwiches, and enjoy the night." Then, lowering my voice, I added, "If we start shit here, we will be the bad guys. We don’t have official authority. People tolerate what we do because we take down active criminals. But busting into a random diner and harassing people? That would backfire spectacularly."

Then I stood up and walked to the counter, where the woman behind it had visibly started to relax. The rest of the room? Still wary, but less so.

"Good evening, miss. Can we get three coffees and…" I glanced at the menu behind her, hesitating.

I liked chicken sandwiches. No idea about the girls.

Eh, screw it. If they didn’t like them, I’d order something else.

"Three chicken sandwiches, please."

"Ground or instant coffee?"

Bless the patience of food service workers. She was still a little on edge, but that monotone, so-over-this voice? That was the voice of a woman who’d asked this same question a thousand times and had long since stopped caring.

"Ground, obviously!" I practically shuddered at the thought of instant. "And sugar on the side, please."

"Got it. I’ll bring it over in a minute."

Just like that, the tension in the room broke. The definitely-not-law-abiding crowd that had been eyeballing us like potential threats? They started talking among themselves again, chuckling here and there.

By the time our food arrived, the diner felt almost normal.

If you ignored the fact that we had just casually strolled into a mob-affiliated underground casino’s front operation for a late-night snack.

Yeah.

Figured that one out two minutes after sitting down, thanks to my energy vision.

There was a room directly below us—not particularly big—but it had distinct wiring patterns for security systems and heating, along with five occupied tables.

Not hard to put two and two together.

People sitting across from each other, shifting their hands in very familiar movements?

Yeah.

They were definitely playing cards.

The people in the diner were definitely security. Not just for the establishment but also for certain special patrons. I caught how one of the workers slipped into the back and made a call as soon as we walked in—probably to someone downstairs. The underground gambling den got a little nervous, but after a follow-up call (likely reporting that we were just grabbing coffee and not here to bust heads), everyone seemed to relax. Five minutes later, the games resumed like nothing happened.

The girls were a little tense at first, but the fresh sandwiches—not pulled from a fridge but actually made on the spot—helped. Surprisingly, Gwen seemed less nervous than Parker. I was still figuring her out, but she didn't have Parker’s relentless idealism, which, frankly, was a relief. Eating with masks was awkward, but we managed.

We were finishing up our coffee when one of the security ladies—previously seated with two colleagues—stood up and walked toward us.

Tall, fit, and with a relaxed but confident stride, she had short red hair and striking green eyes. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but attractively tough. The kind of woman who’d knee you in the balls for calling her "ma'am."

And let’s be real—I loved how often I ran into redheads in this world. My aesthetic enjoyment levels were through the roof.

"Good evening, guys." Her voice was husky, rough—definitely a smoker. "Hey, kid, you’re that ‘Mister Mutant’ dude, right?"

"Evening, miss. Yeah, I used that name once." I rubbed my chin, feeling a bit awkward. "Hadn’t come up with a proper alias yet, so I just blurted out the first thing that popped into my head."

She snorted. "Yeah, that tracks. Lucky you didn’t get stuck with some dumbass nickname from the internet. Some people called you ‘Super-Dick.’ there"

She cackled. I… physically recoiled.

Oh hell no. I had a full-body vision of myself dramatically leaping into a gang fight only to hear someone yell: “It’s Super-Dick! He’s here to deliver justice… anally.”

Nope. I was knocking on every wooden surface I could find.

Too bad the tables were plastic.

"Anyway, just wanted to say thanks," she continued. "You saved my little sister from those bastards trafficking girls. I was losing my damn mind trying to find her until the cops called my mom."

She pulled out a notepad, scribbled a number with the name Claire, and handed it to me.

"If you ever need something—anything—call me. If I can help, I will. If I can’t, I’ll say so. No hard feelings, okay?"

I took the paper and tucked it into my belt’s compartment. Never knew when a favor might come in handy.

Then something clicked in my head.

"Wait… your sister. She’s also a redhead? Green eyes? Long hair?"

Claire’s grin widened. "Yeah, Karin. Real knockout, huh?"

"Oh yeah…" I muttered, remembering her in just her underwear. Even after everything she’d been through, she still looked stunning. "Great figure. And solid attitude, too."

I flashed back to her accidentally stepping on her captor’s face with a cheery "Oops, my bad!" before shoving them into every sharp corner she could find.

Claire roared with laughter, slapping me on the shoulder. "You like her? She won’t shut up about you. I’ll tell her she made a good… impression. Call me, I’ll set you two up."

"Uh… but, y’know, the whole…" I gestured at my suit.

"Oh, please," she waved me off. "We’re women with standards, kid. We don’t tolerate scumbags. You knocking some sense into the little punks running around the Kitchen? That’s actually doing us a favor. The serious women here don’t get mixed up in dumb shit. Business is business, but we don’t do human trafficking."

Her face twisted in disgust.

"We work under Silvermane. She’s strict about that kind of filth. So yeah, you ever need anything, Saly, just call. My mom and sis would be happy to help you out too."

"Got it. Appreciate it, Claire."

Yeah, she was definitely a criminal, but I couldn’t help but like her. Maybe it was because she was being nice to me.

Eh, whatever.

"Oh! One more thing—selfie?" She hesitated for a second, scratching the back of her head before pulling out her phone. "Gotta rub it in my sister’s face."

"Sure thing."

I pulled my fabric mask back down and locked my visor into place. Claire threw an arm around my shoulders and snapped a good ten pictures.

"Hell yeah! Thanks, kid. I’ll get outta your hair. Take care, guys."

She waved, then threw a glance at the girls, who had been completely silent the entire time.

"You two keep an eye on your boy, got it? And if anything happens, don’t take it out on my sister—girl’s got a pure heart."

With that, she headed back to her table.

I went to pay, but the cashier just waved me off with a smile. “On the house. Come back anytime.”

Y’know… for a mob front, this place was pretty damn welcoming.

Life, man. Just like onions.

And onions? Well, they’ve got layers.

Thanks for the wisdom, Shrek.

We left the diner to the usual hum of conversation, with a few people even calling out good luck wishes.

"Y’know," I mused, "good thing we already ate, because after that selfie session, I was getting some looks—like people were lining up to get one too."

"And they totally would’ve torn you apart for souvenirs," Parker snorted.

Then, grinning wickedly, she added, "Next day, there’d be a listing: ‘Salamander’s underwear—freshly worn, expensive as hell.’"

"That is not funny. My boxers are exclusive. They can take my dignity, but leave my underwear alone!" I declared dramatically to the night sky, shaking my fist for emphasis.

"Sal..." Parker groaned, pressing a hand to her face. "Sometimes, you're such an idiot I just can't deal."

To my left, Gwen was trying (and failing) to suppress giggles.

Honestly? This whole patrol thing wasn’t so bad. Made some useful connections, too. Daredevil, a few contacts in the underworld… Gotta make sure I keep those. Never know when I’ll need to lie low.

For a split second, I imagined myself in a Sinister Six lineup, taking the Scorpion’s spot. I actually shook my head to clear the thought. Yeah, no thanks.

We split up close to dawn. The sun wasn’t up yet, but school still existed, and we needed at least a few hours of sleep.

I couldn’t wait to be done with this whole school thing. Never thought I’d be dying to graduate in a second life, considering how nostalgic I used to get about my first time through.

The girls wanted to walk me home, but I waved them off. They needed sleep too, and I highly doubted anything would happen to me. I had money for a cab, my abilities, and I hadn’t even come close to draining my energy reserves. Hell, the most effort I put in tonight was lighting the way in the sewers and looking cool while the Spider-Girls handled the fighting.

Oh, and signing autographs for those three ladies who jumped the foul-mouthed victim. And getting a picture with that Indian store owner—who, by the way, promised me discounts just for the selfie. Honestly? I might take her up on that. Her salted nuts were fantastic.

I stuffed my mask and gloves into a small backpack, climbed down the fire escape, pulled my hoodie up, and strolled toward the street.

That’s when I saw her.

A lone woman, walking straight toward me.

She stepped into my energy perception range—nothing unusual. Normal heat signature, phone in her pocket, earpiece, a couple of electronic devices on her belt. I was about to just walk past when she spoke.

"Hey, kid, you from around here?"

Her voice was low, smooth, but there was a tension in her stance.

Just in case, I got ready—held my breath slightly, prepped a shock touch. Not taking chances.

"Good evening," I said smoothly. "I live in New York, yeah, but this isn’t my neighborhood."

I pushed my hood back a bit to show my face. She studied me for a moment, then visibly relaxed. Even gave me a small, closed-lip smile.

"Seen anything suspicious?" she asked.

…Funny question, coming from someone whose jacket bulged slightly—two concealed firearms, tucked under her arms in shoulder holsters.

Wouldn’t have noticed before, but training with Oyama had sharpened my eye for these things.

"Other than the armed woman standing in front of me? Not really." I grinned.

Her brow twitched up.

"I have a permit for these," she said, either reassuring me or justifying herself. Hard to tell. Not that it mattered. "What are you doing out here so late? New York’s a dangerous place."

"Miss, are you a cop?" I raised an eyebrow at the rather intrusive question.

"Answering a question with a question is rude, kid." She softened her tone, injecting a bit of warmth. "Let me walk you to a busier street?"

Mmm… that’s suspicious.

"No offense, ma’am, but I think I can manage on my own. If I’m being honest, you’re kind of freaking me out. You stop me, start asking weird questions, you’re armed, and now you want to walk me somewhere? No offense, but all of that combined is setting off some red flags."

"Oh…"

She actually looked a little sheepish.

"Yeah, I get how that might seem sketchy. Alright, kid, fair enough. Stay safe, then. Sorry if I spooked you."

"No harm done, miss. Have a good night."

I nodded, pulled my hood back up, and kept walking—keeping an eye on her through my energy perception.

Yeah, she was shady. Definitely looking for something. Asking way too broad of questions.

But nothing happened.

After a few seconds, she watched me go, then turned and walked the other way.

I let out a quiet breath of relief.

I’d had enough adventures for one night.