Crossover Earth '98
A Day in the Life Steve Stackhouse
4/2/98 -
Ever have one of those days? I've been having a few weeks of them, as you probably noticed from the previous entries. I'm starting to feel more than a little run down to use an unfortunate phrase - being run down by a car would probably be more of a relief than a problem, though it would almost certainly just draw more vultures to the carcass.
What am I rambling on about? Well, let me tell you about my day so far. It all started with the phone...
*Brrrrring!* *Brrrrring!*
The tool of the devil I call it. Especially when it's 6:30 in the morning and I'm being jerked back out of REM sleep to answer it. And it's even worse when I was hoping to sleep in since I don't have to be in to work early.
Sigh. No rest for the wicked. I nearly knocked the phone onto the floor while trying to get ahold of it with my eyes closed. Finally one reluctant eye peeked open and I found the handset and pulled it to my ear. Another bleary command trickled down from my brain to activate my vocal cords. "Hello?"
"Hey! Is this Dave Spector? New York City's favorite new protector?" The voice on the other end of the line was far, far too cheerful for this ungodly hour. Somehow I got the impression I should recognize it, too, which was the most irritating thing about it.
"Huh?" As you might have guessed, I'm not exactly a morning person. "This is David Spector. Who are you?"
Another voice chimed in, this one female and if anything even more annoyingly perky than the man's, "Hiya Dave! This is Amy McWilliams and that was Jason Barnard and you're *LIVE* on WNYC-FM! So how does it feel to be one of the most talked about men in the city? I hear they're going to be doing a special piece on you..."
You have to love drivetime DJs. Give them a few grunts and an occassional yes or no and they'll do the entire interview themselves. Of course, given how the person they're talking to is generally about as concious as a drunk after a three-day binge that's a very useful skill. And I should probably count my blessings. At least I didn't get a call from the Howard Stern show.
Work has been a real mess for the last couple of weeks as well, what with the increased security and a new Ugandan delegation arriving. I've been falling behind on my own work because of the need to train some of the others in self defense. Note to self: next job, don't advertise your FBI experience on your resume' quite so heavily.
At least I get to hide in my office every now and again for a few minutes of peace and quiet. Or at least I used to be able to.
*Brrrrring*
My extension? My extension *never* rings. Everyone who needs to contact me knows that my office is almost entirely for show, since I'm out and about almost all of the time. It's someplace to drop off mail or to leave a message, never a place to contact me directly. That's why I have a pager and cell phone.
Okay, I'll admit to being the curious type. Big surprise, I'm sure.
"David Spector."
"Mr. Spector? This is John Cook from the Times. Can I have a few minutes to ask you some questions?"
Just what I need. "Mr. Cook, I'm not at liberty to discuss my position or anything relating to it, you'll need to go through channels..."
Mr. Cook, it seems, is not the type to allow you to finish a sentence. "That's not what I'm calling for. I'm calling for an expert opinion on the New York City superhero community, and your name is at the forefront of the publicly known heros these days. If this is a bad time, I can call you back later."
"I'm not part of the superhero community, Mr. Cook, I'm just..."
"Well, not in the sense of having powers, but any man who can fight a superpowered monster to a standstill must have something on his side. How about that? Could you give me a quote on what a person should do to avoid getting injured when attacked by someone with powers?"
"Run away?" Ha! A full sentence! "Give them whatever they want?"
The scariest part about that had to be that he seemed to take it all seriously. Doubtless there will be an article in the Times next week featuring that quote. I can see the headline now: SPECTOR ADVISES RUNNING AWAY FROM SUPER-MUGGERS. Who says the media is appealing to the lowest common denominator?
I had a five pm appointment to escort the South Korean Ambassador and his entourage to a Broadway play. Fortunately, I didn't have to watch this one, since I'd already seen it twice and Evan volunteered to stay for it. Why fortunately? Well, let's just say I've been getting noticed a bit lately...
Broadway is one of the few places I know where a line of limousines doesn't draw a huge amount of attention. This is a good thing, since the Ambassador insists on going first class everywhere and seems to revel in his importance. Not a problem in and of itself, but it can be irritating when I get that itchy feeling at the back of my neck.
The feeling wasn't there today, though, but apparently someone had leaked the trip to the social page writers. He wasn't two steps out of the car before a half dozen media types started walking in our direction. I gestured at Evan to usher them inside while I moved over to head them off at the pass.
"Sorry folks, no pictures or interviews today." I gave them my third-best don't-mess-with-me look. No need to push it too far, they're just doing their jobs, after all. Besides, one of the ladies was a bit on the cute side. What can I say? It's a weakness.
"Just the man we're looking for! You're Dave Spector, aren't you?" The tiny man in the front of the wave grinned up at me broadly, though his eyes were appraising me like I was a hunk of meat at a butcher shop.
The way things had been going, I don't think I had the right to be surprised. But I was anyway. "Yeeeees, I am. And I repeat, no pictures or interviews. And that includes me." A slow but firm push in the opposite direction as I watched the entourage step through the main doors of the theater. Good. Now I could disengage and be on my way.
"Oh, we're not here to interview you Mr. Spector." Wonderful. "We're with the Jerry Springer show, and we would absolutely love to have you on. Listen, we're planning on doing a show based around 'My relative is a paranormal' and we wanted you there as a facilitator." His grin broadened a little further, reminding me of a shark about to enter a feeding frenzy, "And of course, should a fight break out, it would be kind of nice to have you on hand. Not that we expect one to. What do you say? We'll cover travel, lodging, medical..."
I've only known Jennifer for a couple of months, but I think the nicest thing about her has to be the fact that she will listen to any amount of bitching I care to dish out. Normally I'm not the type, but I guess the stress has been getting to me lately. Or maybe it's the lack of sleep. I really don't know. But she's a great person when it comes to relaxation and working up a sweat.
So there we were in the racquetball courts at the YMCA. She's a heck of a player, too, and was actually beating me for the third straight time when a gentleman in an outfit modeled on a fifties newsie strolled right in on my serve without so much as a how do you do. The ball skittered to a stop as the two of us turned to look first at each other, then at him.
"Mr. Spector? Juan Rosales, National Inquisitor."
That was a new twist and the annoyed reply fell from my lips before I could edit myself. "The Inquisitor? What do *you* guys want from me? Mark Battle's steroid and kumquat wonder diet? The inside scoop on the Black Warrior's courtship with Nessie?"
If I ever needed a lesson on how to keep my trap shut, this was it. Rosales eyes lit up like a pinball machine on multiball giving out a free game. His pen scratched rapidly across a pad of paper that appeared in his hand like magic. "Can I quote you on that?"
Jennifer was a big help. She fell back against the wall and started laughing hysterically. My hand fell across my eyes and I groaned out, "Would it matter at all if I said no?"
Rosales, it must be said, was a pro. His back was already to me as he headed out the door. "No, not really. But I do have to ask those things. Thanks a lot, Mr. Spector. You've been a big help."
Sleep. It's a wonderful concept when you think about it, and tonight I'm making absolutely certain that I'm getting a few extra hours. The battery is out of my cell phone. The door is double locked and triple latched. The ringer on the bedside phone has been shut off.
And what's more, no one knows I'm spending the night in a hotel in Albany. Well, there was that guy in the Eyewitness News 3 van who tried to follow me, but that was resolved fairly simply and with a minimum of physical damage once he realized that I was very serious about making him eat his own camera lens.
Maybe having a reputation isn't so bad after all.