The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 109: Questions

Abby carefully manipulated Cornelius' prosthetic foot, every now and then ordering him to push against her hand.

"Can you feel that?" Dan asked Cornelius.

The older man shrugged. "There's feedback. It's hard to describe really. Sorta... numb? Kinda like the limb is asleep."

"It'll come," Abby reassured him. She lowered his leg back onto the floor and snapped her fingers. "Next."

Cornelius obligingly planted his other leg in her lap.

"Does your upgrade work on the prosthetic?" Dan asked his girlfriend. "That seems kinda weird."

"It's connected to his nervous system," Abby murmured distractedly while checked the knee joint. As an afterthought, she ordered, "Bend."

Cornelius bent his leg.

Abby nodded, more to herself than anyone in the room, and said, "Your nerves are still raw, but that's to be expected."

Cornelius grinned at her. "So how long before I'm back on my feet?"

Everyone in the room rolled their eyes.

"Your upgrade is bolstering your recovery time, so I'd give it about six months to get back in shape," Abby answered the question. She patted the prosthetic limb. "These things are as cutting-edge as it gets, but they still won't perfectly match your old coordination. You'll need to adjust accordingly." She hesitated, then added, "I don't know how the APD does things, but if this were the military you'd probably lose your position as Captain of your squad."

"Hah!" Cornelius scoffed self-importantly. "They can't demote me! I'm a hero! Besides, I won't lose a step in combat, I just need to learn some new moves." He rubbed his hands together in childish glee. "I'm actually a little excited! I looked through the catalog of attachments for my new legs and there are some tasty options. I've never thought about having flamethrowers on my feet before, but now that it's an option I want them more than anything in the world."

"You're a child," Dan noted. At least the man was staying positive.

"Hand," Abby demanded, and Cornelius obligingly held his out.

Abby gently checked over his fingers, slowly rotating each in its socket. "This is very good work."

"I can't even tell which ones your missing," Dan said.

"Yes, that's rather the point, Newman,' Connor pointed out. "They're meant to blend in. not stand out."

"I'm thinking of stripping off the paint," Cornelius interrupted with a guilty grin. "I think it'll look cool."

Connor gave his uncle a flat look. "You're a child."

"Clench," Abby added.

Dan could spot the difference then, as the fingers curled into a fist. The pinkie and ring fingers followed the curve of Cornelius' hand, but moved achingly slowly. Even while looking directly at them they seemed the same as any other digit, but they were clearly weaker, and slower.

"Two fingers on my left hand, just the pinkie on my right," Cornelius said, noticing Dan's gaze. "Nothing I couldn't stand to lose. I've got fingers to spare."

"You won't be doing much punching for the next few months," Abby informed him as she checked his fist. "And stay away from weight training until I clear you. Your grip isn't what it used to be."

"Yes ma'am." Cornelius saluted with his other hand. Dan noted that keeping his fingers straight didn't seem to take much effort. Abby ignored the cheek, continuing her work. She checked the connection on each of his prosthetic fingers, tested his nerve feedback, and ordered him to move them in different direction. Connor and Dan let her work, and a comfortable silence fell in the room.

Abby finished her work maybe twenty minutes later. She sighed, releasing Cornelius' prosthetic and pushing her bangs out of her face.

"Everything seems fine to me, but my specialty isn't prosthetics," she said. "Are you sure you don't want to work with an expert? The APD has bound to have a few they're friendly with."

"We do," Cornelius confirmed, "but this was much more entertaining."

"You shouldn't rile up our patients," Abby chided with a frown.

Cornelius held up his hands innocently. "I didn't say anything! I just stood there."

Dan eyed the man's dress uniform. "Uh huh."

"What is it you're trying to accomplish by taunting them?" Abby asked. "And make it good, otherwise I'll throw your crippled butt out on the street."

Cornelius pouted at her, but gave in.

"Exposure therapy," he confided with a grin. "You've got a whole bunch of ex-gangsters here who might fall right back into the life. They hate my guts, and probably for good reason, but they won't act on it here. Not in the clinic. Which means they have to just suffer my presence."

"We all suffer your presence," Dan pointed out. "It's all anyone can do."

Cornelius ignored that. He ran a hand through his hair, preening in his own narcissism. "I wager my indelible charm will have them tolerating me within a week, and friendly within a month. It'll probably take a little longer to get anything useful out of them, but with some luck I'll have a handful of friendly informants in a community we've largely ignored. And associating with me makes it harder for them to be directly involved in anything really bad."

Abby's frown deepened. "You're trying to farm CI's in a rehab clinic."

"No better place, given the circumstances," Cornelius replied with a shrug. "I might as well do something useful with my time. I'm out of the field for the next few months, nothing I can do about that. I may be crippled, but I can still help the department in my own way."

Abby crossed her arms and stared down at him. "You will not put anyone here in danger."

"Hoo-boy that's a scary look." Cornelius held up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I told you: ex-gangsters. Anyone using the clinic is a civilian. There won't be any gang punishments."

"If they are civilians, then you don't need to be here," Abby insisted.

"There aren't any major gangs to join yet, but there will be," Cornelius replied. "That's just a fact of life. That wheel keeps on spinning, so it's better to plant the seeds early. My presence might deter people from being recruited, and those who are might become just a little more favorably inclined towards the police. More likely to cut deals and talk when they're inevitably caught. It's a win-win." He beamed up at her, the very picture of guileless honesty.

Abby scowled down at him but said nothing.

Connor took the brief silence as an opportunity to unsubtly change the subject. He cleared his throat and asked his uncle, "Do you think Officer Pierre-Louise would be interested in my memorial idea?"

Cornelius blinked at the sudden question, but gave it due consideration. His head cocked, and after a few seconds, he said, "I think your pops was right to dismiss the idea."

Connor sagged in disappointment, but rallied quickly, "I'm not asking about father's opinion."

Cornelius shrugged. "No, you're asking about Gregoir's. I think you know as well as I that he'd certainly be willing to try. The real question is if it's worth trying."

"We need a way to connect with the community," Connor said. "Why not some sort of service, to remember what was lost?"

"It's not our place," Cornelius replied, spreading his arms helplessly. "It would seem predatory, like we're using those deaths as a way to... uplift ourselves. And in a way, we would be."

"That's an awfully pessimistic way to look at it," Dan noted.

"It's the realistic way to look at it," Cornelius countered. "It's what detractors will say; it's what the narrative will become." He regarded his nephew apologetically. "I'm sorry, Connor, but it would only bring trouble."

"Even with Gregoir at the helm of it?" Dan asked, defending his friend. "Everyone loves the big guy at the moment, and nobody could ever accuse him of being insincere."

"Gregoir has an excellent reputation within the city," Cornelius agreed. "Outside the city is a very different story. Nobody in power likes it when a Natural of that caliber springs up out of nowhere."

"Nowhere?" Connor echoed. "Officer Pierre-Louise has served for twenty years!"

"And he's never shown anything close to that level of ability," Cornelius said. "We had him as an auxiliary on the SPEAR Teams because we thought he was a tank. High-speed regeneration with the body of an Olympic weightlifter, that's all. There's a difference between strength and super-strength, especially at Gregoir's level. People outside the department are asking some uncomfortable questions.”

“I doubt Gregoir was hiding anything,” Dan said. The idea was literally unimaginable to him. “Not on purpose.”

“Anyone who knows him, knows that,” Cornelius agreed, “but the feds are sniffing around our new golden boy. If they can smear him, they will.”

That didn’t track with what Dan knew. “Anastasia wanted to practically canonize him. She said it was the best way to spin a victory out of this mess.”

Cornelius regarded Dan seriously. “Anastasia Summers is not the only player on the board, and recent events have made things more fractious than anybody wants to admit.” His eyes turned to Connor. “Your father would know more, though good luck prying it out of him. All he’s told me is that sides are being formed at the highest levels of government, and none of them seem appealing.”

Then Cornelius’ eyes found Dan, and his lips turned down. “Also, Daniel, I’ve been meaning to tell you: Dunkirk has returned to the city, and he’s been asking questions about you.”

“Who the hell is Dunkirk?” Dan asked.

Cornelius blinked, then snorted. “He was formerly the head of the FBI Field Office here in Austin. He’s been demoted to some sort of investigative role, now. Sergeant Ito wanted me to warn you that Dunkirk tried to interview several members of the department about your capabilities. We turned him down, because fuck the feds, but it’s only a matter of time before he comes sniffing around you and yours.”

“That guy?” Dan recalled the short-tempered, incompetent man. “The fuck does he want with me?”

“Something petty, I’d assume,” Cornelius replied. “Still, take care. He didn’t give an official reason for his inquiries, but there must be one if he’s here. No idea if it’s actually related to you, or if he’s just using it as cheap justification.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Dan promised