The Borer: A Captain Major Tale

The Borer: A Captain Major Tale Page 3

by Jim D. Scott

CHAPTER THREE

 

  Monday, October 17th, 2011

  Lou Major waited impatiently for his download to finish, then plugged his headphones into his iPhone and started the Tod Franklin Poombah podcast. He had no clear expectations of what he was going to hear. All he had was a text message from his father that he ought to listen to one particular episode of one particular podcast and to let him know what he thought.

  The Todcast, as the Poombahyayas called it, was popular in the overall ratings, though Lou had never heard of it. He had, of course, heard every ad that was played at the open of the show, as the ads were identical to all the other ads on all the other podcasts which had enough listeners to merit advertisements. Needing neither a mattress nor a code to download an audio book, Lou skipped ahead to the meat of the program.

  The host, Tod Franklin Poombah, was a polished and genial fellow, full of great billowing laughter which pushed the show forward like a sail. He laughed at everything, his own jokes loudest and longest of all, but showed no real discernment so long as the tone indicated that someone was attempting to be funny.

  Poombah seemed to know the one guest, guy by the name of Max Depf. At the very least, at the end of several prolonged laughs, Poombah repeated for all to hear, “Good to have you back, Max. Good to have you back.”

  Max muttered a collegial thank you off mic, so Lou didn’t hear it. Poombah groaned inwardly and pressed onward. He hated working with amateurs.

  “First time guest, as well, for all you out there. Randy Major, author of the Captain's Chronicles blog, a wonderful, fantastic, frenetic look at the life and crimes of Captain Major, one of the most awful women to disgrace the cape in the history of our fair city. I’d call her a bitch, but I promised Ginger that I would be more respectful ... to dogs!” Poombah joked and waited for Randy to laugh or speak. He didn’t. “The microphone doesn’t pick up smiles, Randy,” Poombah chided.

  “Sorry, T.F.,” Randy replied. “It’s great to be here. And I agree with your dog.”

  “Now, Randy,” Poombah continued. “You’ve been blogging about Captain Major for nearly a year. Most of that time, she’s been retired. Is that because of you, and where do I send my thank you card and the box of steaks? (And a reminder to all you sharp-earned listeners: our sponsor Postal Direct lets you send as many thank yous as you want right from the convenience of your own computer, with the fun of using a balance scale. Order now and the collectible bronze-plated reference weights are included for free, good for measuring any package up to 22 ounces.)”

  Randy mumbled something off mic until he understood Poombah’s gestures and leaned into the microphone. Lou jumped back when Randy’s levels jumped off the chart before the engineer could dial him back.

  “You’re really giving engineer Eddie a workout there, Randy. Back up a bit now: is Captain Major retired because of you?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’d like to think I get a little credit for that,” Randy said. “One thing I noticed is that no one ever punches her in the face. It’s so weird. It’s like even villains are afraid to fight back against a girl. Political correctness has gone so far that villains won’t hit girls. But also, I’ve relaunched the blog. It’s called Major Painz now.”

  “That’s with a ‘z’,” Max added.

  “At the end,” Randy clarified.

  “Though there’s more work to be done,” Max continued. “The new video Randy posted is downright scary.”

  “It’s terrifying,” Randy said.

  “For those who haven’t seen the video,” Poombah instructed, “check it out on the Major Painz blog. It shocks the conscience what that woman did to those poor boys.”

  “All too common,” Max added.

  “She stalked them, hunted them like prey,” Poombah went on. “She lurked in the dark then pounced. She beat the hell out of those poor boys. Destroyed one boy’s face. For nothing.”

  “For nothing!” Max agreed.

  “Then ran away before the police could get her,” Randy reminded.

  “It was a goddam beat and run, is what it was,” Poombah said. “A crime against hu-MAN-ity. Now, did I read that one of the boys was hurt really badly?”

  “Yes,” Max agreed. “But you can’t see that in the video. The video only captures the end of the beating, from a distance.”

  Poombah continued: “The citizen who took the video must have been afraid to get any closer. We’re keeping his identity a secret out of fear that Captain Major will go after him next.”

  “That’s right, Tod,” Max said. “From what we know, it sounds like Captain Major punched all his teeth out.”

  “And he never punched back,” Randy added.

  “I, for one, can’t believe how many people are willing to put up with it,” Poombah scoffed.

  “Not me,” Max said. “I’m not.”

  “Not Max,” Poombah said. “So we’ve got one. Hallelujah! For the record, Randy is raising his hand, so we’ve got two people sick of these vagilantes.”

  “That or he’s asking permission to use the bathroom,” Max joked.

  “I should say that we’ve gotten over 25,000 views of that video already,” Randy continued over Poombah's laughter. “The more people know about this, the more people will be sick.”

  “You’re doing God’s work, gentlemen, sickening people,” Poombah said.

  There was a shared blink between the three men before Max jumped in again. “And, you know, we’re going to be wanting to get people together. Down at Middling Park, which Captain Major let Amazing Man destroy last year. And we want people to bring signs and show up and just let Captain Major and all the other bitches who spend all their time thinking up new ways to break our balls know that we’re just sick of it all and the time has come for comeuppance.”

  “Captain Major ruined my life,” Randy said. “I’m just a regular guy. I can’t get into it all here, because I’m afraid of what she would do, but she destroyed my life once. So, all I’m doing is shining a light now on all the other lives she’s damaging.”

  “We can protect you, Randy,” Poombah said. “Together, we are strong.”

  “Stronger than any woman,” Max said.

  “Stronger than Captain Major, to be sure,” Poombah said.

  “Yeah,” Randy agreed.

  “We are out of time on this segment. If you’re always running out of time, log on to ShoeWatch.com, look for the microphone, click on the icon next to it, then enter coupon code TodCastOffer in the box, provide a valid credit card, and you will get 5% off your first order on ShoeWatch.com. ShoeWatch — the shoe with a watch that helps you time your run so you run on time. A new shoe will be delivered to your house every week.

  “Try them on your feet. If you get 3 lefties in a row, you can get a refund.”

  Lou paused the Todcast so that he could focus on his homework. Something about talking really distracted him. Listening to his father catch shade without even noticing made it all the worse. After two pages of reading about the Assyrians, he forgot about the homework and the podcast and decided to take a nap.

  Off-mic, at the conclusion of the recording session, Poombah took a sip of tea and leaned back in his executive, high-back chair. He folded his fingers together over his belly and looked at Max and Randy, nodding his head slowly.

  “I believe,” he said, “I would like to make you boys regulars.”

  “That would be awesome!” Randy nearly jumped to his feet in excitement. Age, more than wisdom, kept his butt in his stiff-backed side chair.

  “There’s meat on this bone,” Poombah said.

  “There sure is,” Max agreed.

  “I don’t need a yes man,” Poombah spoke as he stood from his chair in a lumbering way and walked around the studio until he was standing behind and between Randy and Max. He dropped his voice. “You get this rally together. Make it credible. Convince me you can manage it.”

  “I can get naked pictures of Captain Major,” Randy blurted. Max gasped while Poombah a
ppraised him with new respect.

  “Are they real?” Max asked.

  “That don’t much matter,” Poombah ruminated. “Do they show her face?”

  Randy tried to hide his panic. He did, in fact, have naked pictures of Dee Major and nearly every one showed her face. But Dee Major was not Captain Major and neither one knew about the pictures. He saw the line that only he knew he just offered to cross. Whether he lacked the will or the anger, had a moment of good judgment, or decided to wait before showing something that couldn’t be unseen, no one will ever know. Whatever his heart believed, he chose to lie: “No.”

  “Shit,” Max said. “What does it even matter then?”

  “Are they real?” Poombah asked.

  “Yes,” Randy said.

  “I won’t ask how you got them. But I need to know one thing. Will she know they’re real, if they don’t show her face?”

  “Yes,” Randy said.

  Poombah smiled. “And that’s why it matters, son. Because fuck her, that’s why. She’ll know.”

  Wednesday, October 27, 2011

  The cold rain had finally stopped, but Captain Major’s canvas high tops splashed through sloppy puddles which felt all the colder because they had become so familiar. The wettest October in Metroville history was leaning into a miserable November as Captain Major surveyed yet another quiet part of Sector Seven.

  Captain Major leaned against a heating vent at the top of Achilles’ Tents and wondered why she was there. The smell of mini-donuts and gyros permeated everything in the Little Greecy part of Sector Seven, leaving Captain Major hungry and nauseous. She remembered both her pregnancies as she scanned the neighborhood again. The streets below were the same, but everything else had changed. She had donned her old costume again to try to remind the city of all the good she had done, but nothing good had come of it.

  Her job, as a hero, included beating up villains. Each confrontation now brought out a cadre of amateur videographers to record every punch for later dissection. Her hero life had become an official time out in a college basketball game to determine whether a flagrant foul should be called. A legion of floppers instantly sprung up to commit minor crimes and crumple at the first whiff of the ozone surrounding Captain Major’s twin falchions of justice.

  Each appearance she made was also an excuse for someone to repost the grainy, poorly lit pictures Randy had shared of her body. Her face was never visible, but it took three clicks for anyone to superimpose her costumed face upon her naked body. Users could download an app from Major Painz so they could submit and rank the rankest efforts of the depraved hive mind.

  She wanted to stay home, but guilt drove her into her costume and out to the city. Leigh was recovering quickly. The boys, not so much. Reports from The Immortal suggested that Bo Tannie would recover fully but he declined to make any predictions about Philip Bottomest. He had quietly ensured that both received the best medical care available outside Intie Tower.

  Captain Major had broken her own heart. She recognized now that now only did she want to be a hero, she wanted to be a great hero. Greatness was waiting for her after her battles with Amazing Man, but she walked away. Regret transformed to hate: she hated herself for walking away. For the first time in her post-powers life, she felt certain of what she wanted and feared that she had thrown her last chance away with reckless revenge.

  Knowing how unlikely it was that anyone would try to rob a Greek camping store when it was offering end-of-season discounts so steep that they were practically giving their tents away, Captain Major settled back into a deep, comfortable sulk.

  Friday, October 28, 2011

  Lou Major enjoyed just about everything about running cross country. Having never really run before, he was improving dramatically with training. The long afternoons of using his mind to beat up his legs and lungs were deeply satisfying. The only negatives so far were his mother’s behavior at meets, which he had addressed directly and furiously, and the period of time when the cross country team shared the locker room with the football team.

  Normally, Lou tried to be the first guy on the team out of the showers and out the door, but today he was running late after doing some extra stretching with a foam roller to try to loosen up his lower back.

  Most of the football players were fine. Regular guys playing a different sport which glorified their ability to beat up those weaker than them. Lou thought fondly of the Jurassic period, where he wouldn’t be able to outrun a dinosaur, but he could easily outpace a linebacker. Lou secretly longed for an inhuman apex predator to remind everyone in the locker room that they were all just meat sacks of different sizes (and different 5K times).

  Lou was thoroughly gassed today after a heavy set of hills with Coach Kelometer. No one could argue with Kelometer’s success. He held every distance record at Metroville East and had even won a scholarship to the City University of Metroville, where the administration still hadn’t figured out why the school logo was so popular with teenage boys and Hooters patrons. The administration accidentally created the biggest selling t-shirt in the history of Metroville retail by attempting to increase awareness of the winter term study abroad options, which the school branded “All Over!”.

  Lou was tossing his grass-stained shoes into his locker when the football team started hollering into the locker room. Lou wondered if they would be whooping so much after a cross country practice They moved in a pack like they were getting ready to practice an end zone celebration. Lou always felt small around them. He felt even smaller while they were still in full armor.

  Kirk Solverson, one of the starting defensive ends, broke away from the pack, made eye contact with Lou, and headed straight for him. He carried his helmet in his hand like a mace, ready to rain down 1d6 bludgeoning damage on anything in his path. On the other hand, his shining eyes made him seem friendly, or at least less than utterly menacing.

  Lou hurried to finish with his locker, but Kirk caught him before he was done. Kirk tapped him on the shoulder with his helmet. Lou was turned awkwardly and the pressure from the tap was enough to drop him to sitting on the bench in front of the lockers.

  “Louis,” Kirk smirked. “You still got the hots for Captain Major?”

  “I never had the hots for Captain Major,” Lou struggled back to his feet. Kirk wouldn’t take a step back, so Lou reached back to walk himself to standing with his hands on his locker.

  “I saw your locker last year. You had, like, thousands of pictures of her. Seemed like a total spank fest.”

  “Don’t be gross,” Lou said.

  “Then why did you have her picture in her locker? Did you like the way she beat up kids your age?”

  “You don’t know that she beats up kids,” Lou argued softly. “Just a stupid Internet video.”

  “We all saw what we saw,” Kirk was very serious now. His voice was growing louder and attracting a crowd. “Are you saying that she didn’t beat up Bo Tannie? You know, he lettered for this team last year.”

  “I know he played football,” Lou agreed. “I’m sorry he’s hurt, okay? I had posters up last year, but I don’t any more. Maybe I know more about Captain Major than one stupid video.”

  “You’re sorry? Jesus. What are you going to do, cry? I don’t want you to cry, Baby-Lou, I want you to be a man. At least pretend to be a man. Stand up for something. That could’ve been you that she was beating the hell out of.”

  “Should’ve been,” a voice called from the back of the crowd. Lou couldn’t see who and he didn’t want to know. He fought hard to hold back the tears, but there was nothing he could do to stop the rush of blood to his face. He could feel the redness in his cheeks from the shame and embarrassment and impotence. He didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t think of anything to do. So he balled his fist and threw his best punch right at Kirk’s nose.

  Kirk saw the punch coming and tried to lean out of the way. Lou’s fist missed its mark and grazed Kirk’s cheek. The rush of skin against skin was enough to open a sm
all gash just below Kirk’s right eye. Lou tried to grapple Kirk, but Kirk’s teammates grabbed his arms and pinned him back against the lockers while Kirk dabbed a finger at the blood. It was bright red, just a splendid, vibrant shade of red as it trickled down his cheek before it began to dry and clot over the cut.

  “Get him and get his shit,” Kirk said flatly as if he had no choice. Kirk led the team to the showers. Lou came along, struggling futilely to escape. Somewhere behind him, the linebackers were carrying his clothes and shoes and everything else from his locker.

  “Let’s help him cool off,” Kirk pointed toward the showers. Kirk’s teammates threw Lou under a shower head while someone turned the water on full cold. The linebackers threw the contents of his locker at him: his practice jersey, his shorts and socks, his new running shoes, deodorant, travel shampoo, a couple bucks and a folder of homework he kept forgetting to turn in.

  Lou knew better than to get up while the gang taunted him from just outside the splash zone. He stared straight ahead at the floor, waiting for everyone to go away, ignoring the taunts echoing around him.

  “Is it sleepy bye time, Lou? Are you going night-night now?” Kirk asked. Lou kept staring at the ground and grinding his teeth. “You know what I like to do before I go to sleep?” Lou thought of answers, each of which would surely lead to a beating. When he saw that Lou wasn’t going to answer, Kirk continued. “I like to take a nice, big dump. That way I can go to sleep feeling like I accomplished something.”

  Lou shook his head, not sure who Kirk thought he was goading with that statement. If a dump was his biggest accomplishment, that said a hell of a lot more about Kirk than it did about Lou. Lou understood what would happen as soon as Kirk swiped his practice jersey from his hands. Lou leaped to his feet and made to chase Kirk, but the starting guards stepped in front of him and held him easily at bay. Kirk exited the showers and made his way to a toilet stall.

  The team chuckled as Kirk heaved and grunted like he was squeezing a tennis ball through one of the long balloons a clown twists into animals to frighten children. Finally, an explosive shot of gas, a heavy splash and Kirk’s victorious sigh made the team erupt in cheers.

  When Kirk exited the bathroom, the rest of the team followed after him to the locker room to change. Lou waited a few moments to make sure the worst had passed, then reached up to turn the water off. In the quiet, alone, he began to shiver, feeling the cold much more deeply now that the adrenaline was leaving him.

  Lou sat there for a long time, cold and dripping, cycling between anger and shame.The locker room was quiet and his clothes were soaked through and clung painfully to his skin when he stood up and began walking to the bathroom. He hit both of the side-by-side hand dryers and turned the nozzles toward his head so that he could dry his hair. The warm air felt good on his face and neck. His teeth finally stopped chattering. There were towels outside the bathroom, but he could hear the stragglers of the football team horsing around out there. He didn’t want to risk reigniting the confrontation or, worse, seeing someone who might feel sorry for him.

  Lou chewed his lip as he opened the door to the bathroom stall, then tried to blink away the stink of the shit Kirk left behind. Lou managed a quick glance at the toilet. The sight of Kirk’s loose stool made Lou gag. Lou held back the urge to vomit and shuffled to the side of the bowl.

  He grabbed his jersey with three fingers, lightly touching the fabric where it appeared to be least soiled. He pulled the t-shirt up and out of the toilet bowl, feeling it lighten as the shit slid down the shirt and fell into the brown water below.

  The collar had taken the worst of it, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He grabbed the tag in the collar and tried to pull it free. His numb fingers slipped from the wet filth coating the tag and the fabric. He tried again, but his hands couldn’t secure purchase on the stubborn tag.

  He thought, for more than a moment, about using his teeth to bite at the stitches or start ripping it off like a dog, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He closed his eyes and pinched his fingers as tightly as he could. He grabbed the tag, took three or four deep breaths and then pulled with all his minor might.

  The tag ripped just as he feared he was pulling the skin from his fingers. He smiled as he started to work the tag free, stitch by stitch, until he had the tag in his wet, putrid hands.

  He dropped the jersey in the nearest trash, leaving a brown stain on the silver lid. He went to the sink. He washed his hands and the tag, carefully and thoroughly until he was sure that every fleck of feces was down the drain. He set the tag on the shelf under the mirror and shuffled to the hand dryers. He dried his hands and arms. They had been wet for so long that the skin was wrinkling. Finally, he went to one of the clean stalls and grabbed a roll of toilet paper. He wiped down the garbage lid and flushed the toilet paper.

  He washed his hands once more, stopping before rinsing to turn the tag over as it lay on the shelf. He looked at the back, where his mother had drawn a heart in running shoes in permanent marker. The black lines were washed to wavy gray, but he knew what it had been and what it had meant and so he smiled.

  He walked home and he was late. He was hungry and he didn’t care. His mom said something about something and he didn’t listen. He went to his room and closed the door, speaking to no one. He changed his clothes and sat in the dark so as to keep safe the last spark of hope and happiness still flickering inside him.

  Monday, October 31, 2011

  The lobby of Confederated Justice was exactly as vainglorious as Captain Major remembered. Everything gleamed as brightly as Enamel’s front teeth, which had famously blinded Bad Judgment and Dare Me, a villainous duo more suited for professional wrestling than a life of crime. A twelve-foot tall mural of that event was not on display in the CFJ lobby, but The Immortal was rendered in exquisitely atavistic detail by Metroville’s Walton Ford in residence, a certain Shirley Audubon Brush. The Invisible Girl hung on the wall opposite The Immortal, though of course no one noticed. Brush was currently putting the finishing touches on two new commissions for the lobby’s rotating collection. She had completed a detailed sketch for her private collection of Riddick the Bowman setting out poisoned bait to ease his hunt on the African savanna. The official portrait featured Riddick scanning the horizon in a far more tasteful and heroic pose. The other work featured Lycra and Adhosvan, the Elastic Twins, in a pose that would have given Salvador Dali a real boner.

  Captain Major had never waited in the lobby before. Dean Panda was clearly exercising his authority. He had agreed, politely, to Captain Major’s meeting request. Though he had retired to the board of directors, The Immortal still held some sway here. Anyone as ambitious as Panda would know it. The Immortal had quickly abandoned his leadership of the branch, finding the daily grind to be, well, grinding. He far preferred to sit on the board where he helped pick and pay the consultants to tell them what they ought to do. It was a good gig destined to last just as long as the consultants refrained from pointing out that by hiring consultants the board rendered themselves superfluous. The board only hired the best consultants, so such an event was unlikely at best.

  October had been the shittiest month Captain Major had endured in a long, long time, including that July when Randy had bought some Vietnamese Viagra and a year’s supply of Extenze. Neither worked, not in the least, but Dee worked her hands raw balancing the checkbook and patting his deflated ego. Randy moped about until Postal 2 came out. Dee would’ve objected to the extra expense and the quality of the game had she not been so grateful that Randy found something to occupy his time and hands.

  Max Depf and Randy Major had become instant celebrities with a steady trickle of videos and teasers and a deluge of invective. Randy was unquenchably furious with Captain Major while Max had an endless supply of hatred for women in general which he gladly shoveled at Captain Major’s feet. The result was a fetid pile of putrid content which was making them relatively famous and podcast rich. The secondary
result was that Captain Major was being attacked and ridiculed on a daily basis in the local press and couldn’t be seen on the streets or rooftops without inviting a riot of rage.

  They had even adopted a name for themselves: Menhevicks. Immediately after adopting the name, they began explaining to anyone without access to egress that the Menhevick label carried multiple meanings including the simultaneously opposing ideas that while the Russian word menshevik originally meant “minority”, the early mensheviks were actually more popular than the Bolsheviks. It’s always the branding. While the modern day Menhevicks claimed the flag of majoritarian popularity, they also lamented their status as heavily persecuted outsiders who were marginalized by an increasingly feminized society that used tools like political correctness and big words to make the Menhevicks feel out of step and a little dumb.

  Also, they intentionally dropped the “she” from the literal transliteration of mensheviks because they didn’t want a feminine pronoun sullying up their good name.

  Those travails ignored everything that had happened with Lou. Lou spent the weekend in his room, but that wasn’t surprising in the least. Then Leigh saw a rumor on Twitter that she couldn’t bear to keep from her mom. Dee couldn’t live without knowing if it was true. She confronted Lou about the incident. She had the facts wrong, but the gist right. Lou, nevertheless, denied everything in a way that led Dee to the inescapable conclusion that the whole situation was both true and more than she could handle.

  Captain Major didn’t know what to think when Dean Panda finally did show up. In an office accustomed to bizarre costumes, Panda’s Halloween get up set a new low.

  Panda was dressed as Jim Corbett, though Captain Major didn’t know that Panda’s costume referenced a specific tiger hunter. Instead, the “dead” tiger Panda had apparently hunted was Hobbes of Sunday comics fame. That it was Hobbes was made plain by the fact that Panda was towing the body in a red wagon filled with peanut butter sandwiches, toy dinosaurs and a red t-shirt.

  Panda couldn’t have been happier with Captain Major’s horrified reaction. He used all of the long walk to the conference room to explain his costume from conception to execution. Panda spent far more time explaining his costume than he did declining Captain Major’s request for help with the Menhevicks. In the official opinion of Confederated Justice, the Menhevicks were a poorly organized, marginally funded collection of regular guys who took good ideas just a little too far. They would probably go away as soon as everyone stopped paying attention to them. They were absolutely right about some stuff, Panda was eager to concede. For example, Panda fully agreed with Depf that if a chick goes out in a low cut top, she’s asking you to compliment her on her tits. “Three buttons is fair game,” was the slogan. They were sold out of t-shirts on the website. The “Get in the game” companion shirt was not selling quite as well.

  Captain Major was not surprised at CFJ’s reluctance to do anything, let alone the right thing. Why break with tradition and so on. But supers relied to an extent on the good will and deference of the general public. The Menhevicks were creating an atmosphere of hostility toward a super which could make them all fair game at some point. If nothing else, it made them all potential victims of misleadingly edited home videos. Considering the reputations many of the supers had for accepting particular favors from damsels and Hansels immediately following their being in distress, many of CFJ’s top supers needed to pay some attention to the risks they were exposing themselves to.

  Panda was not particularly responsive to this line of argument, either. Boys will be boys, of course, and supers will be supers. Saving the day and then making a dream come true was like a doubleheader from back in the days when baseball was fun. The few complaints that they had had were well taken care of and properly budgeted for on a rolling annual basis, with favorable momentum on the expense line now that Amazing Man was off the books.

  “What about professional courtesy, then?” Captain Major asked. “Perhaps you help me here and maybe I could help you in the future. The same way you might treat an out-of-towner during a cross-over event?”

  Panda scoffed. “And what help do you think you’d be in a position to offer us in the future?”

  “I did just save the entire city when your number one hero went on a murderous rampage,” Captain Major couldn’t believe she had to remind her former supervisor of such a momentous event. He really didn’t pay any attention to the day to day stuff.

  “And since then, we’ve kept the city safe without your help,” Panda reminded. “A perfect record. And don’t forget that your behavior was one of the proximate causes of Amazing Man’s unfortunate incident.”

  “I’m well aware of your after action analysis,” Captain Major huffed. The Immortal had shared the report with her on the sly, along with his apologies, shortly after he stepped up to the board room.

  Panda settled comfortably back in his chair, certain for once that he had the upper hand with his former underling. He enjoyed it so much that he settled into a good long smirk including a tapping of his fingertips and a twiddling of his thumbs to demonstrate that he had all day to not do a goddam thing to help Captain Major.

  Captain Major stood to leave, giving Panda his cue to speak. “There is one thing you could do for me,” he offered, “that would inspire me to help you out in some small way.”

  “And what’s that?” Captain Major said. Even Nostrildamus, the oracle whose sinuses were plugged with prophecies which emerged each time he sneezed, could smell this trap.

  “I am feeling frustrated with the current pace of my career advancement,” Panda explained. “I have agreed to a 360 assessment to identify any behaviors I should address to effectuate my maximum promotability.”

  “Try not dressing like a wiener,” Captain Major offered.

  “You’d be surprised at how popular my costume has been up on five,” Panda retorted. “Riddick has already asked to borrow the wagon for next year.”

  “Another reason I don’t work here any more,” Captain Major said.

  “I’m well aware of, and deeply gratified by, that,” Panda said. “But I’m sure an exception can be made for a former direct report. You do this for me and I can make sure that the local police treat the Tannie investigation with greater urgency.”

  Captain Major reflected on the offer. All of Metroville had seen the video at this point. It was less than 30 seconds long. Captain Major kicked an unsuspecting Bo Tannie, then banged both Bo and Philip Bottomest around a driveway. A bright light flared and the video went white for a couple seconds. When the video resumed, Captain Major was slamming Bo to the driveway. The video showed Captain Major throw a heavy wrench then suddenly stopped.

  The police had been dragging their heels on any official announcement closing the Tannie investigation. The investigation was complete. The police had a full, but inaccurate picture, of what had happened. Piecing together the attack at the strip mall with the driveway beat down led them to the conclusion that Captain Major was lawfully engaged in the fighting of crime when she severely injured the boys. Nevertheless, local sentiment still seemed opposed to that conclusion. The police chief, having no reason to come to Captain Major’s defense, was looking for the most opportune time to release their conclusions so that no one would yell at him. Max and Randy, for their part, were using the delay to build up anger about undue influence and an obvious cover up. Just getting the report released would be one small punch in a dynamic flurry for Captain Major.

  “What would I have to say?” Captain Major asked.

  “I have a list,” Panda said. He slid a stack of papers to Captain Major. “You’ll just have to write it in your own words. You don’t work here any more. You and I know that means you don’t care even more than you didn’t care when you worked here. But some people in my command chain will see you as unquestionably objective. Plus, there’s a double bonus for me, since you weren’t beating up children when you were under my supervision.”

  “They weren
’t children,” Captain Major said. The hairs on her arms stood on end as she conspicuously gathered energy from the room. If Panda was worried, he didn’t show it.

  “I know exactly what happened that day,” Panda said. “I know how beneficial it would to put that whole messy mess behind you. I’m offering you help, if you’re smart enough to accept it.”

  Captain Major deflated. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Yes, you will,” Panda said. “When you finish with the forms, leave them at the front desk. With cake.”

  Saturday, November 6, 2011

  Middling Park was once a favored spot for downtown gambolers and picnickers, then a battle between Amazing Man and The Immortal uprooted the ancient shade trees, toppled the park benches and destroyed the once-impressive statute of friendship near the playful fountains. All things considered, the toppled park benches weren’t such a big deal. Its current ruinous state was exactly as one would imagine a park to be if a 30-foot tall, six-month old puppy were allowed to run wild through the green space while its owner answered work email on her phone to catch up after a long weekend.

  This morning it was hosting a somewhat special event. The main walkway was festooned with ribbons and balloons flapping in the breeze. The event was lightly themed in silver and black, the manliest colors other than the muddish red of blood drying below a broken nose. The occasion was a rally for Bo Tannie, the recovered Menhevick hero, who would be making his first public appearance since his brief hospitalization some weeks before. His concussion merited observation overnight, but the scrapes on his forearms could have been successfully treated by a Boy Scout with a Tenderfoot first aid badge. Bo had been out in public, though no one in his right mind cared. Today was only special because Bo would be in public on a stage. His buddy, Philip Bottomest, was also on the mend, but he wasn’t much in the video, so no one even cared.

  The event also celebrated the launch of Max Depf and Randy Major’s new podcast, which was already in talks for syndication on local radio. Max Major, as the show was called, had over 20,000 subscribers and a 4.7 star rating, despite — or because of — its lack of redeeming content. The inaugural episode was also live streaming across the city, even reaching Lou Major’s phone as he jogged backwards up the popular sledding hill in Ryan Park.

  The three stars were ensconced in the VIP tent, notable for the letters VIP written in black sharpie on a piece of laser printer paper and pinned next to the door. A chain of paper clips served as the barrier to entry. The office supply store on the corner was the biggest sponsor of the event, having donated $100 in cash and upwards of $200 (retail) in office supplies. Sitting a few hundred yards away, drinking pumpkin spice lattes al fresco, Dee and Leigh Major kept careful watch on the proceedings. Despite previous promises, Tod Franklin Poombah’s assistant had only that morning extended his regret at not being able to attend.

  A small crowd was milling out front when the final equipment test began a few minutes before 9 o’clock. Dee noted, with some respect, that they were prompt and well-organized loons and hooligans. Most hooligans, and nearly all loons, are notoriously unprompt, but do well at following orders.

  A few minutes of silence followed the screech and wail of the sound check. Dee took the time to sip her drink and look at her daughter. She was different. In truth, she would never be the same again. Her face was changed. Subtly, but a mother noticed all the changes. It wasn’t just the fading scars that marked the changes, but light lines showed the way of worry as it worked over her daughter’s face. And when she smiled — a smile that still came with effort and was easily overwhelmed by shame or fear — the perfectly matched new crown was obvious to Dee who remembered with new found fondness the imperfect real tooth that once sat crookedly in the corner of Leigh’s smile.

  Leigh was hiding now, using the large paper cup from which she drank as a shield. She dropped her eyes behind the cup. She dropped her gaze whenever she saw the concern on her mother’s face. She felt lost when the guilt washed over her and there was no room to hide in and no brother to pick a fight with and no bike to ride toward the setting sun and up a hill, any hill, any rise with green on all sides and a sun to fade to the horizon and night to settle around her while she waited for the stars to come out and remind her that no matter how colossal her screw ups were, there was an infinity beyond her which couldn’t care less about anything she did. Then, she thanked all the goodness left in the world that she couldn't affect the stars. She was grateful for the impotence she felt in the night. She welcomed the feeling of powerlessness even as much as she didn’t believe it.

  That lie was a great comfort to Leigh whenever she could be alone, and of absolutely no use at all to her when she glanced across the table and saw her mother’s sympathy and concern coming at her like tendrils, holding her in place, choking her with guilt from her mistakes and the fear of mistakes yet to be made.

  On the other hand, pumpkin spice lattes, even half-caf, were pretty freaking good and there was something delightful about her mother interrupting her comforting smile by sticking her foam-covered tongue out at her that cut right through Leigh’s well-practiced sulk.

  Leigh smiled and felt the urge to apologize again. Not for the smile or even for stealing the costume, but for the look on her mom’s face when she first escaped the fog of pain killers and sedatives. And then the time after time when she saw the same look as she healed miraculously thanks to her powers and The Immortal’s impossibly advanced medical care. Thankfully, her compulsion to apologize was interrupted by the obviously put-upon radio voice of the emcee taking the stage in the park.

  “Hey, guys, how about this weather?” the emcee oozed cheese. He wasn’t quite as wholesome as real cheese, more akin to processed cheez food. Even his cheesiness was imitation rather than sincere. He was right, however. The weather was delightful for a November morning. Brisk, but not as cold as the season would suggest. In his private office inside Intie Tower, Phil Intie recorded a feed of the event using a hacked weather satellite he was informally borrowing and sipped a morning brandy, which could really use a sprig a spice that hadn't been hybridized yet.

  “We’ll bring Max and Randy out in a few minutes, along with a few special guests,” the emcee continued.

  “Boobs!” a voice from the crowd called. There was a tittering of laughter.

  “What’s that?” the emcee had not heard.

  “Boobs!” a small chorus of voices called.

  “Sorry, guys, no boobs on the menu today, just a slate of great speakers, entertainers, people who make you think with your minds!”

  The lack of response was deafening and depressing. The emcee thought for a brief moment about his last day in culinary school and how much he would have liked to have continued. He wondered if there was still time in his life to try something different, all the while knowing that he couldn’t afford to lose the paltry income that his hosting duties brought in. If only he could book an award show, maybe he’d have a chance to really break out into the mainstream and quit his job at Romano Aviano.

  Looking out at the sea of black and khaki amassed before him, a new level of despair washed over him. Without introducing the next speaker, he tried to replace the microphone in the stand. He missed, felt rattled, and gently placed the microphone on the ground before walking off stage and into the rest of his life. Which started with a five to nine shift bussing tables.

  “That was weird,” Leigh said.

  “It’s like the hopelessness is somehow infectious,” Dee mused.

  “Without a scapegoat, you mean,” Leigh added.

  Backstage, Max was manhandling Randy, wrestling him toward the stage so that Randy could introduce Max. Randy, out of his element, was trying to slide away until a better plan came along. The pair broke right through the paper clip rope, though the intern who spent twenty minutes putting it up didn’t mind that much. Finally, Max grabbed Randy by the collar and threw him up the steps toward the stage. Randy tripped on the last s
tep and staggered clumsily into view. He grinned sheepishly at the hundred faces before him as he checked the microphone.

  “Is this thing still on?” he asked speaking too loudly into the mic which he held close enough to his mouth that he risked licking it with each “th” sound. The front row clasped their hands over their ears with the feedback.

  “Yes!” Max hissed from the wings.

  Randy fidgeted nervously at the front of the stage. He put a hand in his pocket and walked in a circle, carelessly turning his back on the crowd and staring at the ground as if looking for the bread crumbs that marked his trail home. He muttered “uh” and “well” into the microphone a few times, as if measuring which was more annoying.

  Max gesticulated wildly, though Randy failed to notice. Had Randy noticed, it would have been impossible to decipher what it was Max wanted Randy to do other than not land a plane on stage. In truth, Max himself wasn’t clear about the immediate objective. At bottom, he wanted Randy to do something, anything, even though whatever he did was dead certain to be dead wrong. Max was more than happy to correct whatever mistake Randy inevitably made, but he was absolutely counting on Randy to take that first faulty step.

  “Thanks for coming, everybody,” Randy finally managed. There was a smattering of applause. Randy looked up to see if it was sarcastic. It largely wasn’t. Unbelievably, the crowd was on his side.

  “So, well, uh, thanks for coming. And thanks, well, for all your support. You know, uh, we’re launching our radio show today, so listen to that. It’s on in the, uh, morning.”

  Max nearly fainted as Randy failed to mention the station or the time. He thought of all the sponsors they might have which he would have to apologize to in the future for Randy’s next cock-up.

  “It’s fun to see a live crowd, meet some fans,” Randy continued. He began to feel a small sense of calm as he finally squared himself to the crowd and peered out at the faces and signs. “What’s that sign say,” he pointed to a large sign, stage right.

  The owners of the sign whooped at the recognition and shouted something back. “What’s that?” Randy asked. He couldn’t hear the response, so he gestured for the sign holder to come closer as Randy walked to the edge of the stage. Randy tucked the microphone under his flannel clad left arm as he took the sign in his hands to look it over. The crowd stepped back with the rustling and scraping of the fabric against the mic before Randy passed the sign back.

  “It says, ‘Captain Major blew it’,” Randy explained. The crowd laughed and applauded. “And there’s quite a detailed drawing of Captain Major blowing Amazing Man. It’s pretty good, not sure if you all can see it.”

  “That’s you!” the sign holder yelled.

  “Really?” Randy asked.

  “It’s you in a cape,” the sign holder explained.

  “I guess I’m going to have to get a cape, then,” Randy laughed. “Looking forward to that. You want to see that?”

  The crowd, on whole, did not care whether it saw that or not. A few cheered with gusto, a few applauded from a sense of duty and most waited for something more interesting to happen.

  “I know what you want to see,” Randy said. “You want to see the man of the hour, right? Should I bring him out here? Do you want me to bring him out here?”

  The crowd roared its approval, though the roar was hardly deafening. There was enthusiasm, to be sure, but Dee found the lack of blood lust comforting. They really were just a carnival of dicks, a möbious strip of a run-down freak show.

  “Here he is, then: straight from Metroville Memorial Hospital,” Randy fibbed for dramatic effect, “and straight to the stage, your very own Bo Tannie!”

  Max was two steps on the stage before he realized that his name had not been called. He ducked back behind the speakers so that the crowd wouldn’t see him, then stood stock still, deciding what to do next.

  Randy, that oaf, was still on stage, calling Bo’s name and expecting him to show up. A very characteristic blunder for a man well-suited to silent partner status. Max looked around, not knowing what he was looking for — perhaps inspiration, perhaps an exit, perhaps a weapon with which to murder Randy. A blow gun would have been nice. Whatever his purpose, it wasn’t met. He turned on the balls of his feet, raced off stage and ran to the VIP tent. He flung the flap open.

  “He’s calling your name!” he shouted at Bo, who was lounging in a chair, fiddling with his phone.

  “I know,” Bo said without looking up.

  “You need to get out on stage!” Max moved next to Bo, who still refused to look up.

  “Just a sec,” Bo replied.

  Max grabbed Bo by the front of his collar and lifted him off his chair and nearly a foot in the air. Bo covered his arms with his face and screamed with shrill panic. Max paid no mind. He dragged Bo backwards out of the VIP tent and toward the stage. As they approached the stage steps, Max heard the crowd chanting Bo’s name. Bo heard his name, too, and tried to twist around to see where he was being taken. Bo completed his turn just before the top step. Catching the tip of his shoe on that top step, Bo tripped. He kept himself upright by giving Max a hearty, two-handed shove. Max careened forward, lost his footing on a loose cable, and somersaulted into a back splat a few feet away from the very surprised Randy. Bo nonchalantly stepped over Max’s surprised and supine form to generously shake Randy’s hand and wave to the crowd.

  Leigh and Dee shared a mischievous smirk at the pratfall and confusion. Leigh felt a great sense of relief that her new greatest enemies were bumbling, clown-car maroons. She half expected to see a giant of a man walk on stage with a tiny, well-trained dog. She hoped that someone’s suspenders would slip and and pants would fall down so that they could go home feeling safe from this lot.

  “Good morning, Metroville!” Bo shouted at the crowd. He looked good. The scabs had healed on his face. He waved both arms broadly as if he was addressing a throng of millions. The sad souls gathered before him enjoyed it quite a bit.

  Max muscled between Randy and Bo, slipping an arm around each man’s shoulders as he stepped to the microphone. He unintentionally put Randy in a head lock as he adjusted his fleece-lined wool cap. Dee noticed that Leigh involuntarily straightened her posture and grabbed a heavy spoon. Max released the headlock, leaned in close and started to speak into the microphone.

  “This is a great beginning, and the beginning of something great,” Max began. “We’ve ceded so much to so-called heroes like Captain Minor without ever taking the time to determine whether her might makes her right. And that’s our fault. That’s all our fault.

  “But we’ve got a chance to fix that now. We’ve seen what she does with her powers. Thanks to this guy,” Max shook Randy roughly while keeping him pressed to his chest, “we’ve seen what kind of hero Captain Minor really is. And she’s not someone that I want running around and beating up regular Joes like Bo here.”

  Dee felt a strange swirling of energy around her. She looked at Leigh and noted the intensity of her focus before she realized that they both were drawing energy into themselves while Max spoke, in a harmonic a half-step below a positive feedback loop. Leigh started when Dee touched her wrist. When she caught her gaze, she whispered, “Easy,” while repeating the same word to herself in silent reminder of the example she was setting. She smiled as she gently released the energy back to the world around them. Leigh nodded as she carefully did the same.

  “www.FundBo.com! Donate!” Bo yelled. His medical bills were taken care of, as his parents were willing to lie to keep him on their insurance plan, but Santa sure wasn’t going to bring him a Radeon HD 6990 graphics card. Bo would have to earn that himself.

  When Bo was done waving again, Max returned to addressing the crowd. “Randy and I are going to make it our mission to see that Captain Minor — and everyone like her, the meddlers, the upstarts, those who don’t know their place, those who want to take and take and take, take our jobs, take our pride, beat us down, ruin our movies and shows and books a
nd our lives — we’re going to expose these people. We’re going to follow them and let them know that we’re not at their mercy any longer. They are at our mercy. And if they no longer deserve mercy, we will strike. Not as a hundred fists or a thousand fists, but as one fist.”

  “One big fist, he means,” Randy interrupted with a smile.

  Max smiled broadly as he shook his head to chase away the thought of choking his partner. He took a deep breath and continued. “We’ve let ourselves be isolated for far too long. We’re coming together now. And now that we’re together we’re going to show the world, but especially that hateful bitch tinpot despot shrew Captain Minor that we’re sick to death of her bullshit.

  “The Bible tells us that to everything there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die. There’s a time for mercy,” a smattering of boos came up from the audience, but Max hushed them with a wave of his hand. “And there’s a time for vengeance. When that time comes, when we are sick to death of letting the Captain Minors of this city walk all over us and take everything we hold dear and shit all over it. When we’re sick to death, that’s when the time for mercy will be over.”

  The crowd started to come alive. They began to stomp and whistle, shouting back up at the stage. Max loosened his grip on Randy. He moved a step away and began to applaud loudly and shout in his own right. Max raised his voice to try to speak over the din. Dee and Leigh started to lose the discrete sense of his words as the noise of the crowd boiled over Max’s voice. The front of the stage turned into a mosh pit with bodies jostling and banging and a press forward that gave a specter of potential disaster to the proceedings.

  “And I promise you one thing. When that time comes and we strike back from righteousness and community, that’s going to be a healing power for all of us. And then we won’t have to share this city with hateful bitches. It’s a beautiful day that’s coming. We’ll all stand in the sun when the ice queens are deposed and we all take turns raping the shit out of their melting corpses.”

  Although there was a loud cheer as Max threw the microphone into the crowd and stormed off stage, it wasn’t at all clear that anyone in the vicinity was paying attention to what he actually said. Except for the Majors, who stood to watch the crowd respond as Avenged Skynrdfold, the best local heavy metal country tribute band, began to play on stage.

  Kirk Solverson hated tribute bands and headed for the exit as the band played the first notes of the Gimme Three Steps / Chapter Four mashup. He didn’t notice Stefan Salachanga pushing toward the stage until he had accidentally bowled him over. Stefan extended his hand, looking for help to his feet. Kirk stopped long enough to make sure Stefan knew he was not helping him on purpose. A handsome older man with tousled, cobalt hair who was dressed as if he had stopped by on his way to a yoga class shared an approving wink with Kirk as he passed. Kirk snarled, “Shut up, fag,” and marched away to find his dad.

  Sunday, November 7, 2011

  The very last thing Dee Major wanted to do with the last Sunday before Thanksgiving was to attend HeroCon in any capacity. She spent an hour at the promoter’s office arguing against her appearance and signing events. The pressure of the constant scrutiny from the Menhevick nut jobs was wearing her down. The thought of sitting in front of them, maybe having to meet a series of them, was infuriating.

  In the end, the promoter made threats and promises that were inescapable. Captain Major couldn’t afford the bad publicity from pulling out of HeroCon at the last minute. Publicity the promoter made clear she would do everything in her power to use to her advantage, playing a right bastard Fred Gailey. On the other side of the ledger, the promoter promised additional security beyond what any hero should possibly expect. She resisted until Captain Major made clear that she was at a complete loss here — the Menhevicks clearly wanted a violent confrontation and would do anything to provoke one. Captain Major, for her part, had to do everything she could to avoid one. The last thing she wanted was to give them, or anyone, another opportunity to build resentment toward her.

  Finally, there was a question of money. Captain Major needed it. Even the hopelessly optimistic Winnie had read the writing on the wall. They all now realized that their time at Fast Airborne VD was coming to a close. Dee Major would have loved to walk off the job in a huff, but so far she could only afford to imagine how good that tantrum would feel. Dee recognized that she had avoided updating any of her professional skills for the duration of her superhero career and knew that she was no longer suited for any work but what she had (and largely had not) done for Venn Diaphragms and Fast Airborne VD.

  The tiny bit of child support helped, but Randy was only marginally better at paying it now that he had more income. On the other side of the ledger, Randy was moving closer to demanding shared custody. He was well-contented paying his lawyers ahead of making support payments.

  So, as Captain Major tried to relax in the back seat of the town car that carried her from Confederated Justice headquarters to the convention center, she felt perfectly centered in the cross hairs of a clustertrastrophe waiting to strike. On the other hand, the complimentary mixed nuts were quite tasty as she absently chowed them down. She took the can with her as she exited the town car and met the assistant who would be escorting her for the remainder of the day.

  The assistant was an adorable young woman in a mouse gray sweater. She had a button nose and large, round ears that evoked, in total, nothing more or less than Mickey Mouse himself. Captain Major held her breath as she approached their introduction, fearing that she would have a thin, reedy voice chirping in her ear all day. Thankfully, her voice was unexpectedly deep, though not manly, and mellifluous.

  “I’m Tamara Ammit,” the assistant extended her arm in greeting. Captain Major shook her hand and said, “So good to meet you.” She hadn’t made a social introduction in costume for many, many years.

  “Just one change to your program,” Tamara explained with a smile. “We’ve added a Q and A after your signing.”

  “No,” Captain Major said.

  “I was told you might say that,” Tamara said. “And I understand your reluctance. Also, you should know that my boss sent me because she already announced that you would do the Q and A. I’m sure she thinks that because I’m cute you’ll have a harder time blaming me directly for the fact that everyone on site already expects you to do a thing which you had already declined to do. I can offer you an addition $7,500 for your participation, but I expect you can get double that if you call Amanda to complain.”

  Captain Major called Amanda and extracted a $14,000 concession, but still didn’t feel good about the exchange. Tamara looked pleased, though. “Good for you!” she said with a smile as she wondered what Captain Major’s $1,000 mistake had been. The more she spoke, the less Captain Major trusted her and the more Captain Major resented herself for not trusting her.

  Lou and Leigh got along like Sarah Palin and terminal g’s most of the time, but the novelty of being on their own together was still enough that a trip to HeroCon was a treat for both of them. It was Leigh’s idea, so Lou made her pay for tickets. And parking. And gas. And snacks. Captain Major left early to protect her identity by concealing her movements, so Lou and Leigh were able to sleep in, borrow the car without asking and get the good muffins at the coffee shop — the giant lemon poppy seed muffins with the cream cheese filling — and still reach the convention floor before her.

  Once at the convention hall they shared secrets like siblings as they roamed from booth to booth, touching everything and buying nothing. They followed some of the best cosplayers at a discrete distance, each hoping the other would get up the courage to ask for a picture. Neither did. Leigh was just on the brink of asking when Lou spotted a classmate. Embarrassed to be seen at HeroCon with his sister, he darted into a booth selling VHS tapes and poorly painted pewter figurines. Leigh practically saw the zip ribbons trailing behind Lou’s fast-moving form and abandoned all hope of taking a selfie with the Zangief and Vault Bo
y they had been trailing for twenty minutes.

  In part because they both wanted to, and in part because Lou was bad at telling time, and in third part because Leigh was bad at reading the HeroCon program, they queued up to get a signed picture from Captain Major. They pretended it was on a lark and that they felt bad for their mom because her line was so short. In fact, the line was so short because the signing started at eleven, but Leigh thought the program said it started at ten. Lou made matters worse by glancing at a clock around 9:50 and thinking it said 10:45. At any rate, they plopped down next to the hard core Captain Major fans 70 minutes before the signing started thinking they and their mom were 45 minutes late.

  Lou scrolled through the text messages on his phone, glad his dad was his dad, but wishing he was different. If the football team knew his dad was the Randy half of Max and Randy, Lou might be something of a hero. Considering that Randy’s role had devolved into being the oblivious butt of Max’s jokes, Lou really couldn’t predict how the team would see him. They loved Max, that was certain, and in no small part because the first of the many Menhevick listicles had focused on the cheerleader’s proper role in getting the football players pumped up before a game and helping them chill afterwards. Lou objected to the listicle not only because it was utter bullshit, but also because he believed there should be a strictly enforced limit to the number of times one can lecherously reference pom poms before a permanent extrajudicial sex offender status is conferred.

  Lou came up with pom pom references equal to -2 * (x-18)^2 + 3, where x was the age of the person making the reference. He also knew exactly how he felt about this formula.

  Lou missed his dad. He sent a text: “@ herocon with Leeeee. You should come.”

  Lou waited for a reply. None came. Eventually, he bored of looking at the message that wasn’t there. He looked up and started. Leigh was looking back at him. If he wasn’t mistaken, Leigh was looking at him with admiration.

  He was mistaken. It was gratitude and affection, so it was an easy mistake to make.

  Leigh was blissfully ignorant of her survivor’s high. She simply enjoyed the ride each time it came around. It was a rush of clarity. She saw the world and everything in it as a gift. She could have died (maybe) but she hadn’t. She had a much better sense of what mattered and what didn’t. For fleeting moments, and this was one, she felt the warmth of being connected to her brother, of loving him in such a pure way that there was nothing he could do to diminish her love for him.

  This feeling, a miracle of sorts, was more real than any reported miracle and lasted inversely as long. Joshua blew a trumpet and the walls fell down; people still believed that thousands of years later. Leigh genuinely was as happy as she, or anyone, could ever be and it lasted a few seconds if she rounded up. Her miracle stopped because it had to stop, not because of what it started.

  “Solverson shit on my jersey,” Lou confessed. He didn’t know why his sister loved him. No one ever knows why their sisters love them. But his sister did love him and, at that moment, sitting on the hard floor wishing they could lean against the stanchions without them tipping over, he could tell her anything.

  Leigh heard him. Worse, she understood him. Lou panicked. He got to his feet and looked for an exit. Leigh bounced to her feet. “I know,” she said. She hugged him, her hands around his neck because she was taller than him. Lou panicked again, worse this time than just before, and hugged her back.

  The longest second in their lives to date passed. Their eyes were closed and their ears couldn’t hear. Then it was over and Leigh was whispering: “I’m gonna stomp that bitch.”

  Lou chuckled and pushed his sister away. They left the line together looking for something interesting. Lou’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t notice. Randy had sent a reply. “Busy today :(”

  Her convention duties began with a photo opportunity. Captain Major was impressed with the long line of people stretching away from her photo op area. “Lots of fans,” she noted to Tamara with a hint of pride.

  “A long line,” Tamara agreed with circumspection before going over the ground rules. “You just be nice and nicer. I’ll keep the line moving. Once we’re inside, just pose and smile — don’t sign anything. Keep your hands at your sides. Don’t accept anything. If someone wants to leave anything, we have a bin. Security will clear the bin between photos. There will be no private photos, just the approved photo. Don’t let anyone touch you, though you should put your arm around them, whatever, there will be some incidental brushing. No kissing, no hugs, nothing of that sort.”

  “The security is tight,” Captain Major said approvingly.

  “That’s not security,” Tamara corrected. “It’s economics. We’ve got to get everyone through this line in 75 minutes. You’ll have about 20 seconds between photos. Be sure not to look at the flash. I can’t stress that enough: do not look at the flash. You’ll be dizzy and blind before we’re halfway through the line. Also, no matter what, you may not sit down. We don’t have time for you to sit down and stand up. This is constant movement. My assistant will stage the guests before they enter. They’ll enter, take the photo, then security will guide them to the exit with their receipt. They’ll get their photos at the end of the day. It gives them a reason to hang around the convention and more time to shop.”

  “I’m ready,” Captain Major said.

  Tamara looked at Captain Major and smiled, knowing that Captain Major was not at all ready; not even close. She was a rookie and about to make a thousand rookie mistakes that would only make Tamara’s job that much harder. She checked her watch. Time to start.

  Seventy-six minutes later, Captain Major felt like she was disembarking after a treacherous journey across a tumultuous sea where the luckiest passengers had suffered from food poisoning and then been eaten by sharks within five nautical miles of pulling up anchor. The unlucky ones didn’t get food poisoning and therefore couldn’t skip the time share presentation. They, therefore, fed themselves to sharks as soon as the first dorsal fin was spotted out the starboard portholes. Further, Dee was certain that the flash had burned holes in her retinas and, toward the end, would swear that she felt her hair blow back with the constant wind of the guests moving through her space.

  It was all a blur, but for the hairy little guy at the front of the line who had politely taken a picture, picked up his receipt, then ripped it into pieces and stomped them on his way to the exit. Captain Major tried to convince herself it was funny. The jackhole was paying for the privilege of being there, while Captain Major was taking home more for the day than she did in a month at Fast Airborne VD. If ripped up receipts could pay for college, Captain Major hoped for a hundred more bozos to do the same. But, as much as she tried to see the positive, that first interaction stuck with Captain Major as she tried to decompress.

  Eleven minutes after the seventy-six minutes later, Tamara had Captain Major resting in a quiet area of the privatest part of the VIP section with a glass of red wine in one hand and a cup of coffee cooling on the seat of a folding chair beside her. Tamara kneeled in front of Captain Major’s lounge chair, primarily because she wasn’t certain if Captain Major was ready to lift her head yet.

  “Captain,” Tamara’s voice was as gentle as a Sara Bareilles song and as to the point as a Marvin Gaye song. “You have 48 minutes all to yourself. I want you to relax. Let me know if there’s anything I can bring you. But, it’s important that you start thinking about your signing. It’s a different focus. We’ll be working in concert for the signing. One of the wranglers will bring each guest to you and will give us the name. You’ll want to look each person in the eye and say hello as warmly as you can. Step back a bit and let them lead the conversation. If they push too hard, I’ll step in and redirect. If they get star struck or seem nervous, ask them a short, simple question. ‘Are you enjoying HeroCon?’ is a good one. You’ll sign whatever they want you to sign. If we’re doing well on time, I’ll allow photos at the end, but no selfies. I’ll take t
he photo and stand to the side so that they have to come toward me and away from you to help mark the end of the event. Keep the pen in your hand at all times. Don’t ask who to make it out to or what they want you to say. Choose one phrase and write it every time. ‘Name, All the best! Captain Major’. And you’re done. Offer a thank you when I’m leading the person away and then break contact. Move on to the next, but know that the wrangler won’t approach you until I’m in position. If you forget a name, or anything, I will remind you.”

  “How will you know if I’ve forgotten something?”

  “Sweetheart,” Tamara said. “Nothing is going to happen out there that I haven’t seen a thousand times before. I’ll know what you’re going to forget before you’ve tried to remember it.”

  Captain Major nodded a “yeah, right” nod. Tamara handed her her phone. “You left this in the photo booth,” she said. “I’m going to give it to you now so you can check your messages. And I’ll give it to you again before your Q and A after you forget it here.”

  “Of course, I’ll remember it now that you’ve said that,” Captain Major said.

  “Of course,” Tamara said as she returned Captain Major’s “yeah, right” nod.

  Tamara had lost the running count of guests processed no more than fifteen minutes into the signing. The chaos had grown so indiscriminate that she was embarrassed to say that she had forgotten one person’s name. The name she did remember was Phil. He was the first person to be forcibly ejected. In retrospect, she should have noticed his nervousness before he got close enough to Captain Major to poke her in the chest with a fudge-thickened finger and shout “Die you nasty dyke!” Captain Major broke his finger with a simple Krav Maga block. The snap of the bone was largely lost in the sudden uproar from the crowd. Security reacted quickly, gang-tackling Phil and dragging him to an area behind the food vendors that had been cordoned off in advance. They handled him roughly enough that his broken finger proved to be but one of many injuries. Even Tamara smiled a bit when she heard his head bang into the metal postilions used to mark the queues.

  If Captain Major derived any satisfaction from that, she chose not to show it. With a supreme air of calm, she had simply sat back down on her stool, straightened the pile of 8x10 photos on hand for anyone who had nothing to sign, and then smiled at the next person in line.

  The next person in line was a burly man in his early 40s with a wild mustache he might have been growing for a Wild Bill Hickock lookalike contest. In truth, his trimmer was broken and he was waiting for payday before buying a new one. His hands were chafed and cut, but also rubbed red from washing with an ornery pumice until they held a shine. He was slow to approach Captain Major, so Tamara intercepted him and guided him by the elbow at a quicker pace to the table. “It’s for my son,” he muttered softly as he held forward a creased hero card in a shaky hand. Captain Major recognized the card from the bubblegum packs. She looked the same now as she did in the picture, though it had been more than 10 years since the picture was taken. She imagined something in her faded eyes blending into the gray cardstock that bordered on hope. She couldn’t afford that naivete any longer, but still missed it every morning in the quiet moment after she sent her kids off into the world.

  “What’s his name?” Captain Major asked while Tamara began cueing the man to move along.

  “Daniel,” the man said. “He’s...”

  Captain Major’s heart was in her throat as she worried that she had used the wrong tense. She couldn’t remember a Daniel. She hardly ever took a name, though. Not of people she saved, nor of villains she fought. She wasn’t blessed with super speed. Every action took time. How often was saving someone the end of an encounter? No, it was almost always at the start, when confusion filled a plaza like a dense fog and it was Captain Major’s first job to get civilians to the closest semblance of safety she could before tackling whatever the threat might be.

  “...alive because of you.”

  Captain Major hugged the man, though he couldn’t hug her back. He still held his trading card in one hand while Tamara tugged at the sleeve of the other.

  “I’m so glad,” Captain Major said softly. She took the card and signed her name very carefully in the corner. The man was thanking her as Tamara pulled him away. Captain Major was afraid to look him in the eye. She felt tears in the corner of her eyes and fought them back, thinking of the long line she had yet to work through. She looked up and shook her head. With a heavy, but contented, sigh, she let a few tears fall. She wiped them away as she sat back down and smiled at the next person in line.

  And that’s the way the rest of the line went. A random series of encounters, some brutal and some benign. But each step was fraught with peril. A total of twelve men were ejected from the line and several others trod a careful line to say their vicious piece without losing their convention passes. Many more than that were grateful. The rest were fans or the merely curious eager for any brush with celebrity. One disappointed girl had simply checked the wrong box when filling out the web form.

  Then back they went to the lounge, where Tamara brought Captain Major another glass of red and a cupcake while wishing beyond words that she could enjoy the same. They were in the home stretch, now, and just needed to take a breath before shifting the focus to the finish line.

  The first question at the Q and A was oddly distressing. A young woman in a peasant tunic and flowing skirt certainly had something to say, though no one, least of all she, could make sense of what it was. She was thrilled, and a big fan — that much was obvious. Beyond that, Captain Major, even with Tamara’s help, couldn’t decipher what the question might have been that she was being asked to answer. At the end of a tedious, awkward exchange, Captain Major simply said “Thank you.” Tamara insisted that they had to move on to the next question and the questioner walked away deeply disappointed.

  The next questioner asked a series of questions before being escorted away by security. Captain Major couldn’t make out all of the questions, but she felt comfortable offering a collective, emphatic “No” to the questions she had heard: Was she a lesbian? Had she always hated men? Did she enjoy beating up kids? And so on. Captain Major looked into the crowd and saw Lou and Leigh sitting together not enjoying the experience they must have felt obligated to sit through. Captain Major smiled to herself. At least the scales were balanced for not forcing them to sit through church. Their presence was also a good reminder of the costs of college. Captain Major wondered how many credits the next hour would pay for as she resisted the urge to look at the clock. Tamara, ever observant, simply whispered “54 minutes” and patted Captain Major on the forearm.

  The third questioner was a seven-year-old girl who wanted to know what the best part of being a superhero was. Captain Major had a well-prepared answer for that from her public relations training at Confederated Justice: “Meeting people like you,” she said with a smile. The girl smiled back, said “Thanks” and stepped away from the microphone. She tried to remember where she had been sitting. Her pause gave Captain Major a chance to extend her answer: “And doing justice.”

  The next question came from a middle-aged super fan who wanted to know exactly what had happened with Captain Major’s battle against a villain called the Ironic Twist. The Tussle with the Twist was her most famous battle until her epic confrontation with Amazing Man. Captain Major thought back to The Tussle. It was the fight that brought her the kind of attention that resulted in an invitation to apply to join Confederated Justice. She leaped at the chance. Confederated Justice meant security, beginning with the income from Venn Diaphragms, plus the gadgetry and the umbrella policy.

  The Ironic Twist was a classic trickster villain, in the mold of Loki from Norse legend or Jafar from collectible McDonald’s glassware. He granted wishes which, of course, would turn out horribly wrong for the wisher. If you wished to be happy for the rest of your life, you’d get a puppy and then get hit by a bus. If you wished for riches, you’d end up with solid gold ar
ms and legs then trip over a puppy and fall into a swimming pool. That wasn’t really one of the better ones, but it remains illustrative of something.

  Of course, once the Ironic Twist gave you a wish, you were obligated to use it. If you didn’t make a purposeful wish, then some randomly spoken desire would come true. This was largely inconvenient. If you were trying to get home during rush hour, the thought “I wish I were home” would instantly transport you home, but would leave your driverless car stuck in traffic with the kids still in the back seat, crying because your car had just run over a puppy. The Ironic Twist really hammered on the dead dog motif.

  Captain Major didn’t have a lot of time to plan once the onus of making a wish was upon her, but her instincts proved to be true. She wished that the Ironic Twist’s deepest wish would come true.

  Things seemed bleak at first, as the the Ironic Twist burst out of his villainously checkered suit as a surge of new power rippled through his growing body. Soon, he was nearly fourteen feet tall with dominion over the entire world, evinced by a new crown and scepter.

  The twist to ultimate power over all living things just had to be some fatal weakness or flaw which was readily apparent to everyone but the Ironic Twist. The Ironic Twist mistook the giant, glowing gem newly affixed over his breastbone to be one more indicia of his ultimate power. Captain Major, even then, had seen enough video games to know what it really was — the critical hit spot which would result in an insta-kill.

  The Ironic Twist called Captain Major forward to bow before him. She hesitantly agreed. She bent her knee while gathering her plasma energy until she was at maximum power. As soon as he lifted his scepter, most likely to clobber a golden doodle to death before braining her with its skull, she sprang forward and plunged her twin falchions of plasmic justice directly into the gem. The Ironic Twist gasped in the pain of truly knowing himself, then blinked out of reality.

  Anyway, the question was what had become of the Ironic Twist after that. Captain Major had no idea the answer to that, nor did she wish to know. She finished her retelling of the events by saying she didn’t know what had happened to the villain but supposed whatever had happened was bad for him but good for the city.

  That seemed to placate the questioner, who walked around the young girl on his way back to his seat satisfied not so much with the answer, but with the fact that someone had finally asked a decent question.

  “Do you always behave so recklessly?” Max Depf stepped from his seat, removed a trucker hat to reveal a close fitting wool beanie and budged to the front of the question line. The seven year old from two questions before finally spied her grandmother who was waving at her from somewhere behind Max Depf.

  “It’s not your turn, sir,” Tamara said pointedly.

  “Answer the question!” an anonymous voice shouted from the crowd.

  “I wasn’t being reckless,” Captain Major. “I was protecting the city from a super villain.”

  Security guards approached Max cautiously from two sides. They watched Tamara for a sign as to what to do. Max took a half step to the side as if he was relinquishing his spot, then grabbed the microphone and moved toward the stage.

  “You just said, in your own words,” Max readied himself for an aggressive paraphrase, “that you not only had no idea what you were doing to Twist, but you didn’t care. That’s the definition of recklessness. He could’ve exploded and destroyed the entire city. You might have sent him to some infernal hell dimension for all eternity!”

  Captain Major, who knew for a fact that there were other dimensions, particularly one alternate Earth where neither super powers nor Metroville nor she existed except in mediocre works of fiction, shook her head as if the possibility were nonsense. “I’m not a god, Max. I don’t send people to hell.”

  Max smiled. “No, but you put them through it! You nearly killed poor Bo Tannie. He’ll be disfigured for life!”

  “He was just born ugly!” a woman shouted.

  Tamara motioned for security to escort Max out of the building, but several Menhevicks stood up and formed a tight circle around him. They stood, arms at their sides, looking grim and rigid. Security moved in slowly while waiting for backup to arrive.

  “We’ve all seen the official report on that,” Captain Major replied.

  “A boy, a boy! With no powers! And you beat him near to death on his own lawn,” Max shouted into the microphone. A burst of feedback echoed through the makeshift auditorium.

  “A man,” Captain Major stood as she replied. “Who, with his friends, beat me with a wrench earlier that evening.”

  “So it was revenge!” Max shouted gleefully.

  “It was justice!” Captain Major smashed her fist into the table, shattering it into a pile of kindling and splinters. Tamara took Captain Major by the arm and tried to pull her from the room.

  “He’s got a gun!” someone shouted, throwing the crowd into a panic.

  Captain Major scanned the crowd, but didn’t see a gun. She heard a small cry from the corner but couldn’t see what was going on. She moved toward the cry, but a security squad finally emerged to surround her. Tamara was at her side, pulling her toward the back door. “Let security handle this,” Tamara was saying.

  Lou and Leigh Major were sitting not more than ten feet from where Max and his phalanx of Menhevicks locked arms against a growing security contingent. Lou moved toward the stage. In the confusion, it was easy to clamber upon the stage without resistance. Leigh stayed in her seat and watched the young girl who had asked a question moments before. The girl had fallen to her hands and knees. She looked up but saw nothing but blue jeans and black sneakers. She tried to crawl away, but one of the Menhevicks stepped on her fingers, causing her to cry out.

  The stepper tried to move back, but struggled to move his neighbors. He finally moved his foot off the girl’s fingers, but stood awkwardly off balance, pulling his neighbors backwards toward Max.

  The little girl was suddenly in the no-man’s land between the security guards and the Menhevicks. Captain Major saw the danger and shouted, but she was too far away to do anything before the security guards began their rush. Leigh leaped into the breach and gathered the girl in her arms. She lifted her easily, but was too slow to avoid the rush of security.

  A thick-necked security trainee toppled them both back to the ground as part of his memorable first day on the job. Leigh well-noted the yellow fabric on the breast of his shirt marking his probationary status as she fell hard to the ground, using her ribs and arms to protect the girl. She felt the girl trembling in her arms as Leigh tucked her head and turtled over her body.

  Above them, the security guards grabbed and pulled at the Menhevicks, who held their formation with great determination. Seeing that security was unable to pull his protective fence apart, Max cackled into the microphone until an engineer muted all the mics and activated the emergency system. Red lights began to flash. An automated voice instructed everyone to move to the exits immediately. Most of those who could comply had already left. Only the gawkers remained to watch one security team try to remove the Menhevicks and another security team try to remove Captain Major.

  Leigh noted the stalemate as it ebbed and flowed above her. When she looked up, she saw a confused, older woman looking desperately in her direction. Leigh figured her for the girl’s grandmother, probably lost from the start in the noise and oddness of HeroCon, then tragically transfixed by her granddaughter’s peril.

  Leigh gathered energy and let it flow around her fingers. She grabbed the nearest Menhevick’s ankle and sent a shock up his leg. He squealed in fright, pain and surprise. He also hopped backwards, breaking temporarily away from his neighbors and falling backwards into Max. Max, in surprise, disappointment and disgust, pushed the man forward so that he tumbled back toward Leigh. The security guards saw opportunity in the chaos and rushed forward. Leigh put her head down over the girl again, waiting for the storm to crash above them.

  Leigh, her head down and ey
es closed, didn’t see Lou launch from the stage like a flying squirrel to tackle the left side of the Menhevick line. He rolled off of them and toward his sister. He took a boot to the ribs and another to the face as the security team rushed over and through him to swarm through the line and grab Max before he could abscond. In disarray now, the Menhevicks lost all discipline and began to fight back against the security team with poorly aimed punches and ineffectual kicks.

  Leigh looked up to see her brother’s bloody nose close to her face as he whispered in her ear: “Finish them.” He gathered up the girl in his arms and carried her over to her grateful grandmother, who reached into her purse to offer a hard candy as reward. Lou turned his back on the reunited pair. He saw the last of the Menhevicks collapse to the ground. Max himself was well in custody, surrounded by a pile of his compatriots shaking sense back into their heads and feeling back into their legs. A team of security guards attempted to reassert their professionalism despite the confusion.

  Lou saw Max’s smug face change sharply into a voiceless scream before he crumpled into the arms of his escort and passed right out. Captain Major’s every instinct was to rush to her children, but the core of her training kicked in. She relented to Tamara and her own security team and allowed them to lead her away from her kids and away from the stage. She didn’t see Lou wiping the blood from his nose, or Leigh giving him a hug, or Lou almost hugging her back. And she didn’t hear Leigh whisper “Thanks” or Lou mutter something about messing with his sister.

  Most tragic of all, she didn’t hear Lou’s laugh, his first genuine laugh in weeks. Worse, she would never know what Leigh confessed to Lou to prompt the laugh, for Leigh never spoke of it again though she thought of it for years afterwards whenever she washed her hands: “I zapped that dick’s junk.”

  Monday, November 8, 2011

  Now that she knew the way, Captain Major’s journey to Phil Intie’s inner sanctum was a breeze. Arriving early, however, meant that she was waiting in costume in a meeting room yet again. Was a time that the costume meant action. Now action was the least likely possibility each time she donned her mask and tunic.

  Dee Major could have entered The Immortal’s lair without raising too many eyebrows, hidden as it was in what would be the largest commercial building in Metroville. Perhaps the sheer size of the building was what was keeping Phil from getting to his appointment on time.

  It wasn’t that, though.

  Phil Intie didn’t need to tap into The Immortal’s ability to see the multitude of potential futures to know why Captain Major had called his private line to schedule this urgent meeting. The news reports were covering her travails with the importance of mythic tragedy and all the sensitivity of a celebrity divorce. The gossip was never ending and the drama was rich. Most news outlets published in full Max Depf’s letter from Metroville jail. Given the two hours he spent in custody, Captain Major was certain that the 40 page letter had been written in wishful anticipation of his arrest.

  An army of volunteer Menhevicks — more of a light battalion, really, barely more than a full-strength company — had their camera phones at the ready whenever Captain Major made an appearance. They inserted themselves into her life wherever possible, including disrupting her crime fighting efforts to demand answers as to why her crime fighting was ineffectual. This meant a constant stream of video was available for analysis. The only people busier than the super pundits on cable news were the audio editors responsible for beeping away the constant stream of vulgarities that the Menhevicks were hurling at Captain Major. It would have been easier to mute the audio on the entire video, but that left the video feeling awkward and unreal. Everyone knew what a battle between Captain Major and Autumnaton (a sentient golem-like creature who sought to stop winter from coming because he froze in the cold; also, he wore a cape of leaves because he achieved self-awareness while leaf peeping in the north woods) would sound like. Lots of punches and rustling. Without the audio, the whole thing seemed phony, made up.

  So, Phil did what all successful business leaders did when they wanted to avoid a meeting: he scheduled a meeting just before that was likely to run long and a meeting immediately after to narrow the encounter and ease his escape. The ante-meeting meeting was now wrapped up and Phil was taking his time in returning from his official office to the secret one.

  Captain Major was standing before the glass case protecting the mannequin displaying The Immortal’s now-retired costume when Phil finally entered the room. He launched directly into his prepared apology, all about the difficulties of getting to a meeting on a secret floor when so many people were watching and counting on you. Captain Major played along, but knew instantly from his nervous demeanor that he was ready to disappoint her.

  Phil filibustered for as long as he could maintain the friendly veneer before finally yielding the floor: “To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”

  “I’ll give you one guess,” Captain Major offered.

  “I want to say that you remembered my birthday, but you don’t look in the mood for jokes.”

  “There are other ways to make me smile, Phil.”

  “Oh my, my Captain. Why didn’t you say so?” Phil leered.

  “I thought we agreed I wasn’t in the mood for jokes?” Captain Major asked.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood. You’re coming to me because you’re desperate. I understand that. But my hands are tied here. I’m a legitimate businessman now. And, the last I checked, you’re supposed to be a retired super hero.”

  “I need your help, Phil. Please.”

  “You want my help?” Phil asked. “I’m thrilled to help. You retired. Now go back to being retired. Enough with this Brett Favre bullshit.”

  Captain Major grimaced. She hated Crocs. “I can’t stay retired. Not when I can make a difference. I have to make a difference.”

  There was pity in Phil's heart, but gruffness in his voice. “We can all make a difference. All of us. I know better than anyone you’ll ever meet how many people could have made a real difference and chose not to because they were too tired to try or too scared to take a chance. The world is full of people who could but don’t. You’ve done your part. You’ve made the world a better place for us all. Let someone else have the glory for awhile.”

  Captain Major smiled sadly and held Phil’s gaze until he blushed and turned away. “The glory?” she asked. She paused a long time before continuing. “The world is full of people who could but don’t. So I have to be someone who does, even when it feels like I can’t.”

  “You died, Captain. Your duty is done.”

  “Dying was the easiest part, Phil. The trying is so much harder. Putting the gear on and going outside is hard. Knowing what’s waiting for me is hard. Worrying is hard. Leaving the job at the door is hard. Dying is dramatic. Dying is as easy as catching a punch with your face. You know better than to make a hero out of someone just because she died. The grind matters. The effort matters. Following through matters.

  “I thought I could walk away, but I know better now. This is what I do. This is me. All of it. The costume is just as much a part of me as raising my kids or finding a goddam man to watch a goddam movie with me come Saturday goddam night.”

  Phil chuckled. “You lost me a bit with that last part,” he said.

  “I’m a mother and a hero and I’m a little lonely right now,” Captain Major said. “I’m not going to apologize for containing multitudes. Now, are you going to help me out?”

  “Publicly, no,” Phil said. “Publicly I can’t do a thing. I’ve got to stay out of this. There’s nothing but downside for me and my shareholders if I get involved.”

  “There’s doing the right thing,” Captain Major reminded him.

  “Doing the right thing by you is easy. Doing the right thing by everyone who works here is hard,” Phil explained. “I don’t want to pick a fight with these Menhevick idiots any more than you. But it’s a fire that will burn itself out once it uses up all the oxygen.�
�

  “When all the oxygen is gone, I’ll be asphyxiated, too,” Captain Major replied.

  “Not literally,” Phil said. “This is going to blow over. That’s not a vision — that’s a prediction,” he held up a hand the way he did to distinguish between a future he had seen and a future he hoped to see. “I’ll always have a lawyer on call for you. A good one, whenever you need it. Retainer is paid up for life.” Phil slid a card across the desk. Captain Major took it and looked it over.

  “Thanks, Phil,” Captain Major said. “I know I should thank you, but I don’t know if I can mean it.”

  “There’s another thing,” Phil said. “But this isn’t from me. It’s from him.” He turned a thumb toward the glass case where his costume seemed to rustle and stir. Captain Major eyed Phil curiously. Phil nodded slyly to indicate that his costume, in some fashion, was responding to the attention it was receiving. There was no questioning his genius, but his priorities were suspect, at best.

  Phil reached into one of the drawers of his antique oak desk and pulled out two plain boxes, tied with twine, and pushed them across the desk. Captain Major looked at him wonderingly.

  “Go ahead, open it,” Phil said.

  Captain Major untied the twine of the top box and looked inside. She pulled out a new kit, very similar to her original, but with fine distinguishing details others would likely miss. First, it was brand new. It didn’t have the worn patches of her threadbare classic costume or the giant rips prominently featured in the costume Leigh had borrowed. Second, the fabric was a new space-age polymer (probably) that had all the upside of an alien symbiote suit with none of the nasty side effects (promises, promises).

  Captain Major examined the costume with great care and appreciation. “It’s got all the bells and whistles,” Phil explained. “5G plus satellite Internet; it’s a mobile hotspot; GPS. All built right in. Satellite voice calls are enabled, but I’ve got to get you the password for that. Photon capacitance system interwoven throughout so if anyone lands a punch, they’ll get paid back with a jolt. Should act like a powerful battery for your plasma powers. And the feet are modeled after jika-tabi. Should be warm, comfortable and extra grippy on slick surfaces. You could even help with the welding on the upper floors when you’re done with Fast Airborne VD.”

  “Very nice,” Captain Major agreed. She thought fondly of her Chuck Taylors.

  “The footies are detachable,” Phil offered. “There’s also a version with a built-in push-up bra.”

  “Pass,” Captain Major started to put the costume back in its box.

  “You said you were lonely,” Phil reminded.

  “I am, but I don’t think showing off my boobs is the best way to cure that,” Captain Major said. She cut Phil off with a look before he could interject. “Fine, showing off my boobs probably is the best way to cure that. But I’m sticking to the high road a little while longer. I’ll meet someone based on my character and personality. My boobs will be a pleasant surprise.”

  “Indeed they will,” Phil agreed.

  “Is the push-up version in the other box?” Captain Major asked.

  “No,” Phil said. “The other box has the junior edition.”

  “The junior edition of what?” Captain Major demanded.

  “It’s for Leigh. Similar but distinct. A good fit for a side kick.”

  “I don’t have a side kick,” Captain Major raised her voice.

  “Don’t you?” Phil asked. “I think you ought to stay retired. Disappear. But I know you won't listen to me on that. So please listen to me on this: You either have a side kick or you’ll soon have a rival. This will help keep her safe, and help you to keep her safe.”

  Wednesday, November 10, 2011

  The good china stayed in the hutch, the wine stayed corked and the silver — well, the Majors didn’t own any silver flatware, so the fancy forks that didn’t exist in chateau Major didn’t need to be polished. On the other hand, the television was off, both kids were at the table and there was a semblance of peace in the house for a change. Dee Major sneaked out of work early and was taking the night off from being tracked and hounded when she tried to patrol. Even the thought of relaxing made her tired. Still, Dee managed to put together a solid vegetarian lasagna paired with a green salad made of all the bits of leafy greens she could salvage from three different salad bags, topped with the bacon left over from Sunday prior. The bread was almost stale enough to pass for flavorless croutons, but Dee left it on the counter, trusting it would better serve for toast in the morning.

  Lou sat to her left and Leigh to her right with the steaming golden brown lasagna between them all.

  “I wish we had candles,” Dee said wistfully.

  “Is it my birthday?” Lou asked.

  “If it is, I got you the same thing as last year,” Leigh smiled.

  “It’s the same thing you got me for my birthday,” Dee added. “And mother’s day, if I remember right.”

  “No, I got you something for mother’s day,” Leigh said.

  “Dear, you haven’t given me a blessed thing for mother’s day since you finished elementary school,” Dee reminded her.

  “I gave you a card last year,” Leigh said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I bought the card,” Lou said. “I let you sign it.”

  “Thank you, guys,” Dee said softly.

  “What’s that now?” Leigh asked.

  “I’m glad we’re all having dinner together today,” Dee explained. “This is better than a present on mother’s day.”

  “Even better than our card?” Leigh asked.

  “Even better than any card,” Dee replied. “It’s been a tough, tough year. Heck, it’s been a Gelatinous Skunk of a week. You guys have been through a lot. I have — my choices have made you go through a lot. We’ve had a lot of fights and I’m sure we’re going to have many more. We’ll probably have another one before the lasagna is gone. But the peace of right now is very meaningful to me. Thank you.”

  “God, mom. Are you like starting a church or something?” Lou asked.

  “I think she’s a Scientologist now,” Leigh said.

  “A little prayer wouldn’t hurt,” Dee said.

  “Wouldn’t help, either,” Leigh added.

  Dee watched her daughter out of the corner of her eye as she passed the butter to Lou.

  “No, it wouldn’t help. But I don’t know what would help. I’ve been beating bad guys up for so long, I don’t know how to tackle a threat like this,” Dee explained. “Eventually, and maybe sooner than I’d guess, one of these Menhevick lunatics is going to go crazy eight bonkers and hurt someone. Badly. Maybe kill somebody. Maybe one of us. Do we just wait?”

  “I guess,” Leigh said. “We’re not vigilantes. We’re soldiers of justice.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Dee asked. “You and the turd in your pocket? I’m a soldier of justice. You’re a freshman.”

  “Not a very good one, even,” Lou smirked.

  “Well, certainly no fighting crime until you turn in all your homework,” Dee scolded gently.

  “I’m all caught up on my homework,” Leigh said as she stuck her tongue out at Lou.

  “Even still. No crime fighting for you,” Dee said. “I’m not saying no to any help right now, I just don’t even know what kind of help to ask for. I’m not going to beat Randy up.”

  Leigh perked up in her seat, raising her eyebrows and smiling.

  “And you’re not going to beat him up, either,” Dee said. “Not even a little bit. That Max douche needs a good kick in the smalls to set him straight, but I can’t hand out a butt kicking today for what anyone did yesterday. They aren’t guilty of anything de jure villainous.”

  “They aren’t innocent, either,” Lou said.

  “And we can’t even use the Internet,” Leigh added. “They all have a dozen accounts and if you shut one down, they open twelve more. They’re like the octupuses of assholes.”

  “Octopi,” Dee said.


  “I think,” Lou said. He stopped, thinking he heard something. Convinced it was nothing, he continued. “I think about the Q and A you did. There were more people there who wanted to ask questions and have fun. It wasn’t like there were a million Menhevicks. They were organized, though. We just need to be organized, too. And give everyone an easy way to stand up against them.”

  “Like how?” Dee asked.

  “I think we need like a Twitter campaign, but in real life,” Lou was thinking aloud. “Like how people change their avatars to show support for something.”

  “But they own the Internet,” Leigh said. “Not literally. They’re not Comcast. You’d have to be nuts to sign up for that kind of harassment on purpose. I won’t ask anyone to do that.”

  “No, I mean something like that, but we do it in real life. What about masks or something?” Lou wondered.

  “Like what’s his name, the guy who wanted to blow up Parliament?” Dee asked.

  “No,” Lou said. “Like your mask. So people have a little anonymity, but also have solidarity. Or ribbons that look like masks.”

  “Or masks that look like ribbons,” Leigh said.

  “Let him finish, Leigh,” Dee shushed.

  “Oh! Masks that look like gibbons. Gibbon ribbons.”

  “Honestly, Leigh,” Dee started to cut a new slice of lasagna from the pan.

  “Yes! If they weren’t honest, they’d be fibbin’ gibbon ribbons. We don’t want that.”

  “Enough with your mouth sounds,” Dee said sternly enough that Leigh was on the verge of listening when the front door burst open. The sound of shattering wood was quickly replaced by shouts and boots stomping across the front hall.

  Leigh jumped up into a ready pose. Dee looked to the back door and saw a squad of black-clad officers with weapons drawn readying themselves for entry. She grabbed Leigh’s arm and yanked her hard to the floor. Lou was already under the table, his eyes wide with fear.

  Dee held Leigh’s wrist tight in one hand while reaching out to caress Lou’s cheek and brush the hair over his ear. He turned his face away to hide the tears he worried were about to come. “It’s okay,” Dee said firmly. “Just stay calm. It’s okay.”

  The adrenaline began to fade twenty minutes later as lieutenant Solverson wrapped up the taking of their statements with yet another long-winded apology about how they had to take all reports of drugs and weapons seriously, even anonymous tips. Ever since the meth epidemic, even nice neighborhoods like this one weren’t safe. Gosh, but he was sorry about the door, but experience showed that the only way to keep the troopers safe was to use maximum reasonable force at the outset to make sure they had tactical control of the situation.

  Dee disagreed with all of it, but couldn’t bring herself to care. She was tired. She felt her kids sagging against her in their own exhaustion. All she wanted to do was to find a way to fix the door and to go to bed and sleep until everything was better.

  In the end, Dee didn’t even bother fixing the front door. The whole thing would have to be replaced. She took a nap on the couch while Lou watched Happy Days on his phone and Leigh complained that his volume was so loud that she couldn’t hear her podcast.

  Dee woke up after an hour of fitful rest. She cleaned up for a bit, then sent the kids to bed. When their bedroom doors were closed, she slipped into her own room and found the new costume Phil had made for her. It fit perfectly, of course. The man had expensive taste and great style. She really needed to let him buy her more gifts.

  And so, with the front door held shut by a footstool from the living room, Captain Major perched in the shadow of the chimney and kept a watchful eye on the neighborhood for the night, not knowing what the morning would bring, but making damn sure that her family was safe for the night.

  Then she remembered what the morning would bring. She had to write a goddam 360 for the biggest asshole in the world, and it had to glow like the moon above. She felt certain she could keep her family safe through this night, but had every doubt that she could polish that turd come morning.

  Friday, November 12, 2011

  Max Major had been an instant hit, so Max Depf immediately pushed through a name change. Depf Jam and Randy continued to gain listeners both for the three hour daily podcast and the one hour condensed broadcast for Metroville’s afternoon commuters. Max was therefore pleased, but not too surprised, to see the crowd waiting for them at Robert’s Robots, a robot manufacturer in the industrial part of town. Since the somewhat disappointing event in the park, Max had wanted to be in front of his crowd again, but also demanded that the chaos be replaced by a high degree of professionalism. He knew that Randy would never be able to reach that standard, so Max worked diligently to find activities better suited to Randy’s talents. Today, Randy was moderating the comments section on the show’s website.

  And scrap booking.

  Robert’s Robots seemed a strange place to do a remote show, but the owners were glad for a bit of publicity. They needed skilled workers to assemble and test the sophisticated robots and exosuits they were building for the mining and timber industries and would try literally anything to attract qualified candidates for their open positions short of increasing the starting wage.

  The business was displaying a new prototype which, when fully assembled, became a ten foot tall piece of machinery operated by a man inside the device which turned the operator into an old growth forest’s worst nightmare, minus the faun mimes adapting A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The suit itself was modular, consisting of individually powered pieces which could be connected together for different tasks and load sharing.

  Max’s favorite part of the entire apparatus was that it was designed from the get-go to only accommodate male bodies. The less said about how this was accomplished, the better.

  Max shook a few hands at the end of his private tour, then moved to the temporary broadcast booth where Bo Tannie double checked the network and audio connections. Randy focused intently on his laptop as he waited for new comments on the current show thread.

  Max pulled Bo to the side for a private word. Finding nothing more private than a poorly lit corner, Max removed his new porkpie hat to conceal the conversation. Bo scoffed. Max was very bald, with thin red hair forming a semicircle around the back of his head. A port wine stain over his left eye looked a bit like someone had crudely sketched a penis on his forehead while sleeping. In sum, Max was a ginger monk dickhead. Poor Max.

  “What do you think about Randy?” Max whispered.

  “I don’t,” Bo replied gruffly, making clear he weren’t no gay.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Max asked.

  Bo nodded.

  Max licked his lips, thinking hard about what he wanted to say next. He started to speak, but the crowd began to applaud over his whispering.

  The production intern who Max hired based on the prominence of her tits and the fragility of her self-esteem was standing before the crowd, trying to find Max. Max gave Bo a friendly pat on the arm before returning to Randy in the makeshift booth. The intern smiled with relief. She counted them into the broadcast, then turned to exhort the four score fans to cheer the start of the show.

  Max nodded appreciatively at the mix in his headphones as the engineer brought up the applause with a gentle effect to smooth the loudest shouts into something more like a stadium cheer. As ever, Max wasn’t particularly interested in what any of his fans had to yell at him, but the enthusiasm was rewarding.

  Dee Major chewed her lip in nervousness as she scanned the crowd while Max kicked off his show. She wore a pair of soft leather calf-high boots over Russian violet leggings with a cable knit sweater that hung down to the middle of her fingers when she let her arms rest at her sides. Her hair was back in a pony tail.

  She wore a mask.

  Her mask was a costume store version of the Captain Major mask. It was mostly plastic and very uncomfortable. The tiny elastic bands pulled at her ears enough that she had tried, unsuccessfully, just to glue
the dang thing in place. She had had to buy the rest of the costume, too, which was insanely overpriced considering the low quality of the limited amount of fabric that went into the affair. (The manufacturer had started with the far more popular Sexecutioner model and added a few pieces of styling to make it vaguely recognizable as a Captain Major costume. It was how Captain Major would have likely been drawn, had she ever been popular enough to appear in a comic.)

  Despite the simple disguise, she felt exposed in the crowd of whooping men. She noted security guards eyeing her. She flexed her hands at her sides to remind them that she wasn’t armed, then began to walk forward into the crowd.

  Security began to move in closer as she worked her way through the crowd, but she found it far easier to move through the crowd than her pursuers. She slipped between elbows of assholes as the listeners kept a heterosexually safe distance between one another. The burly security guards found the going rougher as they had to push their way through Dee’s choppy wake.

  Max was mid-thought when he noted the masked woman approaching the stage. Fortunately for Max, he only had the one thought, so he was able to finish his sentence with only the slightest hiccup. He glanced side to side and saw his security detail moving forward purposefully. As an afterthought he nudged Randy’s attention away from his patterned paper and laptop and pointed toward the woman in the crowd with a shift of his chin.

  Max threw to commercial. The show’s biggest sponsor was a crowd sourcing campaign for a remotely operated riding lawn mower with a klaxon horn and “rolling coal” mode which inserted grass or leaf clippings into the exhaust system to create the illusion of huge belches of black smoke. Rolling coal mode activated automatically whenever a Prius passed by. The product would never exist, of course, but the promise of being able to drive a mower over a perfectly manicured lawn without having to absorb any Vitamin D at all was too strong a siren song for many listeners who pledged with their hearts at insane reward levels. Grass Master, Inc., was formed by two law school drop outs and their unlucky buddy who graduated. He went into bankruptcy law. The bankruptcy plans were already in place while the first dropout pretended to be a project manager, the second sold security systems door-to-door and the lawyer tried to become passionate enough about anything so that he could turn it into a micro-targeted writing career. The opening notes of the jingle washed over the crowd and sent half the front row into a curiously ecstatic state of reverie which Dee Major used to her final advantage to move all the way to the stage.

  “Are you here to make my breakfast, or are you ready for my sausage?” Max asked as his engineer potted down the commercial and sent Max’s voice to the speakers.

  “I’m here to ask you to stop,” Dee said. “You’re hurting people.”

  “Stop what? Being awesome?” Randy asked.

  Dee smiled sadly at her ex-husband. She could tell Max didn't recognize her, but Randy seemed on the verge of figuring things out, like the seventh time he unsuccessfully attempted cunnilingus. “You’re hurting people you should love. Your mothers and your sisters. And your daughters.”

  Leigh Major took a step out of the shadows in the back. She was 30 yards away from Randy, but he could tell from her size and stride that it was Leigh. The mask confused him, but the Senor Frog’s t-shirt he had bought for her in Cancun was a dead give away. Randy stood up. It took him longer than it should to piece together that Dee was the masked woman standing in front of him — by the time he got all the way to his feet, that realization weakened his knees so that he had to sit back down.

  “Get her out of here,” Max directed. Security pushed through to grab Dee by the arms. She let them begin to drag her away. More security appeared in the back and began to manhandle Leigh, who pulled against their rough grasps. One guard twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her into his buddy. “Keep struggling,” the second guard smirked as he pressed his chest against Leigh and smiled.

  Randy stood up again, knocking over his chair and unplugging his headphones with a sudden jerk that threatened to overturn the off-balance table that held all their rented equipment. Max grabbed at the table with one hand and slapped the cockeyed headphones off Randy’s head with the other.

  Randy shouted off-mic to leave his daughter alone. He raced off the stage and tried to fight through the crowd to reach her. It was slow going as the crowd retreated into itself. From all corners of the factory floor a sea of masked women melted into view. The call had gone out on the dark web (well, to Pinterest, mostly) to doctors and nurses, school teachers and bus drivers, a performance artist, an editor and an unemployed professional dominatrix. Each in her own clothes, though no one really noticed what they were wearing except the last three. Each also in a mask, though the performance artist had made her own and the dominatrix wore one she bought for business purposes.

  An unexpected lurch of the crowd knocked Randy to the floor. He found it easier going on his hands and knees. The crowd instinctively shied away from the odd fellow crawling over the floor. Short moments later he reached Leigh. He shoved a guard away from her; Lou appeared from behind a lathe to trip him as he staggered. Leigh used almost the gentlest shock she thought she’d need to make the guard holding her in an arm bar release his hold and jump back. She pulled her mask from her face, dropped it to the floor and gave her dad a hug.

  She released her hug and took him by the hand. “Let’s get pancakes,” she suggested. Randy saw Lou and thought about giving him a hug, too. Lou had the same thought, but knew where they parked, so he figured it would be better if he led the way.

  On the floor, more women moved forward, recognizing the faces in the crowd of men they loved, or had loved, or ought to love if family is to mean more than blood. They offered their hands, leading more and more of the men silently away.

  Max grabbed a spare microphone with a long cable and ran at Dee. Two guards continued to walk her to the exit as originally instructed. Max let loose a primal yell before crashing into her back, knocking the three in different directions.

  Dee picked herself up and turned to face him. “It’s over Max,” she said.

  “Nothing is over,” Max said. And — spoiler alert — he was mostly right. The phenomena of privileged people feeling aggrieved over the diminishment of privilege was not ended on this day. Not even close.

  “I’m not here to fight you,” Dee explained. “You don’t even need guards. I’m just going to walk away.”

  “The fuck you are, bitch,” Max spat. He began to whirl the microphone around like a sling without a stone. Well, he whirled it around his head like he had seen in a martial arts movie. Being entirely untrained in this style of fighting, he was making a scary noise with the microphone racing through the air, but that was it.

  Dee turned. “Good bye, Max,” she said.

  She took a few steps away then heard the clatter of the microphone crashing into the ground several feet away from her. Max hurriedly began to coil the cable to spin up another throw. Dee kept walking away as security scattered from the random danger Max presented.

  A second crash came, both louder and further away than the first. Dee turned to check on Max’s progress. He was running forward again, looping the cable around his elbow as he came. He began whirling the microphone again. His tongue stuck out a bit with the effort and concentration.

  “Quit it,” Dee said. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

  “I am going to hurt you!” Max yelled. He punctuated the last word with a flight of his microphone. It almost came close enough to Dee that she would have to dodge it, but she didn’t. The microphone instead crashed into an odd piece of machinery, first hitting the button that turned the feeder on, then falling into the feeder proper. The microphone and cable began to feed into the machine, which made horrible grinding and chopping noises as it worked.

  “Let go of the cable,” Dee advised.

  Max ignored her. He wrapped the loose cable around his elbow again while talking to himself. “I’ve got this now. I�
��ve got this now.”

  The cable grew taut. Max began pulling himself closer to the machine as he coiled more cord while working toward the microphone that had been chomped out of view.

  “Let it go, Max!” Dee shouted. She raced forward and grabbed at him, but he pushed her away. She grabbed for the cord and began to pull the tight loops off his elbow.

  Max tried to push her away again, but Dee held her ground, threatening her secret identity as she batted away his arm with one hand and held his jacket with the other. She sent a jolt of plasma energy through his body that was strong enough to incapacitate most men.

  Max ignored the jolt. In one motion he escaped from his jacket then turned and sprinted with an outstretched hand toward the clanking, grinding machine. With a belief that defied any other belief, he threw his hand, elbow and arm into the feeder after his microphone. He loosed a barbaric mewl until he was shoulder deep into the machine.

  The machine and man went silent.

  Max slumped against the machine, passed out or dead, though Dee felt certain he heard him say, “Got it,” before his eyes closed.

  The floor foreman came running up a moment later. “I hit the kill switch,” he explained. “But it must have been too late.”

  “What does that machine do?” Dee asked.

  “It’s an assembler. Right now it’s rigged for our drill bits.”

  “Like for bird houses and stuff?” Dee hoped.

  “More for deep core samples, undersea exploration and that kind of thing. If you ever need to drill 800 meters into an asteroid, this is the bit you need.”

  “You’ll probably want to stand back, then,” Dee said. “Way, way back.”

  “I’m running the floor, ma’am. It’s my duty to clean out whatever bits of that man that are clogging my machine.”

  Something roared to life with a sudden grinding sound from within the assembler. Dee pushed the surprised foreman backwards, sending him tumbling ass over skull into a pile of discarded plastic.

  In the next moment, Max Depf emerged from the machine. At the end of his left arm was a massive, whirling, diamond-tipped drill bit infused with Captain Major’s own plasmatic energy signature. Dee double checked that her mask was in place and continued to be entirely unsurprised.

  Max began a spittle-flecked tirade which was just out of reach of Dee’s hearing thanks to the pulsing energy spinning the drill that was Max’s new left hand man. Just like his right hand man, Max immediately put the drill to work and flung it Dee-ward with all his fury.

  He failed to anticipate the weight of his new hand and nearly toppled himself at the end of his swing. Powered by fury he swung his mighty drill ineffectually in a backhanded arc toward Dee. She ducked the wild swing and waited for Max’s momentum to twist his body completely about.

  As he struggled to unpretzel his legs, arm and drill, Dee stepped behind him and kneed him sharply in the balls.

  Max pitched forward, coughing and staggering with pain and futile anger. Bent forward, he craned his neck to shout at Dee over his shoulder in a pinched, pained, strained, comically high voice: “You haven’t seen the last of the Borer!”

  With that, he plunged his drill downward, creating a Max-sized hole that he slipped through into the basement, subbasement and finally sewer as he made his escape.

  Dee knelt at the holes he made, wishing her costume was near enough to make pursuit. Knowing that it wasn’t, she whispered friendly advice to Metroville’s newest villain: “Don’t be so quick to settle into a name, Borer. A lame name will haunt you.”

 

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