Legacy Read Free Page B

her.
    “What’s up?” he asked, crossing the dusty street.
    “Somethin’s wrong with my AC,” she said, bony hands on even bonier hips. “Take a look at it, will ya?”
    Lucas didn’t know squat about air-conditioning, but there was no sense in arguing with the lady. As far as she was concerned, he could fix just about anything.
    “Sure, no problem,” he said, climbing the three steps to the front door.
    He stopped short, peering through the screen at Fluffles, Mrs. Taylor’s nasty cat. The thing had more attitude than a pit bull with a toothache.
    “Fluffles is at the door,” he told Mrs. Taylor.
    “He won’t hurt ya,” the old woman said. “You just gotta show ’im who’s boss.”
    She was standing beside him, looking in through the door.
    “Why don’t you show ’im?” Lucas suggested.
    Mrs. Taylor went in first, kicking at the cat with her slippered foot. “Go on, shoo!” she said.
    Fluffles hissed like a cobra, trying to get around her to come at Lucas, but the old woman managed to block the attack.
    “Behave yourself, cat!” she exclaimed. Her foot connected with the side of the white-furred beast, sending it running with a shrill squeal.
    “I’ll be payin’ for that tonight,” Mrs. Taylor said, walking from the entry through the tiny kitchen and into the living room. “Damn thing will probably suffocate me in my sleep.”
    The idea was horrible but not all that far-fetched.
    It was stiflingly hot inside the cramped living room. The news blared from an old twenty-five-inch television set in the corner.
    “There it is,” Mrs. Taylor said, pointing out the old air conditioner in the wall. “Nothing cool comin’ out of that.”
    “Not sure what I can do,” Lucas said, walking over to give it a look. The machine was old, and he was surprised that it had worked as long as it had. When he turned it on, it made a low humming sound, sending warm air out the vents.
    On the news, a Chicago woman and her child were describing how they had been saved from an apartment fire by a superhero called the Winged Champion. Lucas looked up, finding himself pulled into the story. He watched the grainy cell phone footage of the superhero with enormous white wings swooping down out of the sky to pluck the woman and her daughter from the rooftop of the collapsing building.
    “Wow,” Lucas said.
    “Yeah,” Mrs. Taylor agreed. “Wonder if one of them super-types could figure out what’s wrong with my AC.”
    Lucas took the hint and returned his full attention to the old woman’s air conditioner. He pulled the plastic face from the front of the unit and curled his nose with distaste.
    “Fluffles doesn’t happen to like sitting on the AC, does he?” Lucas asked.
    The inside of the unit was clogged with tufts of white fur, the old filter completely covered.
    “Matter of fact, he does,” Mrs. Taylor confirmed.
    Lucas pulled the filter from inside the AC and brushed most of the fur into a barrel that Mrs. Taylor brought from the kitchen.
    “This might help,” he said, putting the filter back. “I think it might’ve just been clogged.”
    He reattached the unit’s front piece. “Fingers crossed,” he said, flipping the switch and feeling a blast of much coolerair flow from the vent openings. “I think that did it,” he said proudly.
    “You’re a lifesaver,” Mrs. Taylor said happily. She reached inside the pocket of her flowered housecoat and removed a change purse. “How much do I owe you?” she asked, unzipping the purse and removing a wad of crumpled bills.
    “You don’t owe me anything,” he answered.
    Every time he did something for the woman, she tried to pay him. But Lucas wasn’t interested in taking the old lady’s money. He knew she barely had enough to support herself as it was.
    “What, do you think you’re one of them super-types?” she asked, gesturing toward the television. “Swoopin’ in to save the day?”
    Lucas laughed. “Not me,” he told her. “Think of me