Chapter 24: Reputation and Consequences
Ben's garage had a crowd by 8 AM.
He'd slept maybe two hours, woken to the sound of voices outside, and opened his door to find fifteen people waiting. Neighbors. Alibi regulars. People he'd helped over the past months, all standing there with food and gratitude and questions.
Mrs. Rodriguez was first, pushing through the crowd to kiss both his cheeks and press a container of homemade tamales into his hands.
"Ángel," she said, tears in her eyes. "You saved that boy. You are angel."
"I'm not—"
But she was already telling everyone else, voice carrying over the crowd, describing how Ben had always been good people, always helped, always seemed to know when someone needed him.
Kevin arrived with a six-pack of beer despite the early hour. "Ben! The man of the hour! Tell us everything."
"There's not much to tell."
"Bullshit." Kevin grinned, positioning himself like a talk show host preparing to interview a celebrity. "You stopped an armed robbery through impossible timing and ninja moves. That's worth at least three beers of storytelling."
The crowd agreed enthusiastically. Ben found himself surrounded, being led to an impromptu gathering in the Alibi parking lot, everyone wanting to hear the story firsthand.
He told it with careful omissions. Heard raised voices, went to investigate, saw Mickey with a gun, reacted on instinct. Simple. Straightforward. Leaving out the Danger Intuition that screamed warnings, the Silver Tongue that lied about police, the illusion that jammed the gun.
The neighborhood's version was already different.
"Ben sensed danger," one regular claimed. "Like a sixth sense or something."
"Disarmed Mickey with one move," another added. "Pure Bruce Lee."
"Saved Ian's life," Mrs. Rodriguez confirmed. "Bullet missed by inches."
Ben tried correcting the exaggerations, but V appeared beside him and said quietly, "Let them have this. South Side doesn't get heroes often. When we do, we make the story bigger than reality. People need it."
She was right, Ben realized. The truth—walking past at the exact right moment through coincidence—was unsatisfying. But Lucky Ben who sensed danger and stopped robberies through supernatural timing? That was a story worth telling. A narrative that gave hope in a neighborhood where good outcomes were rare.
So Ben let them exaggerate. Let the legend grow beyond reality. And felt the community's affection wrapping around him like chains—genuine, warm, and absolutely suffocating.
He wasn't an outsider anymore. Wasn't just the helpful handyman. He was Lucky Ben, the fixer who performed miracles, and that meant everyone had expectations he couldn't possibly meet.
Frank appeared at noon with a scheme so audacious Ben almost admired it.
"Heroism is a growth market," Frank announced, spreading papers across Ben's workbench. "And you're sitting on untapped potential."
"Frank—"
"Hear me out. GoFundMe for 'Ben's Recovery Fund'—even though you're not injured, people donate to heroes. Security consultations—charge people fifty bucks to tell them their locks are shit. Bodyguard services for neighborhood events. The brand practically sells itself."
"No."
"You're not thinking big picture." Frank pulled out a wad of cash. "Already collected two hundred in 'donations for our hero.' That's in one morning, just by mentioning you at the Alibi and Patsy's Pies. We split fifty-fifty, and I continue marketing while you do the actual work."
"I'm not monetizing stopping a robbery."
"Why not? Everyone else would." Frank's logic was infuriatingly sound. "You did something remarkable. People want to show appreciation. Why shouldn't you benefit?"
Ben looked at the money—two hundred dollars that Frank had somehow collected by exploiting Ben's reputation. His first instinct was to refuse, to throw Frank out, to maintain some ethical high ground.
Then he remembered: he needed money. The Marcus situation was temporarily solved, but his illusion money would revert soon, creating new problems. The Gary jewelry sale had provided a cushion, but that wouldn't last.
Frank's scam accidentally solves a problem. This money explains improved finances without mentioning fraud.
"Thirty-seventy," Ben said. "Thirty for you, seventy for me. And no bodyguard services. Just security consultations using my actual skills."
Frank's grin was triumphant. "Now you're thinking like a businessman."
They spent an hour arguing details—what services Ben would actually provide (legitimate repair work and basic security assessments), how Frank would market them (word-of-mouth without outrageous lies), and how to split earnings (tracked meticulously to prevent Frank's inevitable theft attempts).
Ben took the two hundred dollars and hated himself for it. But he pocketed the money anyway, adding "profiting from heroism" to his growing list of moral compromises.
Frank left declaring them "partners in heroic enterprise," and Ben sat alone wondering when he'd stopped having ethical boundaries that mattered.
Marcus appeared at 4 PM, alone.
No Ray. No backup. No weapons visible. Just Marcus walking into the garage with the careful confidence of someone who'd made a decision and was now executing it.
Ben's Danger Intuition pulsed softly—not urgent, but present. This was significant.
"Ben." Marcus's tone was neutral. "Heard about yesterday. Impressive."
"Just reacted."
"That's underselling it. You stopped an armed robbery. Saved a kid. Neighborhood's treating you like a hero." Marcus leaned against the workbench. "That kind of reputation is valuable."
"Valuable how?"
"To me. To my operation." Marcus's expression was calculating. "I've been thinking about our arrangement. The protection payments, the threats, the muscle. That's old-school. Inefficient. But a partnership? That could benefit both of us."
Ben's Silver Tongue stirred, ready to negotiate, while his Danger Intuition showed him this was a crossroads. Accept and become part of South Side's criminal infrastructure. Refuse and make an enemy who'd already proven dangerous.
"What kind of partnership?" Ben asked carefully.
"You do security consultations. Legitimate ones—use that MacGyver mind of yours to evaluate buildings, find vulnerabilities, suggest improvements. I provide the clients. We split fees sixty-forty, your favor."
"And in exchange?"
"You're officially under my protection. Nobody touches you, nobody demands payments, nobody hassles your business. Clean slate on past disagreements." Marcus paused. "Including the money situation."
Ben's pulse quickened. "The fake money I paid you?"
"Mysteriously turned into real bills eventually. Strange how that happens." Marcus's tone suggested he knew exactly what had happened but was choosing to ignore it. "Figured it was a test—seeing if I'd notice, seeing how I'd react. I respect that. Shows intelligence."
He knows. Not the how, but he knows the money changed. And he's letting it slide because I'm more valuable as partner than enemy.
"Just security consultations?" Ben clarified. "No violence, no intimidation, nothing involving crimes I'm not already doing."
Marcus laughed. "What crimes are those?"
"The ones I'm not admitting to."
"Fair." Marcus extended his hand. "We have a deal? Professional partnership, mutual benefit, no hard feelings about past misunderstandings?"
Ben's Danger Intuition showed him futures: accept and gain protection but owe favors. Refuse and face escalating pressure. There was no good option, just degrees of bad.
He shook Marcus's hand. "Deal."
After Marcus left, Ben sat in his garage and cataloged what had just happened. He'd gone from threatened outsider to protected partner in three months. From anonymous handyman to Lucky Ben the neighborhood hero. From moral person with boundaries to someone who monetized heroism and partnered with criminals.
The trajectory was clear, even if he didn't want to see it.
He was becoming part of South Side's ecosystem—not just observing, not just helping from outside, but integrated into the networks of crime and survival that made this place function.
And the terrifying part? It felt natural. Easy, even. Like his powers and his knowledge had always been meant for this.
Kevin stopped by at sunset with actual concern cutting through his usual cheerfulness.
"You okay?" Kevin asked. "Everyone's talking about you like you're supernatural. That's a lot of pressure."
"I'm managing."
"Are you? Because between Frank's schemes and Marcus's partnership and the neighborhood putting you on a pedestal, you've gone from nobody to somebody really fast. That's dangerous."
"I know."
"Do you?" Kevin studied him seriously. "Because people who become somebody in South Side—they get expectations. Responsibilities. And when they can't meet them, they get destroyed. Just want to make sure you're ready for that."
"I'm not," Ben admitted. "But I don't think I have a choice anymore."
Kevin nodded like he understood. "For what it's worth—you're good people. Don't let the neighborhood change that. Don't let the reputation turn you into something you're not."
After Kevin left, Ben stood alone in his garage and wondered if it was already too late for that warning.
His carefully constructed identity had shattered. Lucky Ben—the fixer who performed miracles, who showed up at impossible moments, who could solve any problem—had replaced Ben Fisher the humble handyman.
And that new identity came with expectations he couldn't meet and attention he couldn't escape.
The weight of foreknowledge, the burden of powers, the cost of saving Ian—it all pressed down like physical mass.
But Ian was alive. That mattered more than Ben's comfort or reputation or fear of exposure.
He'd saved someone. Really saved them. Changed a story from tragedy to survival.
And if the price was becoming Lucky Ben, becoming someone people watched and questioned and expected miracles from—
Well. That was a price worth paying.
Even if it meant he could never hide again.
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