Tinker slipped into the ice cream truck’s passenger entryway carrying an aura of urgency. Holding the metal bar for support, she looked into the back of the truck, and after a couple of moments, her urgency was gone.

“Excuse me,” she deadpanned toward the truck’s rear. “Can I get a Fudgecicle and a Drumstick?”

Rainier was on his back, one massive rocky leg up on an aluminum shelf. The truck’s roof above him was all but gone, and a rare taste of Seattle sunshine was coming through unfettered. All around him were boxes and containers, most crushed, that had been in the large freezers that his unexpected entrance from above had destroyed.

And the Forte hero was covered with a rainbow of ice creams.

“That’s funny,” he said, eyes closed as he tried sitting up. It looked like he wasn’t quite ready yet, so he lay back down.

Lucy pressed her lips together to try and keep from laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said, not quite succeeding at it.

“No, no,” he said calmly, squinting his eyes at the sunlight that was melting the chocolates, vanillas, and several other flavors on his jagged skin. “You’re right. It is funny.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, fighting off more obvious jokes that his current state just begged for.

“I think so. It was just a really long fall.” He looked down and noticed a pointed cone stuck to his chest. It made him think of a Madonna video, so he reached up and pulled it off. Melted vanilla and caramel marked the spot where it had been.

Lucy leaned on the bar with both arms. “Have you noticed you have this bad streak with trucks? What is that now, U.P.S., Fed Ex, Seattle Times, now Mr. Nice Creams?”

“There does seem to be a pattern, yes.”

“I just think there might be something deeper going on. Something from your childhood, maybe. Did a truck do something bad to you?”

“Again, funny,” he said, patiently. He pulled his suspended leg back and let it drop to the truck floor, and the shiny, happy truck shook in protest. “Did we win, at least?”

“Yes, we did,” Lucy grinned. “After you bravely stood there and let her punch you and you went soaring away, Jared—“ She stopped and looked around to make sure no one was there. She still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of this whole code names in public thing. “Seahawk got a harpoon line around her. I found an open patch of skin and hit her with a narc dart. Actually, four. She was a big girl.”

“Yes, she was. Nice work.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I’m glad I brought those along. Otherwise, that could have been a really sticky situation.”

Rainier turned his head slowly toward her, a rivulet of strawberry running down the bridge of his nose. Even his heralded patience had its limits.

Lucy screwed her mouth up into silence and held up her hands in silent surrender, closing the topic. “I’ll see if there’s a hose nearby,” she offered.

Max suddenly appeared behind Lucy, jumping into the truck with her same earlier concern. He looked back at Rainier.

“Is he okay?” he asked Lucy.

“I think he’s fine,” she said.

Max nodded with relief. He looked back at Rainier, and after a moment, said, “Hey, mister, can I get a Klondike Bar?”

Tinker patted Max on the shoulder apologetically. “We did that already.” She turned and stepped down from the truck, disappearing from sight.

“Damnit!” Max said in genuine frustration. He shook his head at his bad fortune. “I always miss those.” Paying no attention to Rainier, he turned and followed Lucy back to the street outside.

Rainier sighed and covered his face with his enormous hand. “I love my job,” he muttered as though it were a mantra. “I do good things. I help people. I love my job.”

He sat up, and the truck groaned in protest again at the shifting of his weight. He looked down at his arms and half-heartedly wiped away what mess he could. He happened to glance down at the floor, and saw an open box of Push-Ups. He fished through it with one of his oversized fingers and found one that was still intact. Leaning back against the truck’s inside wall, hearing it give some with a loud wrenching noise, he drew his legs up to bent knees and pulled the top off the Push-Up. Despite his incredible strength, he managed to handle the treat carefully enough to get the sherbet pushed out properly. At least one thing had gone right today.

He sat and ate his ice cream, pondering the strange path his life had taken, wondering how he’d come to a place where he knew from experience, not speculation, what it was like to get knocked off a twenty story building. He decided not to let it trouble him. After all, the sunshine was a rare thing. Better to keep things in perspective and just try to enjoy it.

Seahawk poked his head in the front door of the truck.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. “Can I get a—”

The remains of the freezer missed Seahawk, went through the windshield, and embedded itself in the side of a parked dry cleaning delivery truck.

END.

 

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