Page 4 of Box of Frogs
I turned on the tap and let the cold water run over my small wound. It still hurt. I’d have to search for a pharmacy and get hold of some antiseptic when I made it out of here.
Abandoning my finger for the time being, I smiled at myself. ‘I am the Madhatter.’ I coughed and deepened my voice. ‘I am the Madhatter and you have met your match, for I have powers you can only dream of.’
It occurred to me, not for the first time, that perhaps I didn’t just have amnesia. If my superhero nomenclature really was the Madhatter then it was possible I was completely insane as well as terminally forgetful. Had I imagined my crazy feat with those bullets? I bit my lip. There was only one way to find out.
I unwrapped the miniscule complimentary soap and gave my face and armpits a quick wash before straightening my clothes and heading out. I passed several other hotel guests along the way and, although I stared hard at each one in case I happened to know them – or vice-versa – all I gained in return were a few scowls and confused looks.
As I tripped through the small lobby, which smelled unpleasantly of bleach, I paused to grab a local newspaper. September 22nd, 2018. There was nothing about the date that jarred. Given all I had to go on were my instincts, I filed it away in my mind then flipped quickly through the pages in case there was a missing person’s advert placed by my distraught family, or an article with my face in it. Again I was disappointed. I grimaced and tossed the newspaper aside.
Cool air hit my face as soon as I left the hotel building and I couldn’t stop myself from shivering. I was going to have to use some of my newfound wealth to buy some clothes. I stepped off the pavement to cross the road – then halted abruptly as a familiar smell tickled my nostrils.
Turning my head, I spotted an older woman leaning against a wall and inhaling deeply on a cigarette. As she blew out smoke it drifted in my direction, causing both my fingers and my insides to twitch. Huh. I raised up my own hands, sniffed my fingers and examined them for the tell-tale yellow of a smoker. Oh. I felt oddly disappointed in myself. Then again, it had to be stressful work being a superhero. I bit down the temptation to ask the woman for a cigarette and turned away. I had other things to do.
The main shopping streets were busy with the late lunch crowds. I weaved my way in and out of them. What I was looking for was unlikely to be here; I needed somewhere far murkier than The White Company or Jo Malone. Spinning away, I marched down a side alley. Hunched in a doorway was a homeless guy with a sad-looking cap containing a few coins sitting in front of him.
I crouched down next to him. ‘Hey,’ I said softly. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Fucking fantastic. How does it look like it’s going?’
No wonder he wasn’t having much luck with the coinage. All the same, I offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m new to town,’ I told him.
‘Bully for you. Tourist Information Office is in the other direction.’
I dug into my pocket and pulled out one of McNasty’s fifty-pound notes. The homeless guy’s eyes flickered but he didn’t reach for it. ‘I bet you know this area well,’ I said. ‘Better than Tourist Information does.’
There was the faintest sneer to his response. ‘If you’re looking for something to snort, I’m not your man.’
‘I don’t want drugs. I just want to know what areas I should avoid. I get … nervous in new places.’
He gave me such a sceptical look that you’d think I’d told him he’d just won the lottery. ‘You think I don’t know who you are?’
I froze. ‘Who?’ I demanded. ‘Who am I?’ When he didn’t answer immediately, I whipped up, hauling him with me. ‘Tell me!’
‘Your lot don’t scare me,’ he mumbled. ‘Threaten me all you like. Cut off my toes. Won’t make any difference.’
‘What is my name?’ I hissed, getting right in his face.
‘I dunno. How the fuck should I know?’
‘You said you knew who I was!’
‘I know you’re one of them. I don’t know your bloody name.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘One of who?’
‘You know.Them.’
Superheroes. He knew I was a superhero and he knew there were others. I released my grip on his collar. ‘How?’ I breathed. ‘How do you know what I am?’
He raised a grubby shoulder. ‘Just do. I see things, don’t I? You’d be surprised what I see.’
My pulse rate had picked up. Trying to breathe normally, I opened my mouth to ask him more when he snatched the fifty-pound note from my hand and spun round, kicking his cap with the paltry pile of coins to one side and pelting down the street away from me. From a brief moment I gazed after him like a flabby, half-baked sponge then I took off after him. No way was I letting him go until I knew everything he knew.
He might have had a head start but I was fast. Damned fast. Olympian-sprinter level fast, in fact. I might have been a smoker but the effort I had to put into running after him barely affected me. I leapt neatly over three rubbish bags, using the wall on my left to gain further traction and, within seconds, I was at his back. I reached out to grab him but, before my fingers even brushed against his clothes, he let out a yell. Arms outstretched, he went flying down to the ground.
I came to a skidding halt and narrowly avoided tripping over his prone body. Glancing backwards, I realised what had happened. There was a pothole in the middle of the road, about a metre or so back and his foot must have caught in it. Shame that the hole had beaten me to it; I’d been rather impressed at how quickly I’d caught up to him.
I crouched down and prodded him with a finger. He didn’t move; in fact, he didn’t even groan or moan or sigh in vexation. Frowning, I turned him over. Gasbudlikins. He was out cold. Not only that, but there was a nasty gash on the side of his head where he must have struck the edge of the pavement as he went down. The copious amounts of blood streaming from the wound probably weren’t a good thing.
