Chapter Four
October 25th, 6:25 PM
When Erin opened the door again, she was wearing a tight purple V-neck sweater tucked into black jeans with brown boots, her still-wet hair tied back into a ponytail. Hammerson flashed a smile.
"You look great," he said.
"Uh huh," Erin said. She pushed the door open and gestured Hammerson inside. When he walked in, she noticed he was carrying a bottle of wine by the neck. Hammerson saw her looking at the bottle and lifted it up.
"Something to break the ice," he said.
"I'm done for the night," Erin said, tersely.
"No you're not," Hammerson said. "It's 6:26." He walked into the kitchen and placed the bottle on the small table in its center. "You can't tell me you won't have a least one glass with me. It's good shit."
Erin shook her head. She had killed off half a bottle already tonight. But the buzz in her body was telling her one more drink couldn't possibly hurt. It might even make the night kind of fun, in a weird way.
"Fine," Erin said. "Corkscrew's in that drawer."
Hammerson removed the corkscrew and popped the cork off the bottle. "You got glasses?" he asked. "Or are we gonna do this straight from the bottle? Because I'm cool with that. I know how you young people are."
Again with the "young people" thing. Hammerson was a condescending fuck.
"I got em," said Erin, opening a cabinet and bringing out two fresh wine glasses. She set them on the table and Hammerson poured the wine, filling each glass nearly to the brim.
"Big glass," Erin said.
"Well, you're a big girl," Hammerson said. "You can handle it."
He lifted his glass and gestured for Erin to do the same. Sighing, Erin lifted her glass up toward Hammerson.
"To political compromise," said Hammerson, clinking his glass to Erin's.
"No," said Erin. "To justice."
She wasn't sure if that sounded too forward. But Hammerson just laughed.
"Yes, to that too," he said, swallowing a big gulp of the drink. Erin set the glass to her lips and took a sip.
A sparkle came to Hammerson's eye. "Let's sit down. On the couch, that looks nice," he said.
"Right here is fine," said Erin, sitting down abruptly at one of the table's chairs.
"Okay, your house, your rules," said Hammerson, taking the seat perpendicular to Erin. He took another large gulp of wine, and let out a long, satisfied exhale.
"Alright, Mr. Hammersmith," Erin said, placing her hands on the table. "Before we get any further, I have to know: how did you know where I live?"
Hammerson licked the wine from his lips. "Hammerson," he said. He set his hands on the table next to Erin's hands. "And if you want to know something, it's not hard to figure it out, not anymore."
Erin frowned. Was that some sort of veiled comment about her secret identity? She decided to run with it.
"I guess so," she said. "What is a secret these days? What is privacy?"
Hammerson nodded. "Good question, Miss Steele. Good question."
Erin sipped her wine and continued. "I mean, for all the people of the city know, you're some kind of criminal mastermind."
She watched as Hammerson's body gave off the slightest shudder. He drank from his wine, this time sloshing it around in his cheeks. He swallowed. "That's a ridiculous notion."
"Well I don't know," Erin said, starting to enjoy herself, "It seems like every time my father tries to crack down on drugs, you're standing in his way."
"Funny," Hammerson said, eying Erin suspiciously. "I thought you said you didn't care about politics."
"I know what he tells me," Erin said. "And he tells me there's this hotshot kid who's always blocking his drug reforms."
"Kid?" Hammerson said, his cheeks reddening. "He says that?"
"Yep."
Hammerson smoothed his hair back with his hand. Erin could see his hair gel reflect the light; the top of his head might as well have been a mirror.
"Funny guy, your father. But that's exactly what I wanted to talk about."
He leaned closer to Erin now, placing his elbow on the table. She could smell the wine on his breath. He acted so smooth and confident, but he was obviously a spoiled, insecure brat. "God, I can't wait to take this guy down," Erin thought. Still, he wasn't bad looking. "No," Erin thought. "Don't think that."
"You see, Miss Steele," Hammerson said, "The world is complicated."
Erin couldn't help but roll her eyes. Good looking. But condescending and stupid as hell.
"Sometimes we think we're helping when actually we're hurting. And that's what your dad is doing. He's got a good heart, and so do you," ("Spare me," Erin thought.) "But this new plan of his, it's totally reactionary. One drug house in the country does not a massive operation make. And just because a little girl in spandex is involved doesn't mean the cause is righteous."
Erin sipped her wine and set the glass down. "You're talking about Blue Lynx?" she said. A dangerous path to continue down, she knew. But her body felt warm and her lips were loose and why not?
"I don't like using that name," Hammerson said. "It's stupid. She's an insane vigilante." He held his glass over his head and drained the rest of the wine.
"Seems like she's done a lot more to solve the city's drug problem than you ever have," Erin said.
Hammerson almost spat out his drink. "Oh come on," he said. "Not you too."
"I'm not saying she's always right," Erin said. "But desperate times call for desperate measures."
"Please," Hammerson said. "You sound just like your father. It's all a publicity stunt. An act. That bitch doesn't care about the city. She's just a dumb girl with nothing better to do."
Erin now set down her empty glass. "Wow," she said. "Sounds personal."
"It is," Hammerson said. He was clearly getting heated. His hands can dropped into his lap, and his gaze had finally left Erin's face and chest to concentrate on the wall behind her. He lifted the wine bottle and started pouring another glass. "I met her once, you know."
This seemed like a slip on his part. Where was he going with this?
"She's beautiful," he said, pouring wine into Erin's glass, eventually filling it, once more, to the brim. "Like, amazingly hot. If you don't mind me saying."
"Wait," Erin said. "How did you meet her?" She reached out for the glass. It was surely a mistake to drink so much, especially when talking about the Blue Lynx. Oh well. "To each their own," Erin thought. "Some people go out on dates. And some people invite their arch nemeses into their apartment for a few drinks."
"It's a long story," Hammerson said. "But the basic idea is..."
He stopped. He stared at Erin, and then slumped back into his chair.
"Never mind," he said. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. Forget about it." He picked up the wine glass and brought it to his lips.
"Mr. Hammerson..."
"Call me Brent," he said.
"Okay, Brent," Erin said, leaning toward him. "I think I know what your problem is. I think you have a thing for the Blue Lynx."
"No," Hammerson said, sitting up straight. "That's ridiculous."
"You clearly have thought a lot about her," Erin said.
"No," Hammerson said. "She's my enemy."
"Isn't it possible that she's thought a lot about you, too?" Erin said.
Hammerson stared at Erin, at the curve of her breasts in the purple V-neck sweater, and her lush, wine-stained lips, and her big eyes, and her gorgeous black flowing hair. And without warning he grabbed Erin by the back of her head and pulled her toward him for a kiss. Their lips connected, and Erin felt herself melt. She grabbed Hammerson by the arms and continued locking lips, sticking her tongue in his mouth, feeling his hands as the moved from her head and down her back. They stumbled out of their seats and stood in a slightly crouched position, still kissing, Hammerson placing his hands on Erin's butt and pushing her into the wall of the kitchen with a hard BANG.
It was if the impact woke Erin up. She pulled her head back from Hammerson, looked at his closed eyes and strange, probing tongue, and shoved him away. He now stood several feet from her, gawking at her, his eyebrows furrowing but his mouth remaining in some kind of ecstatic open smile.
"Come on, baby, what's up?" he said, moving toward her. "What happened?"
"You need to leave," Erin said.
"But I haven't got what I wanted yet," Hammerson said. He was coming near with with clumsy, drunken footsteps.
"Go," Erin said.
"You need to talk with your daddy," Hammerson said. "Tell him about all the threats to the city." He got within a few feet of Erin and, abruptly, cupped his hands around her breasts.
Erin didn't say anything. She socked Hammerson in the stomach with a quick, hard jab, then delivered a cross to his defenseless chin that sent the larger man to the floor.
Hammerson clutched his face. "Oww! What the fuck?"
"Get out," Erin said. "This date is over."
Hammerson picked himself up and pulled down on his tie. "Goddamn. I didn't know a girl could hit so hard." He continued stroking his face. "Jesus."
Erin watched him as he messed with his hair and brushed off his suit. She didn't find him attractive, not now. But what had come over her just seconds ago? It was Hammerson who had initiated the contact, of course. But Erin had been leading him on. And she had let him kiss her and caress her without a single thought about how he had nearly put her to death just two days prior.
"No one gets to know about this," Hammerson said.
"We'll see about that," Erin said.
"Miss Steele," Hammerson said, trying to find his composure. "You invited me in. We had a few drinks. You can't say this wasn't, in a way, consensual."
"Just leave."
And Hammerson did. Erin went to the front door and locked it. And then she laughed. "Just. Wow," she thought, as she walked back to the kitchen table and refilled her glass of wine.
On to Chapter Five
OR
On to Chapter Five (EXPLICIT ENDING)
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