Proxy: The Measure of a God

By Michael Altazin

The Last Man Standing Becomes A God!

In their lust for power, the gods from all the world’s mythologies wage war across the planet, leaving wreckage and death in their wake. Fearful no mortals will remain to worship them, the gods agree to continue their fight by proxy.

Each pantheon is to choose a single warrior to represent them, known as a proxy. The last proxy standing will become a god themselves. The rest will die, along with the gods they fought for.

Chief among these chosen warriors are the Japanese and Greek: a detective named Jet Yoshimoto, and the thief Griffin Eadi.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jul 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480877474

Michael Altazin

Michael Altazin is a paramedic in northeast Florida. His wife is hot, his credit is good, and his arms are big. His hobbies include jiu-jitsu and being humble.

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PRΩXY

THE MEASURE OF A GOD

MICHAEL ALTAZIN

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Copyright © 2019 Michael Altazin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7745-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7746-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7747-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019907071

Archway Publishing rev. date: 10/17/2019

Contents

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2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

Special thanks to the following:

Trish

Philip

Joseph

Carlyn

Andrew

Justin

Cj

Preston

Marcos

You guys were into Proxy when I was writing between calls on an ambulance. I’ll always be thankful for your feedback and support.

1

A MILE ABOVE GROUND HERMES floated in the sky, looking down on the man who had just left the apartment. He was holding the letter Hermes had left on his front door, an amused smirk on his face as he stared off at the wreckage that used to be a city.

Hermes took a glance at the wreckage as well before placing his pronged helmet back on his head. He had played no small part in the disaster, but this man, Griffin, couldn’t have possibly known that.

Griffin gripped the letter and went back into his apartment, emerging shortly after with a backpack slung across his shoulder. He didn’t seem concerned with the origin of the letter or the disaster. With a hungry gleam in his eye, he stalked away.

As he watched Griffin leave, Hermes took a deep sigh. That man has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

ROSALIN WORKED AS A NURSE at Methodist Medical Center hospital. She came from a long line of nurses, all of whom had worked there. Her grandmother had worked at this hospital in the 1960s, a great accomplishment for a black woman at the time.

Perhaps working was no longer the proper word for what she did; volunteering was closer to the truth, though she hadn’t been fired. One week earlier, the city—actually the whole country—had been set upon by tidal waves, tornadoes, earthquakes, and every other natural disaster one could think of plus a few one couldn’t. She hadn’t been home since; she’d slept in an empty bed upstairs.

MMC had become a haven for the people of the city, a place for food and medical care. She hoped other hospitals were doing the same. She couldn’t contact any of the staff at the other hospitals to coordinate anything, as no one’s phone had any coverage. With the exception of a few radio stations, people no longer had a way to contact one another unless they were face-to-face. She also had her hands too full to drive over there, and she doubted her car still worked. Hell, it’s probably been blown away, she thought.

When doing volunteer work in Africa, she had noticed how much nicer foreign people who had less were. Ever since the disaster, she noticed the same thing here—strangers smiling and hugging one another. Even the kitchen workers, who had been signing a petition for a pay raise, were gladly making breakfast and sandwiches all day for free for people who had lost their homes. People genuinely listened to one another talk instead of finding something to look at online that they barely cared about. Friends made in person would always matter more than friends made through cyberspace. She knew she should feel guilty for noticing a good thing to come from a nationwide disaster, but she didn’t. Maybe the world’s better off this way.

It hadn’t been made official, but the staff had generally looked to Rosalin to settle matters ever since the disaster. She was glad everyone considered her able to handle matters quickly and efficiently.

Just as she began wiping down an ER bed, Rosalin felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to an overweight blonde nurse. Yes, Nicky?

I lost my key card! Nicky answered in a hushed but panicked voice.

Rosalin saw that Nicky’s card was indeed missing from its clip. Any idea where it went?

Nicky shook her head. The only other place I went to is the lobby, but everyone there said they haven’t seen it.

I’m sure it’ll turn up. Let me know when it does.

Nicky nodded and walked off to check every room in the ER for her card. Rosalin felt bad for her. Other nurses often bullied Nicky about her weight. Rosalin knew making fun of someone was not the way to encourage them to make better decisions.

Rosalin felt another tap on her shoulder. Found it? she asked as she turned around.

Found what? a smirking stranger asked.

He looked like the statue of a Greek god—pale as marble and extremely fit with a strong nose and jaw, and dark hair just long enough to show curl. He was dressed nicely in an all-black outfit consisting of a dress shirt, slacks, and dress shoes.

Nothing. Rosalin smiled. I thought you were someone else. How can I help you?

The man had a slow but playful manner of speech. A cop’s been coming around here ever since the disaster, Jet Yoshimoto. I’d like to speak with him.

Jet’s not here right now, but we have another officer you can speak with, Rosalin answered politely as she pointed across the ER.

He didn’t bother looking in the direction Rosalin was pointing. No, it has to be Jet, he said in a falsely pleasant but firm voice.

Rosalin answered in a firm voice of her own, Jet’s not here, but if you leave a message with me I’ll be sure he gets it.

He shook his head. That’s all right. I’ll just wait for him to get back. He circled around the nurse’s desk and sat in the charge nurse’s chair.

Sir, you can’t sit there! Rosalin said, appalled at the nerve of the stranger. This is an emergency room. If you want to go to the lobby where the other refugees are— Rosalin saw that he was ignoring her and grew angry. Sir, I’m going to get the police if you don’t move!

The stranger smiled. That’s what I wanted. Just make sure it’s Jet.

This one’s name is Johnny, but I’m sure he can arrest you just the same. Rosalin gestured to a police officer across the room. Johnny!

A tall police officer with an armband tattoo came across the room. The stranger watched blankly as he approached. Five feet back, the stranger warned.

You’re done, man, Johnny said as he leaned over to grab the pale man by his arm.

The stranger responded with a grin, revealing an almost inhuman smile with carnivorous fangs. Rosalin wondered if he was wearing fake teeth to look scary.

He used his free arm to grab Johnny in a headlock and fell backward in a way that flipped Johnny onto his back. Before Johnny could get up, the stranger grabbed his wrist and crooked it inward as he rolled sideways, breaking Johnny’s shoulder.

That was an Americana, if you want to look it up later, the stranger said as he took Johnny’s gun from its holster. Within seconds he managed to disassemble it and throw the parts across the room. I know, I’m suave. You can say it. When Johnny winced in pain instead of answering, he shrugged. Or you can be a dick. That’s cool too.

He made to leave until he came across a table stacked with sandwiches with a sign taped above reading One Per Meal. Can I take some of these?

Rosalin just glared and silently fumed at him.

I’m going to take some of these. He stuffed several bagged sandwiches into his backpack and turned to the exit. Five feet back, please. Everyone, five feet back. Thank you, thank you.

Rosalin was disappointed that everyone actually gave him the distance he asked for, but she understood. He had beaten Johnny as if it had been nothing. Still though, with enough people you can take down anyone. Even somebody like him. I guess everyone’s just scared of getting hurt.

As the ER doors slid open, he dropped Nicky’s missing key card on the floor. Tell Jet that E. D. came by and that I headed to the stadium.

And with that, he walked off into the disaster-stricken city.

DESMOND SAT ON HIS CAR wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. Or maybe he was under his car since it had been flipped upside down. He wasn’t sure.

He was more concerned with his rapidly increasing hunger. The only food he’d found was a box of cereal in his neighbor’s house, which he knew he would have to ration. He was sure his neighbor wouldn’t mind, as he had died when his roof collapsed under a tree. It was the only food he’d found so far that had been store quality, though he had stopped looking as soon as he’d found it. He wasn’t willing to eat food from the floor just yet.

Footsteps alerted him to a visitor; the sound prompted him to grab the gun at his side. He had found that as well in his neighbor’s house. Desmond had never fired a gun before, but he knew to aim at what he wanted dead and pull the trigger.

He relaxed after seeing who it was. What’s up, guy? Desmond called over his shoulder. It was his friend Griffin.

Nothing much. Got some sandwiches. Figured you’ve just been sitting here doing nothing. Griffin climbed up onto or under the car next to Desmond and pulled a bagged sandwich out of his backpack. Here ya go.

You made me a sandwich? Thanks, man. Desmond opened the bag and took a bite.

"Actually, I took it from the hospital. You should have seen the body on this nurse, man—stacked to the ceiling. Griffin smiled wistfully as he continued. I’m gonna have to get her ring size. Anyway, I had to rough someone up to get the sandwiches. I actually tried being nice first, but he just had to play the tough guy."

Yeah, Desmond responded in his usual dull tone. Some people just don’t know how to appreciate good manners.

They smiled and faced forward. So, where ya gonna work now? Griffin asked. The kitchen at that hospital is hiring. You can speak English, right?

Desmond gave a small laugh. I can obviously speak English. Desmond had a slow manner of speech with a bored tone as if the very act of talking were a hassle.

Just checking. Griffin spoke a bit slower than most in a deep voice that always seemed amused, making every syllable sound like a taunt. Desmond wondered if Griffin had practiced that since it was so perfectly confident and unnerving.

Griffin dug through his backpack. Desmond saw a few more sandwich bags, a few books, a ruffled sheet of paper with a handwritten message, and folded clothes. Griffin pulled the ruffled sheet of paper out and scanned it quickly before shoving it back in. He had obviously read it already, whatever it was. Griffin turned to Desmond and pointed his finger down toward the car. Got the keys?

Desmond shook his head. No. It probably doesn’t run anyway.

Guess I’m walking then.

Where?

The stadium, Griffin said casually. Someone asked to meet me there.

The stadium? Desmond couldn’t believe it. That’s downtown! They’re crawling with bums and runaways from prison. Heard it on the radio. No rescue efforts have made their way downtown yet.

Griffin shrugged. I didn’t pick the spot. They did, and I have nothing else going on.

Who’s they? Terry? Sokolov?

Nah. At least I don’t think so. A letter was taped to my door addressed to me by name. Asked me to come to the stadium for an exciting opportunity. Griffin paused to reach in his backpack again and pull out the same piece of paper. He glossed over it once more before cramming it back to the depths of his bag. Yeah, exciting opportunity.

Yeah, that couldn’t possibly be someone trying to kill you. Not at all. Desmond laughed his usual nervous laugh. You usually have more sense than this, dude.

Griffin rolled his eyes. "God, it’s like trying to be an outlaw with my mother. Look, if they were going to try anything, they would have done it when they were right outside my place. Instead, they just left a note on my door, so they probably want to hire me for something."

THE LIGHT BAR FLASHED AS the patrol car pulled to the curb. Once parked, Jet emerged from the passenger’s side and moved briskly toward the ER doors, catching his reflection in the glass as he input the entrance code.

He was a shorter man, five-six, clean-shaven with black hair kept fairly low. His eyes had the slant typical of the Japanese, and his resting expression bordered on a scowl. It fit his humorless personality.

As soon as the doors slid open, Rosalin greeted him. When Rosalin bought clothes, she always had to choose between garments that hugged her curves too tightly or that swallowed her up. When it came to scrubs, she felt loose clothing would get in the way of her work, so Jet was greeted by Rosalin in all her voluptuous glory. Luckily for their friendship, Jet preferred skinny.

Hey. I heard you were looking for me. Jet spoke in his usual flat manner.

Yeah, Rosalin said in a tone that told Jet she was barely controlling her considerable temper. Some asshole came here looking for you. When I told him you weren’t here, he sat in the charge nurse’s chair, so I got Johnny to try to take him away. But then he did some weird wrestler thing and broke Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny’s in x-ray now.

Jet sighed as he dug out a notepad and pen. Did he give his name?

Just his initials, E. D. He wanted me to tell you he’d be waiting at the stadium.

Jet furrowed his brow. Who do I know with the initials E. D.?

Jet was joined by his partner, Roger. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, and cocky, he strutted up to Jet’s side and winked at Rosalin. She rolled her eyes in response.

Describe him for me, please, Jet said, readying his notepad as he ignored Rosalin’s and Roger’s exchange.

Rosalin huffed a bit. "Fit guy. Really pale, dark hair, well dressed … all black but well-dressed. Five o’clock shadow … Not a bad-looking guy. Oh yeah! That smile. I don’t know if he had some kind of inserts in or what, but his canines are like a wolf’s. Big evil grin like you’d see in a comic book."

Jet stopped writing. E. D. Dresses in all black, good shape, and can beat a cop with one move. And if that weren’t enough, Rosalin saw him smile.

That smile.

Are you sure those were his initials? Jet asked. It couldn’t have been one word, like Eadi?

Rosalin placed her hands on her hips as she looked up, considering the incident. One word, now that you mention it.

Jet shook his head. As if the disaster isn’t enough, Griffin Eadi’s in the mix. Did he say anything else? Jet asked pocketing his notepad.

He cursed liked a drunk sailor, said a woman from an ER bed. He didn’t even give a shit there were kids around!

Roger nodded smugly. How rude of him.

Roger? Jet addressed his partner with an edge to his voice. Go see if the camera out here works.

Jet already knew the camera didn’t work. Roger complied anyway.

I’ll handle this, Jet assured Rosalin. Don’t worry about it.

Rosalin eyed Jet’s forehead. Are you sweating?

Jet didn’t answer as he wiped his sleeve across his forehead.

"Is this Eadi really that dangerous?"

Jet continued his silence until Roger returned, then bade Rosalin farewell as went out to the patrol car. Once Roger closed the passenger’s door Jet lit up the light bar and made for the stadium.

GRIFFIN AND DESMOND HAD BEEN arguing about the same thing for nearly twenty minutes. Griffin insisted on going to the stadium anyway displaying that strange sense of invincibility he’d had for as long as they’d known each other. Desmond was sure that a trip downtown meant certain death, but Griffin didn’t care.

During Desmond’s final bid to make him see reason, Griffin hopped off the car and stretched with a yawn. Look, I gotta go. Some sirens will be coming this way soon.

The cops!? Desmond couldn’t believe Griffin had managed to get himself in trouble again already. Man, what did you do?

Stole those sandwiches, Griffin replied as he jabbed a finger into Desmond’s chest. And you ate one, so you’re an accessory. Us outlaws gotta stick together.

Desmond allowed himself a relieved smile. Don’t worry. You’re not known or wanted or anything, so how would they know to look for you? Only that Asian cop suspected you guys. Plus sandwiches are the least of their problems right now.

I told them my name.

"You told them your name? Desmond let out an aggravated sigh as he covered his face with his hands. Why?"

So that Asian cop would come after me. Alone. And he has a name by the way.

Okay … what?

Griffin ignored the question and started off. Good seeing ya, Dez. Glad you’re all right. Be careful.

Desmond remained seated on top of the bottom of the car while his friend walked away, leaving him with a box of cereal and a weapon he didn’t know how to use.

JET KNEW HE HAD LEAPED before he had looked. Eadi could be hiding in any one of these collapsed stores or apartment buildings. It’s possible I’ve already passed him.

No, not possible. The man caused a scene over nothing and made sure to leave his name. He wants to be chased.

Jet had composed himself after leaving the hospital and drove slowly, but he let his lights flash. He didn’t want Eadi to miss him, but more important, he wanted everyone to see police presence. He had been in plain clothes since his last promotion, but he was wearing a uniform with his shield on his chest and driving a patrol car to make that point. The recent bout of simultaneous disasters had made people feel unsafe. Jet knew it was important to show that the city’s emergency responders were still present.

Jet shared the same fear as everyone else that rebuilding their city might be impossible, but he kept that fear to himself. He knew he had to show confidence.

A chuckle came from the passenger’s seat. Hey Yoshimoto. Roger pointed toward a pedestrian. Should I call this in? Hispanic male, early twenties. Armed with a cereal box.

Jet leaned forward to look past Roger. See the bulge in the front of his pants?

You’re into that? Does Mrs. Yoshimoto know?

It’s a firearm. Wave him down and take some pride in your job.

Roger’s eyes flashed with anger as he rolled his window down, but his cocky demeanor quickly returned. He was new on the job; many had left when paychecks stopped coming. Jet respected Roger for staying while the country tried to recover, but that was the only thing he respected about him.

Civilian! Roger called out in a mock-serious voice.

Jet angrily threw the car in park and stepped out. Where you headed? Jet walked around the vehicle to the pedestrian. We can give you a lift. I have some food in the back you can take with you.

Oh, uh … nowhere really. Just enjoying the quiet.

Body language, shaking voice, darting eyes, you name it. He was as nervous as one could get. Jet wanted to know if he was nervous in general or just around police.

The stranger kept his head down. His jacket’s hood covered his head. He was shaking so much that the cereal in the box was rattling.

Hey, just calm down, Jet said in the calming voice he had practiced for years. He felt Officer Friendly was a compliment, not an insult. A patrol car should be a sign of reassurance, not stress. Unless you’re Griffin Eadi’s kind.

The stranger lifted his head and briefly made eye contact with Jet before withdrawing again. Something struck the detective as odd. Have we met before? Jet asked. He kept the same reassuring tone since he didn’t know when or where, but he recognized him. What’s your name?

My name? My name. It’s, um … His voice was shaking uncontrollably.

No one forgets their name. Jet reached up and pulled the hood back. It was the cashier at the Chinese restaurant where Jet believed Griffin and his accomplices laundered their money.

Jet’s nostrils flared. He spoke faster. His calm tone was abandoned for a more assertive one with measured aggression. Desmond, right? Where’s Griffin, Desmond? And go ahead and hand me that gun in your waistband.

For a wild second, Desmond considered pulling the gun out but to shoot the cop, not to give the gun to him. He’d rather shoot a cop than help Griffin get arrested. The fact remained, however, that Desmond had no experience with guns. He didn’t even know if the gun was loaded. Desmond had no doubt that the cop had a gun on his hip he knew how to use. Besides, Desmond thought, didn’t Griffin say he actually wanted this cop to come after him? Maybe it’s best to comply with this cop’s demands. Just don’t make it look obvious.

Desmond relinquished the weapon. Jet handed it to Roger without looking away from Desmond. Thank you. Now where is he?

Desmond waited a bit before answering. He was just as nervous as before. That way. Desmond pointed toward a parking garage by the stadium ahead. I was trying to catch up to him.

Jet nodded. Roger, you can handle this. I’ll be back in a bit.

Jet knew it was foolish to go alone, but he doubted Griffin had anyone with him. He hoped all the thief wanted was to talk.

GRIFFIN THOUGHT THE PARKING GARAGE was perfect. It offered a bird’s-eye view of the stadium where the exciting opportunity awaited, and it was a great spot for an ambush. Between the floor and wall on each level was a gap two inches high that ran between the pillars. From the top level, Griffin was watching through the gap at the group below. Apparently, Desmond had decided to follow him, but a patrol car had pulled up to question him. The tall cop was staying with Desmond while the other moved toward the parking garage. Griffin could tell what had happened so clearly that he might have been able to quote everyone verbatim.

He saw that Desmond had decided to follow him, but then Jet pulled up. He had finally recognized Desmond as the cashier at Wok Your Face Off, where he knew but couldn’t prove money was being laundered. Jet disarmed him, and Desmond decided to go along with Griffin’s idea of baiting Jet because it was either that, run from a patrol car, or open fire on two cops.

Griffin’s eyes lit up with excitement. He had planned on throwing concrete blocks down on any cars that drove by and waiting until Jet got out of one. Instead, Desmond had led Jet right to him, and Jet had been kind enough to announce his location to the world by driving a police car with lights on.

Griffin grabbed a block from a small pile he had moved to the top floor and descended a level. While the garage seemed to be structurally sound, it had been damaged. A chipped pillar here and there had given him the ammo he needed. A few removed car doors had also been used to build a small fort in case he had been snuck upon.

He went down one level and stayed low. Desmond had granted Griffin stealth, a gift he did not mean to waste. Jet would approach cautiously with his gun out and spastically react to any noise. A noise to the left could distract from an attack from the right, but Jet would be expecting that. It would be less than a second before he would turn right to make sure. But a noise to the left would distract him from an attack from above, and no one ever expected anything from above.

That’s why dog shit is easier to avoid than bird shit, Griffin reasoned.

JET MADE HIS WAY UP the