The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 135: Public Relations

Book 2: Chapter 135: Public Relations

Dan wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd completely forgotten about Gregoir's police-vigilante mixer. The past few days had felt more like months, and the invitation had genuinely slipped his mind. Even if it hadn't, he probably would have assumed it would be canceled, in light of recent events. This, apparently, was not the case.

"You have to wear something nice," Abby insisted, holding a collared shirt up to his chest and examining it with a critical eye. "He's expecting you to speak to these kids. You need to look right."

It was Abby who had remembered, in the end. Gregoir had texted her at some point, with a polite reminder of the time and location, and a request that she sees to Dan's appearance. Now, Dan was stuck with a fussy girlfriend, and a looming sense of doom.

"It's not like I'm giving a formal speech," Dan protested, his words sounding feeble even to his own ears. "I'm just answering questions."

"Oh, who knows what Gregoir will have you do," Abby replied, discarding the shirt and pulling out another. "Best be prepared, I say."

Dan clicked his tongue. "There's no way anyone will actually show up. Not after Galeforce flattened that apartment complex."

"You shouldn't doubt the stubbornness of teenagers," Abby chided him. She dangled the shirt in front of his chest, pursed her lips, then nodded. "Put this on."

Dan complied, throwing the shirt across his shoulders and buttoning it up.

"More like the stubbornness of Gregoir," he said, as he reached the top button. "This is gonna be a shit-show."

"Maybe," Abby agreed. She picked out a tie, held it up against his chest, then decided against it. "He'll obviously have to change his messaging. The APD can't be seen as even implicitly supporting these 'New Heroes.' It would be a public relations disaster."

"One of them is gonna patrol the wrong neighborhood and get lit up by a pissed of civilian," Dan grumbled.

"Not likely," Abby said. "Killing a vigilante is still vigilantism. I don't see people against that sort of thing actively engaging it."

"Because angry people are known for their rationality?"

Abby frowned, adjusting the collar of his shirt. Her nimble fingers loosed the top two buttons. She took a few steps back, looking him over. One finger tapped at her chin, and she nodded. She passed him his suit jacket, and Dan put it on.

"You look good," she said. "Speak up, be confident, and they'll listen to what you have to say."

Dan turned to face the mirror, looking himself over. Hints of a dark red shirt peeked out past his black suit. His shoes were polished. His pants were pressed. He looked professional. Like he knew what he was doing. The image made him uncomfortable.

"I don't know what I have to say," Dan pointed out.

"Think about it," Abby leaned in close, and kissed him on the cheek. "Now get going. You don't want to be late."

Dan was never late to anything he cared about. Not when arrival was only a thought away. He appeared in front of the small athletics center that Gregoir had rented out for the evening. Dan had half an hour before things kicked off, but already he could see a fair number of cars in the parking lot. He wandered inside the building, looking for familiar faces.

The athletic center was little more than a flat office building attached to an outdoor gym. There were tennis and basketball courts, a pool, and a long section of grass that doubled as a park and a field. The building itself was only a bit bigger than Dan's house. There was a gym inside, and several soundproof rooms with television and entertainment systems. It was empty at the moment, though Dan could see quite a few people outside, using the outdoor facilities. Dan waffled between joining them, or exploring what was left of the building.

Connor intercepted him before he made a decision. The younger man was dressed in his Class A's, the formal uniform of the APD. The dark blues and white gloves contrasted sharply with Connor's youthful appearance, though his pronounced scowl certainly dimmed that impression. He flagged Dan down, feet clicking against the tile floor as he approached.

"Newman," he greeted tersely. "Tell me this isn't going to be a disaster."

"This isn't going to be a disaster," Dan complied robotically.

"Gods above, at least pretend to mean it!" Connor complained, throwing up both of his arms. They came back down, and one hand massaged his temples. "Why did I let Gregoir talk me into this?"

He'd used Gregoir's first name. Connor must really be stressed. As a good friend, it was Dan's responsibility to cheer him. He clapped him on the back.

"Don't worry," Dan said comfortingly. "Whatever happens, you'll only get half the blame."

Connor groaned into his palm.

"I don't see anyone in spandex," Dan noted, glancing over Connor's shoulder at the people gathered outside. There were a few officers in uniform, and a handful of others in casual clothes. If there was supposed to be a dress code, that information had not been well distributed. Even so, Dan doubted the so-called New Heroes would be showing up in their civvies.

Gregoir had specifically chosen this athletic center for its out-of-the-way nature. It was its own little compound, with tall brick walls wrapping around the building and its amenities. Any costumed teenagers who wandered past would not panic the surrounding neighborhood.

"They haven't arrived yet." Connor shook his head despondently. "I don't know what would be worse. A pack of wannabe vigilantes having a barbeque with a group of off-duty cops, right after that mess with Galeforce, or nobody showing up at all. The latter would certainly be more embarrassing, but maybe it would be better in the long run. Or maybe not. I don't know."

"I'm surprised you didn't cancel," Dan said.

Connor shook his head. "I think Command pressed Gregoir on it, be he wouldn't budge. You know how he is. Wouldn't hear of it." Dan nodded, and Connor continued, "We're changing the focus of the gathering. It's still a friendly thing, but the department is adjusting its policy regarding vigilantes, given recent events."

"Saw that coming," Dan noted. "What's the change?"

"Well," Connor hesitated. "Let's just say we really need to convince them not to cross the line into vigilantism. There are concerns about how the community will react to people running around in costume. This is not the time for rash actions. I can only hope Gregoir can convince them of that."

"He can be very convincing," Dan agreed. "Where is the big guy?"

"He'll be here," Connor reassured him. "He said he was arranging clandestine transportation for the New Heroes, whatever that means."

Clandestine? Gregoir?

There was a series of loud honks from the parking lot outside, followed by the loud screech of air brakes.

"That's probably him," Dan guessed.

The two of them moved towards the parking. They exited the athletics center and stepped outside. There was a massive vehicle parked in the middle of the lot: a bright yellow school bus. Gregoir's enormous frame was wedged into the driver's seat, one hand waving at the building entrance. He pulled a lever, and the doors popped open with a angry hiss.

"You cannot be serious," Dan said in awe. How had Gregoir managed to convince a bundle of skittish, rebellious teens to get on a bus with him?

"Final stop!" he heard Gregoir shout.

People began piling out of the vehicle, each more colorful than the previous. They were dressed in costumes of varying quality, some wearing spandex body suits while others had sewn patterns into t-shirts or vests. They all wore masks. They all looked ridiculous. It was a bit like being on the set of an 80's low budget superhero film, complete with really crappy practical effects. The clothes did little to hide their builds, their faces, or their age.

They were all so very young.

It was a jarring thought. Dan was hardly an old man. He didn't even have a decade on most of these kids. But kids they were, by build and by demeanor. They'd stumbled into something dangerous, without thought or clue, and had stuck to it with the same stubborn determination that defined any hard-headed teenager. If they kept at it, without thought, without a plan, they'd end up like Galeforce. They'd end up dead, or getting someone else dead.

Dan hadn't been much different than them, only about two years ago. He thought back to what Abby had told him, about Dan having something to say. What should he say, what could he say, to make them understand how he saw them? He thought back to Marcus, the angry, bitter rant he'd gone on when Dan had first declared his intentions to make a difference in the world. He thought about the training he'd gone through. The good he'd done, and the number of people he'd watched die; the number of time's he'd almost died himself. Suddenly, he was very glad Gregoir had invited him here.

Yeah. Dan had something to say. Now he just needed to find a way to say it.