Injustice
How the Silver Champion Nearly Lost
The moon was a silver saucer, floating on a sea of obsidian glass. Crickets sang in the bushes along the side of the walking path. On the other side, the lake stretched out, nearly as dark as the sky above, deep and mysterious. Charles tucked Orel’s arm closer into the crook of his arm and sighed.
“Everything okay there?” Orel asked, a smile in his voice.
“Oh yes. More than okay.” Charles waved his free hand to encompass everything around them. “I’m so glad we took this night off. We needed this.”
“Mmhm.” Orel leaned in and rested his head on Charles’ shoulder. “This is nice.”
From the deep darkness over the lake, a loon’s cry sang out. The cricket song rose in answer. The soft sound of two pairs of feet on the path made a quiet counterpoint to nature’s hymn.
The calm was broken by a shout and a harsh light, blinding their eyes.
Charles and Orel froze in place, raising hands to shade their eyes from the glare.
A hard voice demanded, “Why are you out here this late? Where have you been? Where are you going?”
Charles frowned, opening his mouth to ask how any of that was the questioner’s business, but Orel spoke up first, his hands rising in the universal gesture of peace: “We just came from dinner, sir, and we’re walking home.”
Charles’ eyes adjusted to the light, and he could see that their challenger was a police officer, the light in one hand, his other on his holstered gun. Raising his own hands, Charles stepped forward to angle his body between Orel and the cop.
“Don’t move!” Fingers tightened on the gun, lifting it a few inches in the holster.
“What’s the problem, officer?” Charles asked, watching the gun carefully, ready to push Orel out of the way. Bullets would bounce off Charles, but Orel wasn’t so invulnerable.
“You’re just walking home, huh?” Sarcasm dripped from the cop’s tone. “Didn’t break into any cars on your way?”
“No, sir,” Orel said, his voice soft and unthreatening. But Charles could hear a slight tremble to it.
“Are you looking for thieves?” Charles asked. This cop must be new to the force as he didn’t recognize the Silver Champion and Spitfire out of uniform. While some superheroes kept their identities secret from everyone, Charles and Orel had never hidden their faces from those they worked with. “You can see we have nothing on us.”
“Just one thief. Your friend there matches the description.” The cop jerked his head toward Orel.
“What’s the description?” Charles slid one foot forward, trying to get more of his body between Orel and that gun. Part of him wanted to reveal his identity as the Silver Champion, but that might backfire after last week’s press conference where Charles had come out as trans and gay. While he had received many messages of support, he had also heard grumblings.
“A tall black man in a hoodie.” The cop’s eyes flickered to Charles again and he pulled his gun free of the holster. “Don’t move.”
Charles’ heart leapt into his throat. “Officer, you can see that Orel is not wearing a hoodie and we have no stolen items on us. Why don’t you put the gun away?”
“You could’ve stashed them.” The gun barrel rose toward them, an empty eye glaring and fierce.
Charles suppressed the urge to go for the gun. He was stronger and faster than most people, but didn’t want to risk Orel’s life. “You said ‘tall’.” Charles nodded toward Orel. “How tall? I’m taller than he is.”
The gun barrel wavered just a bit. “I’m asking the questions.”
“Sorry, sir,” Orel said.
Charles’ jaw clenched, anger and fear warring within him.“We didn’t steal anything, officer. We can give you the name of the restaurant where we had dinner, and you can call them to confirm we were there less than ten minutes ago.”
“And you get away while I’m on the phone? I don’t think so.”
Were they going to have to pull the ‘do you know who I am?’ card after all? The sound of footsteps behind them gave him a minute of warning before a new voice said, “Good evening,” and two young people stepped into the light. One of them held a cell phone up, the camera pointed at the cop. “What’s going on here?”
“Stay out of it,” the cop snapped. “This is none of your business.”
“What have these people done?” the young person continued as if the cop hadn’t spoken, pale skin bright in the glaring light. “Why are they at gunpoint? Are you arresting them?”
The cop spluttered, and the second young person, dark skin and black hair shining in the light, addressed Charles and Orel. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“There have been some break ins in the area,” Orel said, his voice still shaky. “The officer here was questioning us regarding them.”
The camera-holder nodded. “And you have reason to believe these two were involved?”
“I have a description,” the cop growled. He jerked the gun toward Orel. “He fits.”
“Let me guess: the description is ‘black man’.” The camera-holder’s voice dripped sarcasm.
The other witness put in, “Are you going to stop every one of us in the area? We all look alike, right?”
“That’s not — ! No.” The cop looked into the camera, set his jaw, and carefully put his gun back in the holster. The radio on his shoulder crackled, and a voice came through: “146 in progress on River Road. All units to River Road and Oak Street.”
Finally lowering his blinding light, the cop spoke into his radio, “10–4. On the way.” He glared at each of the four people in front of him, then turned and walked away without another word.
This story is a response to Prism & Pen’s writing prompt No Justice, No Peace.