Luke Merriweather strolled in from the streets and dropped into the end stool at the bar. Even before Pops had put a beer in front of him he was talking.

“Oh, man oh man, Pops, am I in trouble.” The old man said nothing right away so Luke carried on. “I met a girl tonight.”

Pops snorted. “That’s what I was waiting on,” he said gruffly. “I knew it was only a matter of time before some broad screwed you up.”

“No!” Luke shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. She’s not a…a…broad, Pops. She’s a woman. A beautiful, intelligent, amazingly well-connected woman.”

Pops turned from the taps and regarded his young protégé with a squint. “Waitaminit. This ain’t the thing you ran outta here for earlier today, is it?”

Luke offered a half-smile and a shrug by way of answer. Pops muttered several curses under his breath as he poured a Manhattan for a patron at the other end. Luke nodded politely to the woman when he recognized her; an attractive blond who worked for the DA or something. A bit reserved for Luke’s taste, but nice enough.

“I knew this would happen,” Pops accused, jabbing a thick finger at Luke. “Sooner or later you were gonna start mixin’ business with pleasure.”

“How?” Luke raised his hands in mock supplication. He noted his volume increasing and made an effort to bring it back to a loud whisper. “How, exactly, am I gonna mix business with pleasure in my particular line of work?”

Pops’ brow furrowed. “I didn’t think ya could, but you managed to figger it out, didn’t ya.”

Luke threw his hands up, then crossed them in front of him. He let his gaze wander off in the bar.

“Okay,” Pops said with a resigned sigh. “Okay. Tell me about this br—this woman.” Luke didn’t say anything. Pops chewed on his lip for a minute. “Well, what’s her name? At least gimme her—“

“Ophilia DiSantiago.”

The name hung in the air like stale cigar smoke. Pops snorted, his idea of a laugh. “No shit, junior? You went and got the hots for the DiSantiago baby, eh?” He shook his head and coughed out another semblance of mirth. “That takes the cake.”

Luke sat forward, intent again. “Pops, you have to meet her. She’s not like the others. She’s—“

“A DiSantiago.” Pops supplied.

“No!” Luke growled. “Well, yeah, she is, but she’s not like the others. She’s putting together a team and want me to—“

“A team of what?” Pops interrupted.

Luke paused, licked his lips. “A team. Of vigilantes. Superheroes. It’s a team of superheroes.”

Pops stared at him before belching out a wheezing laugh. “You serious? The DiSantiagos are puttin’ a bunch of Hudson City masks together and you think it’s a good idea?” He snorted again and reached behind him for the scotch.

“I told you,” Luke shot back, “That she’s not like the others. She really thinks we can do some good.”

“’We’?” Pops poured three fingers’ worth of Grant’s into a rocks glass and took a belt. He glanced up and down the bar, ensuring that all four of his other patrons were doing okay. “You sign up already?”

“No!” Luke shook his head. “No, of course not. I wanted to think about it, talk to you first.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “It’s just, you know, this city really needs something. Maybe this is it.”

Pops dropped an ice cube into his glass. “And this has nothing to do with this Ophilia broad being a looker?”

“Well,” Luke began, then grinned. “I must admit, it’s what got me to hear her out.”

“Uh huh.” Pops sipped noisily. “I knew it. Business and pleasure. A bad mix, kid.”

Luke waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. It’s not like that. I mean, it is, sort of, but that was only at first.” He reached out, pulled his beer closer, but didn’t drink. “It’s—I don’t know. She said a couple of things that kinda made sense, y’know? Like how this city needs something…I don’t know, something different. Like, we—vigilantes, I mean—we do okay, but we’re just fighting symptoms when we should be fighting causes.”

Pops scratched at his ear. “She said all that?”

“More or less.”

“Mmmhmm.” Pops finished his scotch in one swig, swallowing noisily. “Kid, you gotta know that this is gonna end badly.”

“Pops, listen.” Luke held up a hand to forestall further interruption. “No. Hear me out. This could be what we were lookin’ for. A way to make a difference, something that won’t just be erased by the next asshole with a grudge. It’s a team, Pops. A team. Do you know what that means? It means people with common goals working for the common good. It means good people working together to make this city something to be proud of again. It means—“

“It means you already decided,” Pops finished.

Luke opened his mouth, closed it again. He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, I did. I want to do this. I’m going to do this.”

Pops nodded. He was quiet for a long time.

“Okay, kid,” was all he said as he turned back to his custom, leaving Luke to stare into his untouched beer.

* * * * *

Luke shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to a nearby table. He turned and locked the front door, pulling the chain on the ‘Open’ sign. The red neon winked out, leaving the bar a little dimmer. From out of the back room Pops strolled out with a plastic milk crate full of bottles to go back on the shelf.

“Thought I heard the door,” he said. “Not going out tonight?”

Luke shook his head. “Nah. Thought I’d help you clean up.”

Pops nodded and set the crate down with a clatter. “Yeah, we could do that.” He jerked his head. “Why don’t you help me in back?”

Luke followed the old man into the back room. Several hand-built shelves held case after case of alcohol, hundreds of bottles of liquor of all varieties. One side of the room was devoted to the various non-alcoholic sundries that kept a bar in business: napkins, straws, mixers and extra glassware, an old register and boxes of miscellaneous items that may or may not ever prove useful. A reinforced steel door sat in the middle of the back wall, it’s only distinguishing feature was its lack of door knob.

Pops moved a hand truck out of the way and pulled his ever-present ring of keys from his pocket. After a moment he selected one and inserted it into the master deadbolt. The door swung inward and he stepped through, his hand reaching out to flip a switch as he did.

As Luke followed him through the door the fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead, illuminating a large room set up like an office in an industrial building. Metal tables, bulletin boards, file cabinets, bookshelves, a computer and television took up much of the space. Off to one side, however, was a metal cage much like one might see in a police station. Inside the cage, Luke knew, were his costume and various other weapons and equipment he and Pops had decided would be useful to him in his vigilante career.

The old bar man again fished for his keys and went into the cage. Luke, curious but unwilling to say so, followed along patiently. The lights in the cage came on immediately upon entering. Pops took a step to the side and stood quietly, almost expectantly. Luke decided he would outwait the old man and instead let his attention wander.

It was a spacious room, the cage was, much longer than it first appeared. Weapons lockers, industrial-style cabinets and drawers were smartly arranged along the edges. There was an obvious work station; tools of various shapes and sizes hung from pegs on the wall, and a large SnapOn mobile tool chest sat awaiting use. Luke’s staff-his favored weapon—lay against the corner. There were a variety of handguns, shotguns and assault rifles behind steel screen doors. The other cabinets and drawers held a variety of useful smaller tools and such, things Luke could use to help him in his masked activities. Lockpicks, handheld cutting torches, criminology and forensic equipment, climbing spikes, first aid kits, and so on were all arranged and organized neatly within those storage containers. Luke often carried a variety of tools with him.

What caught Luke’s eye was a new series of cabinets near the back. Casting a puzzled glance at Pops he walked slowly over and opened them. He whistled low. Pops chuckled.

“Thought we should upgrade your arsenal a bit. Was going to wait until you were ready.” He snorted. “I guess you’re ready.”

“For the love of God, Pops,” Luke started breathlessly. “I never knew you had—is that a bow? And what the hell’s that?”

“Some sort of stun gun gizmo thing,” Pops replied with amusement. “Supposed to fire off darts and gas and things. Nonlethal stuff.” He waved a hand. “We’ll go over it all in the near future, but I wanted you to know this was here.”

Luke nodded slowly, taking it all in. After a long minute he turned to the old man. “How--?”

Pops held up a hand. “Don’t ask. You’ll know when you’re supposed to.” He wiped at his nose. “You got plenty of stuff here to do what you need to do, that’s all you need to worry about it. We’ll work out the hows and whys later. For now…” Pops took a deep breath and clapped his hands together.

“We got us a bar to close.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

Pops squinted at him. “You think I’m gonna just hand you stuff to play with while we got work to do?” He snorted and turned to leave, muttering under his breath. Luke thought he heard something about “fucking kids.”

Luke was grinning when he followed the older man out. He couldn’t help it.

Christmas had come early.