B13: Baker's Dozen

by Z.W.Vuts

Everything changed with the death of Candlestick Maker.

All the years of fighting in earnest had left many scars, some many layers deep. It was after that last fight that Butcher and Baker went their own separate ways, all of them out to sea.

Butcher disappeared, her quarters at the TUB left untouched except for her set of knives and cleavers, laid carefully back in their display cases. They were chipped, cracked, and shining in the light, save for the dried blood like brush-marks on the blades, soaking the purple cloth on which they rested.

Baker was determined to keep fighting for all that is good and wholesome and fresh. To stand in the way of the diabolical forces that unite pirates and terrorists and warlords. That introduce the selfishly wealthy to the ruthlessly greedy, and broker their pound of flesh. Those with greater plans than mere regions. Greater plans, even, than the world. They planned orbits and moon bases. And they moved closer every day. To fight these forces she put together a team. A mix of specialists from around the globe, each with their own dash of something special. A team she could trust. That wouldn’t back down. A team that wouldn’t quit. A team that could rub a dub dub.

1 Fresh from the oven.

The little bell chimed as the door swung open, as though fanfare for the aroma that spilled from within. Candlestick Bakery smelled just as a bakery should. Like the sun toasting the streets golden brown, the clouds hot steam rising into the air. Behind the counter a large, bearded man looked up with a smile, and returned to restocking the doughnuts from a tall, rolling silver cart. The customer approached the counter as he scanned the room, as though looking for someone.
"Can I help you, sir?"

"Hi, um, yes. I would like to order a dozen doughnuts, please."

"Of course, sir. What can I get you?"

The customer cleared his throat, checked the room's corners with his eyes. "Could I have an eclair, a jellyroll, a tart, a torte, a muffin, a cupcake, " he paused a moment. The clerk was carefully picking up donuts from various areas on the rack with a crinkly piece of wax paper and putting them in a box, though how they matched the descriptions was a mystery, as they were clearly labeled differently.

The clerk turned to the customer at the hesitation, looking for all the world like a burly Saint Nick with a navy tattoo. The glee in his eyes, however, hid something else, a thousand yards away. His voice was calmer than it was jolly. A bit gravelly in fact. "You are at six, sir." was all that he said in the deafening silence. There had been no customers. Somehow the shades were down. There was a faint but persistent rattle, like rocks in a can. It came from the vents of the small refrigeration unit that cooled the counter-top pastry display. Probably. Someone named Logan was turning thirty, according to the icing on a cake inside.

Huh, thought the customer, so am I.

The customer straightened his stance and cracked his neck. His stomach rumbled. It smelled great in here. He continued, "Yes. Also a sourdough, baklava, fa gao, macaroon, strudel and a wedding cake."

The clerk put a last doughnut in the box, placed a rectangle of wax paper over them with some napkins, and closed the lid. "That's twelve, sir. What would you like for your extra?"

"Could I have a cookie?" He couldn't entirely hide his smirk.

The clerk remained stoic. He handed the box of donuts to the customer, and pointed at a door behind the counter with a sign that read 'Bakery Employees Only'. "You're in luck, sir. We've got a fresh batch. If you'd like, go back into the big oven. You can't miss it." The bakery door slid into the wall with a scrape and a clang, which was unexpected for a bakery door. "Was there anything else, sir?"

The customer broke his gaze with the heavy door's opening maw and glanced back at the bakery, which suddenly seemed so anachronistically quaint. Like a museum display or amusement park ride. He realized that he was still holding the box at arms length, and tucked it under his arm. "No, thank you." he said, and then, "Unless you have a bagel with cream cheese back there?" he said with a laugh.

The clerk warmed and smiled, "Would you like that toasted, sir?"

The customer laughed again, "Wouldn't that be nice?" as he turned to the door.

A toaster on the back counter dinged, and two bagel halves popped up, golden brown. The clerk was ready with a crinkly piece of wax paper, plucking them out without missing a beat and dropping them into a paper bag, with three packets of cream cheese, two napkins, and a wooden tongue depressor, which does just as good a job, but isn't plastic. He put it in the customer's hands as he patted the young man on the back and guided him through the door. "Good luck, kid."

The clerk cracked a lopsided grin as the door whooshed shut, chuckling softly as he turned back to the doughnut rack. "And that's the Baker's Dozen."