The Black Archer
in
A Horse is a Horse
Editor's Note: This story takes place before the Black Archer joined Aegis and became a media darling.
John Bowman wakes up with a start. He had been dreaming about a certain village in Yugoslavia and what he and the Spetznatz goons who had been paying him did there. He looked around at the room he was in. It wasn't his room. There were posters for what looked like hippy bands and a lot of rainbows. Pulling off the covers, he realized that he had slept in his pants.
Things started coming back to him as he yawned and leaned over the toilet. He had been fighting some goons who said they got powers from some Landshark or Loanshark or something. Then he remembered lying down on a pier.
John headed out into the rest of the aparment and came upon two women at their breakfast table. One was reading the paper while the other looked over her shoulder with a hand resting on her thigh. They looked up. "Awake at last!" smiled the one reading the paper, "We thought you'd never wake up."
John recognized them as the women who had watched him fight that last thug. They must have taken him home after he passed out. "Where am I?"
"Original," remarked the other one, "but a classic none the less. You're in our apartment--I'm Erin, this is Megan--which is located in scenic River City, about four blocks from where you passed out in a heap."
"Thanks for taking me in," said John, eyeing the orange juice. "Is my shirt around here anywhere?"
"In the laundry. Sit down and have some breakfast..."
"John." John sat down and had some breakfast and thought about how much to tell the two women.
* * *
It had turned out that it wasn't so bad having Erin and Megan know he was the Black Archer. They didn't really know John Bowman from a hole in the wall anyway, so it wasn't like it was a major revelation, and it gave him someone to talk about things with. John ended up seeing them a lot. It was also nice having friends that weren't mercenaries or drug traffickers. He was actually looking forward to dinner with them in the new Thai place, and was going to be seriously upset if the drug deal he was waiting on didn't take place soon. He didn't want to be late.
John asked some passersby for change and surreptitiously managed to check them out at the same time. This young trio of asian guys showed up and John spotted the hardware they were packing long before the drug dealers he was watching did. He looked over the drug dealers and thought about the kids who had bought from them earlier in the day and decided to just hang back.
"Hey, chico!" called out the leader of the asian trio, "You got the money you owe us?"
"The name's Eduardo, pendejo," replied the guy John had been watching, "And keep your voice down. We got your money right here, right Paco?" Paco opened up a suitcase filled with bills. "Now let's see the horse."
"The Horse sends his regrets, actually." The asian guys pulled out their guns and blew away John's lead. He shuffled into the shadows and took off his homeless disguise. A few short jumps later and he was crouching on the roof of Abe's Video and surveying the damage. the big asian guy walked over and picked up the suitcase and the three of them took off.
John was able to follow them as far as Lienwald Street, but they went into the back of a club there. He tried to listen at the ducts on the roof, but the club was too loud. He'd have to go in.
The bouncer tried to stop John. Apparently he wasn't too up to date on current fashions. Fortunately, some things never go out of style, like certain painful ways to influence people. The bouncer saw things John's way and let him in, albeit with a much squeakier voice. John headed up to the bar.
John had just managed to get an actual, regular beer when a bunch of toughs surrounded him. "We don't like it when people hurt our friends," started the one on the left, indicating the bouncer who was standing back a few feet. "We also don't like letting troublemakers in our boss's club--at least not ones we don't know."
John looked this guy up and down. He looked like he might have a bit more of a brain than was typically required of toughs, so he tried talking with him. "Listen, I'm new in town. I need a place to hang my hat, peddle my wares, if you know what I mean."
"Not really, you some kind of cop?" The guy was looking John over. He was interested, though.
"Them's fightin' words where I come from," said John, getting to his feet. "Besides, would a cop have shit this good?" He pulled out some of the heroin he had had on him that fateful day in '76. The wrapping paper was stamped in Kanji with the mark of the best supplier in all of Southeast Asia--and the date. The big guy's eyes popped.
"I haven't seen any of this in years! Holy--" All of a sudden, John was in. They went over to a booth and started talking. The big guy's name was Cho, and he worked for a guy who worked for a guy who went by the name of Horse. They were the city's biggest supplier of heroin. Unfortunately, the Horse was out of town and wouldn't be able to meet John until Thursday. They agreed to meet then and John left. Checking his watch, he realized he had missed dinner and hoped the girls would understand.
* * *
John spent most of that week with Cho, earning his trust and learning how to talk with him and others of his ilk. He found modern slang bizarre and counter-intuitive, but he could fake it well enough to deal with Cho and his drug-dealing buddies.
Finally, Thursday rolled around. Cho brought John to an abandoned warehouse on Seneca Lane where a bunch of the Horse's lieutenants were all getting together to go over issues that had come up since he left town. John figured that this would be a good chance to make up for a lot of the damage he had done back in the '70s when he and a bunch of his buddies from the Corps had set up a sweet opium trafficking business. After about a half hour of waiting and memorizing faces, the garage door at the other end of the warehouse rolled up and a limo rolled in. The chauffer got out and opened the back door and a chinese man in his late 50s stepped out. John got a good look at him. It was Tommy Mah.
* * *
1972. Viet Nam. They were being asked to break in yet another greenie fresh from boot camp. They were trying to move as quickly and quietly as they could through eastern Laos and the greenie kept asking questions. This time he was pestering Tommy, so John just kept an eye on the jungle.
"So why do they call you Horse, anyway?" Another dumbass question. Anyone who knew any chinese knew Mah was chinese for horse. It's not like the nicknames the squad had were rocket science or anything. Mah becomes Horse, Bowman becomes Archer, no big brains in the Corps.
"Ask your sister," replied Tommy, grabbing his crotch, "she knows why they call me 'horse.'" John laughed despite himself.
"Shit, man," mumbled the newbie, "I'm just trying to get along."
John had an uncharacteristic moment of sympathy and let the newbie in, "See, it's like this, kid, 9 out of every 10 boot we take on ends up dead before we can remember his name. This ain't the Army, this is dangerous. It just ain't worth getting to know you 'til you've shown you're not one of the 90%."
* * *
John got the hell out of the warehouse, covered himself in darkness and summoned his bow. He came back in and just started mowing people down. This was not just making up for shit he had set up, this was the shit he had set up. Everything went red and he just kept shooting and shooting and shooting. The haze finally broke as he stood over Tommy "Horse" Mah. Tommy was trying to get to his feet and catch his breath all at once. John pulled on his bowstring and looked down at him, trying to muster contempt.
They stayed like that for what seemed like an hour.
When he heard the sirens coming, John let his bow go and got out of the warehouse. Tommy got up and looked after him, wondering what the hell that was all about and turning on his cell phone.
Posted by Bill at February 04, 2004 05:47 PM