Uno and Fog: The Black Death

“My mother was The Black Death.”  I am still processing this revelation.  The Black Death was an assassin, a terrorist by all accounts, with an extremely high body count.  There was very little footage of her, and she wasn’t showy like some supervillains.  If you saw her it meant someone was about to die or had already died, not that she left very many witnesses.

She was quick at it, but the ways people died varied greatly.  There were disagreements and theories on the internet about most of her abilities, the most common one was that she was capable of mind control which explained the ease with which she killed and eluded capture.

“Hmm.  It could be a set up.”  The Fog suggests, “someone wanted us to find this.”

“Maybe,” I concede, but there are somethings that you realize the truth of the moment you see one piece of evidence,  “but The Black Death disappeared when my mother left, or pretty close to it.”

“A coincidence.”

I almost laugh,  “you don’t believe in those.” Then I think about it, the reason I couldn’t find my mother was almost certainly because she was dead.  There were theories about her disappearance and why, most believe she had died, some thought she was in witness protection, others that she was in some black site prison, or being used in experiments.

Someone like her didn’t just disappear, something happened to her.  Which led to more questions which I didn’t have answers.

“Well, she could fly.”  And I can’t which didn’t mean anything, even if he was implying that it did.  My father had never exhibited any kind of special abilities which had made me suspect I had gotten them from my mother, but the heritability of endowments was peculiar.

Sometimes it skipped a generation or two, sometimes it lay dormant until a trigger set it off, sometimes an individual’s descendants would have wildly varying abilities with some having none or only a little, while others were as powerful or even more powerful then any before them.

The Fog searches the cabinet, but there isn’t anything else.  Nothing in the clothes either.  I watch him, reluctant to touch anything.  “We should take it with us, there might be something about it we’re missing.”

I don’t want to do that, but I nod in agreement.  The Fog takes the outfit down and carefully folds it up before he shuts that back of the armoire.

We head back through the warehouse to the side entrance.  Neither of us speak as we walk.  I wonder if my father knows, I wonder if my mother actually loved him or was using him for some end.  The thought occurs to me that I might have it backward, that he might have been using her.  My father, who has always been almost obsessed with doing the right thing in business, honoring your word, making things right, but I wondered if it was merely for image and public relations.

It would make perfect sense to have maintain a public image, while your assassin wife takes care of your problems.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” but am I?  I don’t know how I would even bring this up with my father.  Hey dad, did you know mom was a ruthless supervillain?   Did you use her to bump off your rivals and competitors?

As we get to the door, I can sense people waiting outside for us.  “We have company.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Anyone else around?”

I feel out as far as I can for the electrical discharges of nervous systems, I can faintly feel the security guards t the edges of the warehouse district.

“No.”

The Fog nods and drifts off to find another way out.

I step through the door, not sure what I’m walking into.

“Good evening, Mr. Norte.”  The man speaking is wearing an expensive grey suit, dark green tie.  His gloved hands are resting on a cane.  Behind him are two men in suits.  I’m not going to say they were ill fitting, but they were bulging with muscles on their muscles.

“Hello.” I watch him carefully, “what can I do for you?”

He smiles slightly, “Its more what I can do for you, Mr. Norte, or would you prefer Uno?”