A creaky steel door got kicked open and smacked the stopper before falling back closed..

  Pax used his body to stop it and walked through. He carried a cardboard box in his hand; a heavy one that weighed down full of who-knew-what. There was a few rolls of plastic tarp poking upwards and spools of wire crowding the top of the box– what was underneath was anyone’s guess. Pax was too peeved to care.

  Brick walls painted a creamy kind of brown made the sides of the corridor. A long vertical window struck down the height of the room, afternoon light shining in on the crates that got moved into the back corner by the door down into the basement. Cleaning the windows would have been a hassle so the faculty left them and their taped-up crack alone when they washed the floor and helped rid the warehouse of that pungent swamp smell that pervaded the place when they moved in.

  Pax’s shoulder crunched as he carried the box up the stairs. Is this what he had come to? General labour for some goth rock kingpin? Sure, Pax still had a job in Dead Head’s organization after suffering a few failures but he was on the lowest rung at that point and he worried what would happen if he knocked himself any lower. He heard that O’Malley ended up in the morgue. Was that Dead Head’s doing?

  After hours of lifting heavy boxes full of junk, his arms tired quickly. He got to the halfway landing and had to put the box down, Pax’s back hissing as he turned back upright. “Ack–!”

  For all the superhumans that organization had, none of them used their powers to help the basic operation of the place. With her psychic abilities, Thrash surely could have moved inventory with ease! Why couldn’t Dead Head give that witch that kind of assignment?

  Pax collapsed against the wall, his back stinging. To think he could have had a job like that anywhere in Toronto– general labour. It wouldn’t have paid as well but there wouldn’t have been any threat of being wiped out. The danger was lingering above him like Damocles’ heel. Or what was the term?– Damocles’ ax? Damocles’ blade? Guillotine? Pax couldn’t recall at the moment. Mythology wasn’t his thing.

  Bruno, once Pax’s subordinate, had all but officially signed on to Dead Head. Pax wasn’t sure about Richie but he figured Richie was with Dead Head as well. Weasel might have still been Pax’s boy but he was the only one. Pax sighed and thought about how much things had changed in the last month. He went from running his own crew to hauling heavy cardboard boxes upstairs.

  He was sure nobody was timing him so he thought that halfway point was a good place to camp and catch his breath.

  But from the floor above did a door open and close. It might have been Dead Head or someone who would rat Pax out to Dead Head so Pax quickly grabbed the cardboard box and continued his journey upward, like his little break hadn’t just been interrupted.

  Pax looked up and saw it was Hustler Petrov.

  A neon smile appeared on the obsidian charlatan’s face. “Pax! Lovely to see you this afternoon!”

  Pax cocked an eyebrow, his voice heavy as he spoke, “I can’t believe anyone saying that to me.”

  Petrov cut past Pax but then turned around and followed Pax up the stairs. “What’s the matter, my friend?”

  Pax groaned and rested the box against his chest to get a better grip. “I gotta carry this junk up to the second floor; that’s what.”

  Petrov followed Pax up the stairs, mimicking Pax’s speed so closely it was like Pax was looking into some kind of perverse mirror. Petrov said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s some malice in your voice.”

  “Only some?” asked Pax, chuckling in joylessness. “This is what I do now. I lug boxes full of junk around the warehouse.”

  “Has our mutual boss thrown you into the proverbial dungeon?” asked Petrov.

  Pax put the box down on the step, careful not to slam it as there might have been volatile chemicals inside. “You got a point? Or are you just bustin’ my chops?” He looked around the room, almost expecting a certain blue lady to pop out. “Usually Thrash is the one to do that.”

  “Au contraire,” said Petrov, stamping his cane down on the stairs, “Curiosity has stricken me.”

  Pax sat down on the stairs, leaning against cardboard like a backrest. “Curiosity?”

  In a dramatic way that had to be intentional, Petrov stared out and lowered his voice. “Our respected leader is hardly a leader at all. Tell me: how would feel if he was replaced?”

  Pax’s heart skipped a beat. He looked around to make sure no one else was in the room then launched up. “Are you talking about mutiny, Nightlord?”

  Petrov tittered, his starry eyes curving with joy. “Nightlord...!” The nickname was amusing to the umbral gentleman. He straightened his tongue, though, and said, “I’m talking about how this organization feels about its head. To me, Dead Head is hardly a leader. Shimmer is the one who draws the lines in the war room.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Pax wasn’t impressed with Petrov’s observations. If crossing one’s arms could be sarcastic, Pax was doing it. “That might be so, but–” he gestured a hand up at the building– “he was able to make all of this.” He dropped the hand. “That’s something.”

  Petrov’s luminescent face flattened. “It’s something but that’s all it is.” He began once again his walk up the stairs. “I have a feeling that beyond the portal and its usage, Mr Head doesn’t have a lot of ambition.” He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Pax like the stairs were tiers on a caste system. “And I am skeptical that the portal will work as intended.”

  “Ambition isn’t everything.” Pax reached down and picked up the box, groaning as he craned his back upward. “Sometimes there–” Oh, his arms were starting to feel the burn!– “needs to be a guy that just gets things together.”

  Petrov kept his gaze stoic. “You’re awfully defensive of someone who has reduced you to a workman.”

  Pax got to the top step and dropped the box again, rumbling out a thud. “So what are you saying? That you’re going to bump him off and replace him?”

  Petrov stewed a frown at Pax for a few second before saying, “Do I seem that ruthless to you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Pax. “I can’t say I have you figured out.”

  Petrov softened his face. “Rest assured, I’m not planning on usurping our fair king. That said, if something were to happen... I’d feel obliged to lead this band of outlaws in the right direction.”

  Pax leaned on the rail. “And what makes you think you’d be a good leader? You? You come off like someone who likes power way more than he is good at using.” And then he repeated, “Ambition isn’t everything.”

  If they were quiet enough, they could the other voices in the warehouse and birds chirping outside. The warehouse had become a huge part of Pax’s world but it, at the end of the day, was just a small organization. And as he reflected on that fact, Pax didn’t think it would have been too strange if someone took over as leader.

  “I know how to get things done,” said Petrov, cupping and rubbing his hands together. “I would know how to delegate.” Petrov looked over Pax’s strained arms and crumpled shirt. “I would be more understanding on your failures and wouldn’t demote you into the earth just because things beyond your control affected your assignments.”

  Pax had to admit to himself, it was refreshing to hear someone sympathetic to his plight– pertaining to the failures at the convenience store where Ghost Thing showed up and the deal at the construction site that got ambushed by Lady Beat.

  “Just keep it under your hat,” said Petrov, stepping down the stairs. “Who knows what could happen?”

  Pax watched Petrov walk off, the demon man twirling his cane. It was surprising that the fella wasn’t whistling an old folk tune, but Pax pulled his mind from it and got on with his job. He opened the door, held it open with his foot, and picked up the box. With the box firmly in hand, he went on through to the hallway.

  The second floor hallway looked like it was finished in the early seventies. It had a bland paint job that covered the baseboard, too. If Dead Head wanted that part of the building to appear like an active workplace, the staff could put up some paintings or anything to indicate people walked through there and cared about how it appeared.

  Pax passed by a series of the windows– the ones that looked down over the main floor. The portal structure rose higher than the windows. Hustler Petrov was down on the floor, sharing a word with Dead Head like he wasn’t, just a few seconds ago, discussing the leader’s demise. Petrov looked so cordial as he talked with Dead Head.

  What a snake, thought Pax.

  The judgment didn’t go too deep. Pax knew that being two-faced was how you got ahead in that industry.

  Pax had to get his head straight, though. He had been demoted, he worried that his boss was going to bury him, and now there was a possible mutiny in the midst. It was a kind of thing that made a man regret moving to the big city. Maybe later he would have to brainstorm ideas on how to get out of that gang.

  But for the moment, he walked down the hall, heavy weight burning his forearms. As he approached the open door, chatter was heard. Some guys were present in the room, maybe working, maybe slacking. Lombardi and Garrison were hanging around while Pharaoh was putting binders on the shelves– binders full of empty pages or old factory reports from what Pax overheard. There was the old radio on top of a shelf, turned lower than usual.

  Pax dragged himself over to a fold out table and dropped the box down onto the surface with a heavy creak. Phew. The job was done. Maybe he would hang around the room a moment in case Shimmer had another heavy box that needed to be dragged upstairs.

  Lombardi and Garrison had watched Pax struggle to get that package across the floor. Lombardi asked, “Is the box too heavy for you, stringbean?”

  Garrison checked Lombardi and snickered. “They hired a runt to do heavy lifting!”

  Pax got his breath and straightened his stance, still a few inches short compared to his mockers. “I’m harder than both of you combined.” Pax looked over their bodies. “You guys might hit the gym a lot but that doesn’t mean you’re made of steel.”

  The radio was churning in the background, as it usually was around that pair. Pax thought he recognized the song but then the singer said “You got another thing coming” and Pax knew it was the Judas Priest song of the same name. All old rock music reminded Pax of his older brother. He said, “And why are you knuckleheads always listening to that radio station?”

  Lombardi and Garrison seemed more insulted at Pax’s irrelevance towards their music choice than the Pax’s commentary on their bodies and courage. Lombardi scowled. “Hey man, that’s Heavy! The best station around!”

  Pharaoh was quiet in the corner, listening in while he filled the shelves. The idea was that if somebody looked into the place, including the police, it would be funny if a majority of the place wasn’t being used. At least, Shimmer thought so. So that’s why the crew was assigned to fill up a majority of the rooms on the second level with furniture and the aesthetic of business.

  “Yeah!” said Garrison. “What do you listen to?” He put up his hands in an attitude-stricken pose. “Hip hop?”

  “So what if I do?” said Pax, keeping his chest jerked at out at the toy dunderheads.

  Garrison smirked over at Lombardi and said, “Guess he’s confused by real music.”

  Lombardi and him and shared a chuckle. Pax rolled his eyes and huffed an annoyed sigh. The box was delivered so it was time for Pax to leave. The radio played him out of the room.

  As Pax walked down the hallway, the idiotic chatter and radio turned to silence. He sighed. He never got that kind of disrespect at his old job.