Page 9 of Justice for Radar

“Sorry,” I apologized immediately. “I get in the zone and lose myself for a while.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Radar said, slicing through some bell peppers at the cutting board with both speed and precision. A born cook. I pressed my lips together and realized I knew nothing about the man whose house I inhabited… not even his real name.

“Grab a seat,” he said, pointing at the opposite side of the counter. “Lucia, get our guest a drink.”

“Oh, I can do that,” I said quickly. “Lucia just got home from serving people all day. She shouldn’t have to do it at home.”

Lucia made a noise like that was hilarious and rolled her eyes at me, popping open the fridge door.

“What’s your poison?” she asked me. “Soda, milk, water, got some sun tea in here, orange juice…”

“The tea sounds lovely,” I said, and she smiled back over her shoulder, her large dark eyes expressive as she tossed her long, straight black hair over her shoulder.

Her mane was impressive, falling well past her waist, almost,almostto the tops of her thighs. I used to braid my best friend’s long red hair every morning before school when I was a teen and really got into learning different braiding hair styles and the like. My hands very nearly itched to do Lucia’s now and to dust off those old skills.

She filled a glass with ice out of the fridge’s door dispenser and brought out a pitcher of tea. She poured me a glass and handed it over. I paused before drinking, breathing in the fruity and slightly spicey scent.

“Ooo, what is this?” I asked, taking a sip.Wow, it was good.

“Ginger and pear white tea,” Radar answered.

“Sweetened with honey,” Lucia added.

“My bro Stoker’s ol’ lady makes it,” Radar declared, tossing onions into a skillet on the stove.

“Serenity is cool,” Lucia said. “She’s got this little goth rocker-chick aesthetic, but she’s super, super chill.”

“Ah, goth I’ll agree with you, kid, but I think the rocker aesthetic is pure Stoker,” Radar said, adding bell pepper slices to the onions.

Lucia rolled her eyes. “Stands to reason, Dad. Stokerisa rocker.”

“He plays bass in a garage band, sweetie. I love the guy – he’s one of my brothers – but it’s a hobby not a lifestyle.”

“Duh, that’s because the club is all your lives,” Lucia said, getting herself a glass of tea.

“No,you’remy life,preciosa. You and your sister, and don’t you forget it.” He pointed the tip of his knife at his daughter and gave her a baleful look.

She rolled her eyes, but her blush gave her away. I couldn’t help but smile at the sweet exchange.

“Yo, yo, yo!” a masculine voice called from the front, the front door clapping shut behind it.

“Yeah, in the kitchen!” Radar called out.

“Oh,hello.” A man entered the kitchen with two plastic grocery bags lined with paper ones in each hand, the familiar rattle of glass bottles coming from within them.

He was handsome, I guess. Forties in the face, but the silver frost along his temples and along the tips of his goatee put him maybe at fifty’s door. I couldn’t honestly tell. He was fit, the arms hefting the bags onto the counter near me sleek and toned with muscle.

He wore a leather vest, a pair of cargo shorts, and some flip-flops. The look very rough and tumble beach bum – his skin a red-kissed bronze from the sun, freckles standing out along the tops of his shoulders and his trim chest. His eyes were a vivid bronze color except for half of the iris of one of them, which was half blue.

“Heterochromia,” I muttered, and the new man grinned, his teeth very straight and very white.

“That’s right. Most people don’t know the name for it.”

“What?” Lucia asked, kind of rearing back in confusion.

“The thing going on with my eye, kid.” The guy stuck out his hand to me and said, “I’m Atlas, and you are?”

“Sorry, I’m Justice,” I said, shaking it.

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