"Alright, time to separate the men from the boys. Or women from the girls, whatever." Sonja reached casually into the hip pocket of her suit jacket, maybe three inches deep. From inside she drew an antique baseball bat. Thirty-four inches long, made in Louisville, Kentucky by master craftsmen out of a single maple log. But as always, the weapon didn't matter so much as who wielded it. This bat had been the personal possession of none other than Stan Musial, Baseball's Perfect Warrior, Stan the Man, one of St. Louis' greatest heroes. The most consistent hitter in the sport, his road average exactly matching his home average, a man whose skill was only matched by his humility and sportsmanship. An example, an icon, a beloved figure virtually unknown outside one Midwestern city. 

And now it belonged to the Spirit of St. Louis. 

She had been offered all sorts of weapons. Razor-sharp swords, cutting-edge assault rifles, even Chuck Berry's own revolver. But this had just seemed right for the embodiment of the town. It rested in a venerated place in her condo. It was imbued with everything that empowered her, hitting like an airstrike and never cracking the trademark. If a girl had to get physical, she could do worse.

Resting the bat over her shoulder, the woman strode towards Olympia, happily volunteering for action. "Ma'am, I'm honored to be working with you again," she said sincerely and respectfully to the Miami-based hero.