The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 118: Catching Up

Austin was not close to the coast, and therefore had suffered few ill effects from Hurricane Victor. That said, the unnatural storm had thrown weather out of whack all across the state. Texas' weather was already an unpredictable mess, but now little pockets of Naturally- altered storm clouds were joining the chaotic mess. It meant that what had started as a bright and sunny morning had devolved into a grim, cold, and wet afternoon.

Dan pulled his collar up against his neck, shivering as the rain battered him. He stood outside a little Italian restaurant favored by his friends, as he waited for them to show up. He spotted Gregoir's Volkswagen in the distance, and waved as it passed him by to pull into the parking lot. Less than a minute later, Gregoir's bulky form rounded the corner, trailed by the leaner visage of Connor Graham.

"Greetings and good evening!" Gregoir boomed as they closed the distance. The big man was wearing a vibrant floral button-down and a pair of jeans probably sized for a horse. He was using his outside voice, which meant the nearby glass was rattling in its frame. Dan saw a passerby across the street flinch in alarm, nearly losing grip on his umbrella.

Connor walked on, unruffled. Like Dan, he was wearing earplugs.

They found a booth near the back, isolated and quiet. After placing their orders, conversation began to flow. It had been a while since they'd gotten together like this, just the guys, and a lot had happened.

Connor began with, "So, you were in Galveston?"

It was an abrupt question, one that Connor didn't seem happy to have to ask.

"I was," Dan acknowledged. "Got called down for the storm."

"So you saw him, then?"

"Galeforce?" Dan asked.

Connor nodded, face caught somewhere between irritated and grim. Gregoir slurped loudly at his drink, through a straw that looked comically tiny while held between his thick fingers. The big man drained his cup in seconds, then looked up at Dan.

Gregoir voice was unusually level when he said, "Rare for vigilantes to act so openly. People have taken notice. We had a briefing yesterday at the station."

"Dunkirk tried to get in," Connor added. "Captain Gable threw him out."

"That prick is still in town?" Dan asked wearily. He rubbed his brow, remembering the abrasive agent with a bone to pick. "Why? Is he even still a fed?"

"He's technically on leave," Gregoir supplied. "I recovered Artificer's pain ray when I captured Coldeyes, and Dunkirk is attempting to reclaim what he lost. The request was denied via official channels, so I suspect he is sniffing around for some kind of leverage to use against us.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with him, unless he comes after you directly," Gregoir advised. "If he does, remember that he has no official authority at the moment. Feel free to ignore him."

"I'll keep it in mind," Dan said, a little relieved. It always felt like he was walking a tightrope whenever he dealt with federal agents. What could and couldn't be said to them was never really clear to him. "So, Galeforce. You guys had questions?"

"The department has questions," Connor corrected. "He's noted to be a flyer. It's entirely possible he shows up in Austin, and we would like to be prepared. How good a look did you get of him?"

Dan considered the question. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. His thumb slid a card out, and he placed it on the table, facing the two officers. They peered at it, brows scrunched in confusion.

"Oh," Connor said, as he read Galeforce's business card. "Very close."

"I gave a statement to the GPD," Dan added.

"I'll see about securing a copy," Gregoir said with a nod. "I'm more interested in your read on his character. I presume you had a conversation with the young man, given that card?"

"He was handing them out to everyone, actually," Dan corrected. "We talked, briefly. I followed him around for a bit, mostly concerned that he was going to start some shit with the local volunteers, but he was just trying to advertise." Dan thought about the interaction, and tried to summarize the vigilante. "Weird dude."

"Dangerous," Connor corrected. "We don't know his actual powers, but it's possible he was responsible for the hurricane."

"I talked with some of the local SPEAR guys," Dan said. "They claimed the hurricane originated on an oil rig somewhere off-coast. They seemed as surprised as anyone when they ran into Galeforce. They were also convinced he was fighting someone in that storm."

"It's difficult to say," Gregoir rumbled. "Galveston's Alpha team is still missing in action, but the rig they were sent to is destroyed."

"So you don't know anything," Dan summarized, but not harshly.

"It seems not," Gregoir agreed. He leaned back in his chair, placing his meaty forearms on the table. He gave Dan a considering look. "Do you think Galeforce is dangerous?"

"Without a doubt," Dan replied immediately. Pretty much every Natural was dangerous in some way, and Galeforce had flown through a thunderstorm without even getting windswept. Still, at no point had he seemed aggressive. The opposite, really. He seemed too enthusiastic for his own good. Dan recalled the man repeatedly attempting to help recovery efforts in obviously amateurish ways.

"I don't think he's malicious," Dan continued, "but that isn't really a requirement." And it wasn't as if the vigilante only wanted to help, either. His motives seemed more mundane: money and fame. It was an incredibly stupid way of going about attaining either, but Galeforce was young, naive, and inexperienced. He might not even realize how much danger he was in, in the fight, and out.

"It was like..." Dan grasped around for an explanation. "You ever have a friend who's got a band and they really, really want to hit it big?"

Gregoir seemed stunned by the comparison, but Connor was nodding.

"They're always inviting you to those stupid bar shows," the young man said, almost absently. "And it's always loud and terrible."

"That's the vibe I got from Galeforce," Dan said. "Dude wants to be famous, and seems to think this is the fastest way to do it."

"Infamous, more like," Gregoir stated solemnly. "We've been given orders to engage if he shows himself. This is not a trend we want to spread."

"Have y'all been paying attention to that, then?" Dan asked. "The— I don't know what to call it. The costumed volunteering that kids have been doing?"

Connor grimaced, but Gregoir laughed. "As a part of our community outreach research, we've looked into it quite thoroughly. Teenagers putting on costumes before collecting litter is hardly an issue. Something to be encouraged, even. It's when they go past that, that we begin to have problems." He nudged Connor with an elbow. "But we're looking to head it off, aren't we?"

Connor grumbled something unintelligible.

Gregoir was bouncing in his seat, filled with excited energy. "Our youth programs are dreadfully underfunded! There's a terrible dearth of programs for aspiring young officers. It's basically one of the private academy's, or bust. We cannot subsist on legacy membership alone. Our numbers are critically low, and my recent victories have put me in a position to do something about it!" Gregoir beamed. "Gettem young, as the cultist says."

He clapped Connor on the shoulder, rocking the younger man forward. "Connor here will be in charge of our social media push! Miss Valentine seems to think he'll be exceptional at it!"

Connor did not seem so certain. Dan very carefully did not point that out.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be appealing to a certain crowd," Dan offered reluctantly. Under his breath, he added, "At least of the female persuasion."

Connor huffed, drawing himself up. "I'm more than a pretty face, Newman!"

"Miss Valentine is scripting some scenarios for us to film. Advertisements, skits, things of that nature." Gregoir beamed in delight. "I believe his uncle has offered his assistance as well!"

Connor groaned into his hands.

"Oh, don't look so downtrodden," Gregoir reassured him. "You'll do fine!"

"He's going to put me in drag," Connor grumbled.

"Being able to laugh at yourself is a valuable skill to learn!" Gregoir exclaimed, leaping out of his seat. His hands fisted at his waist, elbows jutting out, as his chest swelled with pride. "Be confident in yourself! Know your strengths and weaknesses! Let no outside judgement pierce the armor of your soul! Do these things, and shame will be a thing of the past!"

The entire restaurant was looking at him. Gregoir didn't even seem to notice.

"That explains a lot," Dan commented, as he pushed his ear plugs in just a little bit tighter.

Gregoir slipped back into his seat, unperturbed by the many glances being thrown his way.

"Besides," the giant said, "a little embarrassment goes a long way to making one look more human, and therefore approachable. You'd be amazed at how a bit of self-deprecating humor can ease the mood of scared civilians."

Connor seemed unconvinced, but unwilling to argue. "I suppose that's possible."

"Right," Dan said, "skipping right past Connor's crossdressing,"—"Watch it Newman!"—"are you doing anything to address the hero stuff? I know you said it's legal, but all of Galeforce's media accounts seem to suggest it's where he got his start."

"Doing volunteer work is a far cry from interfering in official police matters," Gregoir pointed out. "One only needs to look at yourself to know that to be true."

Dan choked on the water he was drinking. He coughed, waving at a suddenly concerned Gregoir to continue.

After a moment of confusion, Gregoir complied. "Some might call it a slippery slope, I call that a fallacy. One can help their community in many ways. If they want to dress up while they do so, who am I to judge?" Gregoir's elbow pressed against the table, and he rested his chin against his closed fist. He seemed to look far into the distance, musing on something in the past.

"There have always been heroes," Gregoir said, slowly. "The biggest mistake this country has ever made was selling the idea that a person needs to be special to be a hero. Not just in the fifties, but the present as well.

"We are called heroes," Gregoir gestured between himself and Connor, "but we do not bear that title alone. Training is important. Skill is important. Knowledge is important. But everything starts with a desire to help. I will never fault people with that desire, only guide them towards a better path to do so."

Connor drank in the words like they were ambrosia, but Dan was less sure.

"That didn't really answer the question," he pointed out.

Gregoir blinked. "Oh! Of course, my apologies." He beamed at Dan. "It's quite simple really. They call themselves superheroes. I call them my newest recruits!" He rubbed at his chin. "Now I merely need to find them."

Dan felt a sudden surge of sympathy fill him for those poor, unsuspecting bastards.