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Excerpt

Adrian blinked as the numbers on the spreadsheet blurred. Automatically, he reached for his tepid mug of coffee, wincing at its chill. He’d calculated the numbers backwards and forwards, not liking the decline they showed. Just past January first, he should have shown a boost in fourth quarter sales. After all, they had the holidays, then the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day to spend holiday money. Comics had been flying off the shelves. Several hot new releases had patrons queuing in line even before The Fantastic Five had opened.

Adrian shook his head. He rose to his feet, his gaze catching, as it often did, on the broken action figure sitting on the corner of his desk. The man sat there; his feet lost probably during some child’s “battle”. One hand had been almost torn from its wrist. Looking at it, he couldn’t tell, but Adrian knew if he picked up the figure, started to move the jointed limbs, he’d find the tear. He’d intended to start working on it tonight.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, then smiled when he realized he spoke to a toy.

Adrian stood. He reached for his mug, not quite able to pull his attention from the figure. Adrian had found this toy in a box at a garage sale a few blocks over while out on his run. Although the figure had a production date in the mid-nineties, something about the toy had drawn Adrian. Normally, he wasn’t overly fond of the modern figures.

The plastic soldier sat there, stubble covering his cheeks and jaw. It gave him a surly look, as if he were a grizzled soldier who barked orders at his men all day. Short, dark brown hair was cut with military precision. His brows were dark slashes over his piercing blue eyes. Broad shoulders, perfectly muscled body, he looked like the real American hero his now long-gone packaging had declared him to be.

“As soon as I get through these numbers, I’ll take care of you.” Adrian frowned at his nearly empty mug. The clock on his computer told him it was after ten pm. Way too late to continue the caffeine drip he’d been on all day. If only he could pinpoint the source of the store’s drop in earnings. Then, he’d have some answers for his friends and partners.

Not that they needed them. Dean would be leaving for a windsurfing vacation tomorrow. Van and Hugh trusted him with the day-to-day operations of the store. Hugh worked on marketing and promotion. Van provided legal assistance and spent a lot of his time searching for action figures to restore. The Field Medic operated as a subdivision of their store restoring vintage and modern action figures.

With a shake of his head, Adrian went to the kitchen. Moments later he returned with a cold bottle of water.

“Forget about the numbers,” a whisky-rough voice said in his mind. Adrian stared at the figure. He’d been known to make jokes about what toys would say if they were real. But this was real enough as to be spooky.

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