Capes

by Drabble, Matt

  “Hey, it was his job. The man was… well, he was a killer, not to put too fine a point on it. I guess it comes with the territory. Last I heard, he was working as a merc down in South America.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Well I guess even the government spooks got tired of trying to reign him in. Now the word is that if you pay him enough, he’ll pretty much do anything.”

  “And Bull?”

  “What can I say. This business doesn’t exactly produce stable citizens. I know that Bull has been in and out of mental institutions, but then again, he was always a little off.”

  “And your girlfriend?” Sandra asked, her words jocular but her expression a little taut.

  “The Doc?” Marshal responded, carefully keeping his voice even knowing his wife’s jealous streak. “Well, to start with, she was never my girlfriend. But I hear she’s teaching high school science now, somewhere near Oslo, I think. A quiet simple life, but then she never really bought into the whole cape and cowl thing.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Marshall thought long and hard about the question. His life back then had been full of undeniable thrills and adventure, but it had also been full of blood, pain and death, and it wasn’t just the bad guys that got buried along the way.

  “I miss being great at something,” he finally answered. “I miss being the best. I used to be able to do something that no one else on the planet could do. That’s pretty intoxicating. That’s a hard thing to have to live with losing.”

  “But look what you gained.” Sandra smiled and touched his hand lightly.

  “Here we go, people. SILENCE!” Marty yelled as the live studio interview started.

  Marshall was supposed to be some kind of surprise guest, and although they hadn’t spoken in a long time, it didn’t feel like an ambush. In truth, he figured maybe this was the only way that he’d get to speak to CJ again.

  ----------

  “So, Mr Jones, or may I call you CJ?” Summer Sloan asked as she leaned in with a flirty flick of her hair on the TV screen.

  Jamie-Lyn watched from her vantage point in the studio and had to forcibly stop herself from groaning aloud as her sounds would be picked up on camera.

  “It’s CJ, please,” Cosmic Jones replied warmly.

  “Well… CJ, it’s been quite some time since you made a public appearance and longer since we saw you…, shall we say, in action?”

  “Thankfully.” CJ nodded like an elder statesman with a talent for the camera, Jamie-Lyn thought.

  “Not since Havencrest, of course. The great war-ending victory of the Queen’s Guard, a celebratory day to be sure.”

  “Yes, quite.” CJ nodded along.

  “So tell me, do you miss the old days?”

  “Well I certainly don’t miss the need to be in a costume. But I must admit that I do miss some of the fantastic people that I worked with – some truly extraordinary humans.”

  “Your old gang, so to speak?”

  “To be honest, the term gang is a little trite for my liking, Miss Sloan. You must remember that we weren’t some kind of rogue organisation operating above the law. No, no, no. The Queen’s Guard were a fully sanctioned, fully accountable department functioning under direct government supervision – set up, might I add, to combat the threat of SOUL.”

  “So have you all kept in touch? Can we put up that image please?” Summer asked the studio.

  An image of the Queen’s Guard, similar to the one hanging in Andrew Marshall’s basement, was displayed, only this one was a glossy colour photograph released as an official publicity still.

  “Oh, there you all are,” Summer enthused. “This would be a little before my time, of course, but this would be the Queen’s Guard?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “A hit squad?”

  Jamie-Lyn’s forehead creased, without Botox to stop it, as she wondered what the airhead blonde was doing, and for a moment, she had to wonder if there wasn’t actually a lot more than air in Summer Sloan’s head.

  “Again, Miss Sloan, another term that I do not care for. We were a designated rapid response team, dispatched to handle only extreme situations that put the public at great risk.”

  “Yes, but the Queen’s Guard sounds so much cooler, doesn’t it? Like something out of a comic book.” Summer laughed lightly, but Jamie-Lyn thought that the laughter didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “I don’t think that…,” CJ blustered.

  “In fact, isn’t true that your team were little more than government-sanctioned assassins?”

  “Not at all!”

  Summer took out a clipboard and lifted through some papers on it theatrically.

  “I understand that the initial threat was a homegrown one. The government created the Queen’s Guard to combat a real threat. The SOUL organisation was a terrorist organisation, but common thought, now looking back, is that their actual threat was greatly exaggerated for political benefit.”

  “I can assure you that their threat was very real. I personally know of plenty of widows and widowers who would attest to that,” CJ bristled.

  “And Havencrest?”

  CJ shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I cannot comment on individual missions, Miss Sloan. You know this.”

  “But after Havencrest the threat was dealt with, wasn’t it, CJ? What about after SOUL was defeated? I mean, to be honest, Mr Jones, from what our research has uncovered, there still appears to be a slew of bodies circling the globe, an avalanche of kills attributed to your Queen’s Guard?” she said, tapping her clipboard as though it contained the answers.

  Jamie-Lyn looked over towards the booth where Chris Adams looked calm, a sure telltale sign that this was a planned setup.

  “Miss Sloan, I can assure you that our work was sanctioned by your own government. The SOUL organisation was not simply limited to our shores. Viruses such as their poisonous message spread, Miss Sloan. As I said before, we were not rogue agents choosing our own targets at will and meting out private justice. We were a department of the government.”

  “So you’ll be happy to take us through some of these accusations then?” Summer asked, forcefully tapping the clipboard. “Nicaragua in 1997, for instance? The coup in Azerbaijan in ’95? I have a lot more.”

  “Now, Miss Sloan, there are things that I can talk about and there are things that I can’t – things that are covered by the Official Secrets Act.”

  “That sounds a little convenient, Mr Jones – far too convenient, to be honest. Well why don’t we see if one of your former Queen’s Guard colleagues is any more forthcoming? Joining us now is Andrew Marshall, the costumed hero once known as Six-Shooter.”

  The large monitor behind CJ and Summer now lit up to show Marshall sitting coolly and comfortably in his living room; a man who’d spent his adult life with a variety of guns aimed at him would hardly blink at a camera zooming in close.

  “Hey there, CJ,” Marshall called out, his voice low and reserved.

  “Good evening, Marshall,” CJ replied, trying to find a little calm.

  “So…, how’s your night going?” Marshall asked good-naturedly.

  “To be honest, Marshall, I must say I’ve had better.”

  “Should’ve stayed in the shadows, pal.”

  “Back at you, my old friend.”

  “Mr Marshall, perhaps you could shed some light on your own dark and murky past?” Summer jumped in.

  Jamie-Lyn could tell that Summer’s cool façade was a little jarred by the two men’s easy manner. Now that there were two of them, they smelled like the start of a team.

  “Ah, lady, what do you want from me?” Marshall replied. “Did we do some bad shit? Sure. In our line of work, who wouldn’t end up with a little blood on their hands?”

  “That’s some admission, Mr Marshall,” Summer said, jumping on what she thought was a line of admission as she raised the clipboard again. “The names and dates were not easy to come by. Your Que
en’s Guard operated in the shadows, but perhaps a little transparency from you now would be appropriate?”

  “No, not really. The whole team’s records are sealed as are our missions. Tell me something, CJ. You really falling for this bullshit? You know she’s got nothing on that clipboard, don’t you?”

  Jamie-Lyn chuckled as Summer quickly tucked the clipboard out of sight.

  “She’s just fishing, buddy.” Marshall laughed, looking as though he was starting to enjoy himself. “You should have brought the Doc along. She’d have got in this gal’s head quick enough.”

  “Is this true, Miss Sloan?” CJ asked. “Is this why I’m here? This is just some kind of childish interrogation attempt? A reality TV show masquerading as news?”

  “Look…, there are some very serious questions that need asking about your little gang, Mr Jones.”

  “Better get someone serious to ask them then!” Marshall shouted out.

  Jamie-Lyn heard a barely suppressed laugh emanating from the crew stationed at Six-Shooter’s house, and she knew that Summer would be looking to get some of them fired by the end of the night.

  There was a sudden commotion in the booth and she looked up to see Chris Adams being chastised by a smartly suited man, one who may as well have had a government-owned stamp on his forehead.

  The government man came bursting out of the booth and onto the studio floor.

  “THIS ENDS NOW! SHUT IT DOWN!” the man bellowed as he strode purposefully towards the set.

  The man appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties and although she couldn’t place him, he did have a look, or maybe just a sense, of familiarity to him.

  “YOU HEAR ME?” the man yelled at a studio full of faces nervous at his ferocity. “Shut it down. This interview is over.”

  “WHO’S THAT NOW?” Marshall called out as he leaned into the camera, and his face grew to gigantic proportions on the huge screen behind the two seated combatants.

  “Jesus? That you?” Marshall asked. “Hot damn, it is you, kid.”

  “Hello, Marshall.” Jesus waved at the giant screen.

  “How you doing, son?”

  “I’m fine, Marshall. Maybe we’ll talk later? You know…, catch up when we’re not on live national television?”

  “Jesus?” Summer exclaimed excitedly as she tried to salvage something. “You’d be the handler, wouldn’t you? From what I understand, your father was the original Queen’s Guard director. I understand there are no files on the real identity of you or your father, but they called him God, didn’t they? I’m guessing that’s why they call you Jesus?”

  Jesus looked down at Summer with a withering stare, which Jamie-Lyn recognised as his father’s famous rebuke. She had even felt it once or twice herself when she’d wandered too far into CJ’s team business.

  “This interview is over, Miss Sloan, and believe me, I shall be raising your extremely unprofessional conduct at the very highest levels,” Jesus said with barely contained fury.

  “The public has a right to know!” Summer bristled.

  “The public has a right to facts, Miss Sloan. Facts. Not wild speculation and malicious gossip trawled from the depths of the internet’s conspiracy theory insanity.”

  That last comment seemed to knock the fight out of Summer, and Jamie-Lyn smiled coldly.

  She had no problem whatsoever with the right of her craft to investigate and expose the truth. What she had a problem with was treating a serious subject like an empty-headed reality TV episode that had zero regard for truth or consequence.

  Summer Sloan’s attempt at instant attention-grabbing headlines, regardless of proof, sickened Jamie-Lyn as a journalist, for that was what she was, not a shouter of gossip passing for truth in order to get noticed.

  Did she think that there were skeletons in CJ and the team’s closet? Absolutely, but she’d also had a small window into the work they’d done and the lives they’d saved. There were two sides to this story, not a juicy one-sided headline that would ruin people’s lives and stain them forever regardless of the truth.

  “YOU TELL HER, JESUS!” Marshall laughed as he applauded on the screen.

  Jamie-Lyn also fought the urge to applaud, mainly because she did still technically work here.

  There was a loud crash at the outside broadcast, and suddenly, people were yelling. Everyone in the studio abruptly stopped in their tracks and stood and stared at the giant screen.

  A cameraman’s body was suddenly thrown through the air with great force and a woman was screaming as the man’s bloody torn face flew by, slightly out of focus but recognisable enough.

  Jamie-Lyn’s own blood ran cold as she couldn’t quite believe what she was watching.

  A great spray of blood splattered the camera and Marty Timmins sank down out of sight as more people screamed in terror. Marty’s face had been clawed by something huge, and great chunks of his flesh had been gouged out, his eyes clearly dead already.

  Jamie-Lyn heard Marshall’s unmistakable bellowing as he struggled with the unseen assailant, yelling at his wife to get out as he screamed violent insults at their attacker. Furniture broke and glass smashed off screen as the brutal struggle raged on.

  In the studio, CJ was now shaking a clearly distraught Summer. The attractive blonde’s face was wide and wild with panic.

  “WHERE ARE THEY?” CJ screamed. “I NEED AN ADDRESS TO TELEPORT TO! WHERE ARE THEY BROADCASTING FROM?”

  But Summer could only stare up at him blankly.

  CJ let her go and started to run towards the booth. Jesus joined him on the way. They stopped in front of the large glass window.

  “WHERE ARE THEY?” CJ yelled up at the stunned faces inside. “AN EXACT ADDRESS, NOW, BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!”

  Inside the booth, Chris Adams was the only one moving and he started to punch keys on the computer inside as he killed the broadcast.

  Jamie-Lyn turned back to the screen, which was still showing the live feed back to the studio.

  There was little in the way of screams anymore, which she knew couldn’t be a good sign. The sounds of a struggle had grown faint now, and Jamie-Lyn clasped her fists together hard enough to draw blood from her palms by her fingernails.

  “HURRY!” CJ yelled at the booth.

  On the screen, a once-hulking frame was dragged into view.

  “CJ!” Jamie-Lyn yelled, and he turned to face the monitor.

  Andrew Marshall – the man once known as Six-Shooter, and, according to what CJ had once confided in her, one of the most dangerous men on the planet – was now held helpless.

  His face was battered and torn, a mass of puffy contusions and bloody shredded flesh – once a hero, now a victim.

  The attacker was being careful not to show much of himself. Only a small part of a furry red hand with vicious-looking nails was visible.

  Jamie-Lyn stared up powerlessly and felt CJ run towards the screen beside her.

  “LET HIM GO!” CJ bellowed in a tone that she had never heard him use before, one that sounded scared, and it chilled her to the bone.

  In reply, the powerful hand on the screen reached down and tore open Marshall’s throat. The man coughed and spluttered as he died before them.

  CJ suddenly let out a terrifying primal scream that seemed to shake the entire building around them before he raised a fist in pure rage and shot an energy blast through the huge monitor, exploding it into a thousand pieces. Then he sank to his knees in helpless grief.

  Jesus ran to him with a piece of paper. “I’ve got the address,” he said, thrusting it towards the downed hero.

  “It’s too late,” came CJ’s sorrowful reply. “He’s dead; they’re all dead.”

  “What did that? I mean, who the hell could do that to Marshall?” Jesus turned abruptly and ran back to the booth. “I am seizing that footage. This is now an official investigation, and that footage is evidence. If I see so much as one single still of this getting on the internet, so help me, I’ll find the person resp
onsible, and they will disappear. Understand me? They will disappear!”

  Jamie-Lyn watched on as a row of heads bobbed obediently. She knew that if Jesus was anything like his father, then the man was deadly serious. He had the authority and the will to actually make people disappear. Between the Official Secrets Act and the anti-terror measures, there was little off the table.

  She walked over to CJ. Because he was over seven feet tall, when he was on his knees, they were at eye level. He looked up as she approached him and suddenly his arms were wrapped around her and she held him.

  They stayed that way for a few moments before Jesus joined them. Then CJ released her and stood up to face the handler.

  “We’ll get the footage analysed, CJ. I know it was brief and that bastard kept out of sight, but we’ll find something to nail him, I promise you that.”

  “That won’t help Marshall now,” CJ replied. “It’s my fault.”

  “Look, I’ve given the address to the rapid response team. They’re on their way. They’ll have the scene locked down in a few minutes. What the hell was that thing, CJ? Have you got any ideas?”

  Jamie-Lyn knew that she was an intruder here now, but she didn’t want to leave her old friend’s side. They might not have been close for a few years now, but she knew him and he knew her; their bond was one not easily broken. She knew how he’d react and how he’d respond. She knew that he couldn’t surprise her. That was until he did.

  “I don’t know who or what that was, Jesus,” CJ said, shaking his head. “I have no idea.”

  It may have been green and scaly, but Jamie-Lyn knew every inch of the alien’s face and every one of his mannerisms, and right then, she knew that he was lying.

  chapter 5

  BURYING THE DEAD, AMONG OTHER THINGS

  “I’m covering this,” Jamie-Lyn said firmly as Chris Adams looked through the office window to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

  “I don’t know, Jamie-Lyn; maybe you’re a little too close to this?”

  “Oh, you misunderstood me, Chris. That wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking permission. ‘I’m covering this’ is a statement.”