Duke of Two Cities

Chapter 3

Devon stormed down the street, fuming, his thoughts in a chaotic blur of rage. Summer heat roasted his skin, worsening his already boiling temper. His precious hat, the hat that he had given up his family for, smelled like the seat of an old school bus parked in a scorching sun.

He kept the hat on out of sheer spite, despite the sweat pouring down his nose. 

Truly, Devons costume was not made for city heat—it was a hunter’s costume, meant for cool forests and the shade of trees with easy access to babbling brooks and the like. Had he given himself more time, he would have changed into something more appropriate—gym shorts and a basketball shirt, maybe—so he wouldn’t have to talk to the convention sweating himself dry.

Already, Devon was beginning to regret his choices.

Down the street from his house was the 712 bus line that would bring him out to the New Hudson Convention Center. He pulled out his phone and opened up HighStreet Maps. NHCC was on the other side of the city from him. The 712 would put him close to the convention center, but it would be a 2/12 hour ride there. At least the busses were air-conditioned. He find a corner seat on the bus and take a nap. Hopefully, nobody would bother him.

It was another ten-minute walk before he got to the correct stop—West 480 and Harvey St. There weren’t any seats available so he leaned against a pole, mopping up sweat that had pooled under his hat. Devon kept his head shaved in the summer, so the sweat that would have otherwise gotten trapped in his hair slid down the back of his neck.

He wrung out the sweat from his hat when he saw out of the corner of his eye a small group of high schoolers snickering at his hat.

“Yo, check it out, it’s the Pied Piper of West 480!”

The high school students snickered behind their hands.

“Hey, I’ll give you ten bucks if you can grab that feather.”

A burst of suppressed snickering answered that this was a good idea. “Get it on camera! Get it on camera!” one of them said.

“Shut up! I got it!”

Devon grit his teeth. If he wasn’t in costume, these instagoons wouldn’t have dared. But there was nothing an instagoon wouldn’t do for a few more clicks—no matter what stupid app they used.

The crescendo of snickering increased. They were actually going to try it.

Did they not realize Devon could hear them?

If they did, they didn’t care. Maybe it was all the social media they were exposed to as children. Maybe all the pandemic lockdowns had stunted their emotional growth. Or maybe it was just because they were high schoolers with still-developing brains. Devon was too hot and sweaty to care. All he knew was that these kids were rock-licking stupid, and worse, they were about to be his problem.

Since he was a foot taller than these kids, Devon predicted that jumping for the feather would likely be part of the challenge. He stretched and turned so the goons were just within his peripheral vision.

One of the goons slunk towards him, with a hand outstretched, snickering softly, ready to grab the feather.

He leapt forward.

FWOOSH

With basketball reflexes, Devon spun around and locked eyes with the goon.

The goon tried to jump back, while momentum carried him forwards. The result was a terribly awkward twisting motion, and the goon collapsed to the ground, flailing. His comrade-goons thought this was hilarious and broke out into gasps of choking laughter.

“Oh noooooo! Hahahaha—whaaaat?! Noooooooo!” laughed the goons.

His would be assailant—a young lad with his hair fashionably poofed in modern style, got up from the concrete. His eyes flamed with rage as he stormed over to Devon.

“Yo, what’s your problem?” snarled the young man as he gave Devon a shove on the word ‘problem.”

“Oh shit! Oh shit! Dude, Jaxton’s tilted!”

“Jaxton, calm down, it’s not a big deal.”

But Jaxton was inconsolable. His face twisted in a swirl of furious hurt. He was so close to having a sweet video to post, but this be-hatted idiot had made him look a fool. Now his awkward fall was on camera to spread around the world.

“Don’t touch me.” Devon put out his hands.

“You assaulted me!” Jaxton snarled. “That was assault! You can’t do that!”

Devon blinked. “What are you—first of all, I didn’t touch you. Secondly, I heard y’all saying that you’re going for my hat!”

“You assaulted me! You assaulted me!”

Jaxton swaggered and postured, showing off what he thought was well-defined muscle, storming towards Devon. Devon backed away with his hands up as Jaxon shouted and grunted, daring Devon, “Try it again, bro! Hit me again, bro!”

“I didn’t hit you at all!”

As Devon backed away, he saw in the corner of his eye one of the goons snatch his undefended bag, his eyes flashing with mischievous glee and barely restrained laughter.

“Yo, put my bag down!”

As though Devon had given a signal, the goon snatched the bag and started to run, his breath barely able to keep up with his cackling, braying laughter. With the bag gripped tight in both hands, he ran south as fast as he could, doubling over in hysterics.

“Look! I got his bag! I got his—“

But his words cut short when he turned to see the infuriated Devon much closer than he thought. Malignant mirth drained from the goon’s face as he realized there was now a six foot tall basketball player pounding the pavement towards him, feather flapping in the wind, his eyes flashing with rage.