Cartoon Heroes: Book One of the Dark Skies Series

by Anthony Harwood

  “Mr Wallace, I presume?”

  The man beamed at her, his eyes alight with unconcealed lust, for lack of a better word. The fact he was wearing a wedding ring unsettled Pam slightly, but it took all sorts. She had read in a paper once that the smarter the men, the more likely they were to be adulterers. This man didn’t have much going on upstairs, but he was still up there with the big leaguers.

  He extended his hand for that first touch of her supple soft skin. Or that was how she read it the way he rubbed his thumb over the back of her wrist. She felt a shiver run down her spine of pure disgust. Men like this repulsed her, but she was playing a part for him, so she had to deliver her lines.

  She wished she’d stuck to drama in high school. She had delved into some amateur theatre. A lot of directors took her, merely for her looks, but she did have the talent to back herself up. Or at least she hoped she did. But her new lifestyle wasn’t the most idyllic one for actors.

  “It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” play up to his power.

  “The feeling’s mutual. I’ve read your work and it’s fabulous,” He lied. If, indeed, he had read her work, there was no way a man of this position would be agreeing to an interview. He was definitely getting more than he bargained for.

  “I just hope I can do you justice, sir.”

  He smiled, nodded at the compliment. Arrogant prick, she thought, all the while maintaining the sickliest sweet smile she could manage.

  “Oh, this is my photographer, Sta-”

  “Shall we go inside, Miss Dauber. It is Miss isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes. Miss it is.”

  He laughed, taking her by the arm, invading her space and making her skin crawl even more, “That rhymes.”

  Oh god! She almost tore her arm free and slammed him with a telekinetic blast. But there was too much at stake. She could almost imagine what Stacey must be thinking. Almost.

  * * *

  What a shit head!

  Stacey followed behind, making sure he wasn’t too far away as to belt the guy if Pam so wanted. He’d already been tempted. How could anyone treat such a wonderful woman with such disrespect?

  The sleazy creep had all but felt her up. And if he even tried to cop a feel, He’d be looking at being treated for third degree burns.

  They were led inside to the foyer that actually ran most of the way around the building with gates marked from A to W. Pam asked to look around a little, get a feel for the place to “Set her juices flowing” as she put it. That spurred the sleaze on, no end.

  Stacey could hear what the man was about to say, even though it still hung onto the tip of his tongue.

  “Mind if I snap some of the set up out here?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Stacey knew the implication there. Mr Wallace, or Wally as Stacey was thinking of him, was going to hang back with the lovely Miss Dauber, while Stacey left him alone to work his magic.

  'Well, I won’t be going that far, I can tell you,' Stacey thought to himself. He moved away, prepping his camera for some shots, all the while keeping an eye out for both the bomb and Pam.

  “You know, you’re name’s almost identical to that Mindy lady.”

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “You know. Mork and Mindy. She was mighty pretty too. But you, well, there’s no comparison there.”

  “Why, thank you,” Pam actually blushed. Stacey did too, but it was out of anger. Was she actually falling for this? No. She was too smart for that. But she was sure playing her part well.

  Toying with some of the flags in the pretence of trying to straighten them out, Stacey check behind each one. No bomb in sight or out of sight as far as he could see. There was still a long way to go in checking out the foyer, but from all appearances it was mostly empty, to cope with the number of people.

  There was a first and second floor walkway that Stacey could see above.

  When he could get Pam’s attention, he shook his head and she smiled.

  “Do you mind if we go inside, Mr Wallace? I’ve always been excited by the theatre. And this one is so big. It’s amazing.”

  “Not a problem. If you’ll do me the service of having a photo with me later on, hmm?”

  “Oh, Mr Wallace, I’d love to.”

  She wasn’t blonde, and Stacey knew most blondes didn’t behave like this, but she was playing almost too well to the stereotype.

  Inside the theatre, it was dark. Stage lights were lit, though alternating in intensity as the operator checked which frenell or profile was attached to which patch. It looked spectacular already, if not over crowded. Pam had described the photos she’d seen last night. What was on stage now was similar, but beefed up more. There was a huge zoo of stuffed animals from Koalas to Kangaroos, Quokkas to Platypuses, Emus to marsupial mice, though the latter was enlarged for cuteness factor.

  The stage itself was massive. Brightly lit in numerous different colours. The surface was a patchwork of flags from around the world, representing the performers that would appear there tomorrow.

  The idea of the Australia Day Concert was to showcase the different nationalities and cultures within Australia. From English to American, Russian to Cambodian. Everyone was represented here with either song or dance in a four-hour production. Then at the end, as they did every year, they would come together and sing three songs. First was the National song, which still hadn’t been made the national Anthem, ‘Advance Australia Fair’, which Stacey thought sounded like a funeral dirge. Pam, though a proud Australian, had agreed with him. The other two songs, both of which would have made better Anthems or even National songs were ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and ‘I still call Australia Home’. At the beginning was a massive dance piece involving the whole cast where they sang an excerpt from ‘Advance Australia Fair’ followed by ‘We are Australian’. Another song that would be better representing the country.

  In all, it was a load of sentimental hogwash as far as Stacey was concerned.

  “It looks fabulous!”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yes. The colours. The animals. It’s so Australian.”

  “Well, I gave the final approval.”

  “It couldn’t be more obvious unless you added a few naked ladies and a tonne of whipped cream,” Stacey grumbled.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking I’m going to have one heck of a time trying to capture all this beauty.”

  “I’m sure if you’re as talented as Pam, here. You don’t mind if I call you Pam, do you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well, if you are as talented as Pam here, you shouldn’t have a problem,” He turned back to the lovely lady and continued aloud, “If he isn’t, you should find yourself better help.”

  Pam laughed, flashing a warning look to Stacey who was about to take a swing at the prick’s head.

  He recovered and decided it was time to get to work.

  He headed down through the large double doors that lead from the foyer into the auditorium and down the stairs, thumping heavily as he went, imagining he was stepping on Wally’s face every time.

  He kept his eye out along the rows of chairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of the device. No such luck.

  The bomb would have to be huge. To do any serious damage or have any real effects, it would have to be the size of a car. Perhaps as small as a motorbike. Though, Stacey wasn’t too sure of that. He wasn’t a mechanical genius or bomb specialist so he was only guessing. But he figured it was better to start off big than worry about the small at present.

  The problem was, how was one man supposed to get a good look at a stadium that seats thousands of people, not to mention backstage and everywhere else?

  There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary as far as he could tell, apart from the massive gum trees made out of ply wood and the stuffed animals. Maybe one of them concealed the bomb? That would be very theatrical.

  He hurried dow
n onto the stage. A man dressed in black stepped up and stopped him, crossing his arms.

  “It’s alright. He’s a journalist, with me,” Wally called.

  Okay, Stacey hated to admit it but that had been very useful. The man stepped aside and Stacey smiled his thank you before proceeding to the menagerie. Testing each one, he lifted them only slightly. Nope. Not a one over weight. They were simply stuffed. He then moved around the trees, hoping to spot something.

  Nope. Of course, it wouldn’t be hidden in plain sight for a techie to see.

  So where was it? He looked up to the lighting rig. There were a few odd pieces up there, but it all belonged, such as the speakers, the seats for the follow spot operators to sit. Then there were the two massive screens on either side of the stage, one above it and several smaller ones dotted around the stadium. Anything could be hidden behind there. Maybe if he could get a closer look.

  “Did you want to take some photos?”

  “Sure,” He had heard the slime approaching. His stomach had unceremoniously growled as he took the last step onto the stage, sending both he and Pam into fits of laughter. The way she was behaving, Stacey was actually starting to dislike her. Fortunately he knew what she was really like. He certainly didn’t envy her position right now.

  “I was wondering. Would it be possible for me to get up there to take a shot down toward the stage and the audience?”

  He pointed up at the lighting rig.

  “What for?”

  “So I can have you, the main figure standing amongst such a massive backdrop. It would be fantastic, right Pam?”

  “Totally. Think of it Mr Wallace,” She stepped away from him, spreading her hands as if revealing a whole new landscape to him. It was as if she could actually see what she was describing, and as she talked, so could Mr Wallace, “You and only you amongst the tremendous array of sets and lights and seats. You’d be the central focus. All eyes would be on you wondering, 'Who is this charismatic man? Why is it the world is revolving around him? What makes him so wonderful?’ Which is something I’d like to find out while Stacey here sets up.”

  “Well. If you put it like that, how can I disagree,” He clicked his fingers, “Hey, Charlie,” No one looked up, “You, in the black shirt,” every one looked up, “You, messing with the wombat. Show this gentleman up to the rig. He wants to take some photos.”

  The man he was talking to; obviously not Charlie, nor a tour guide stood up to his full height. He was one tall bloke. Stacey was almost too afraid to go with him.

  The man was about to say something when one of the women back stage spoke up, “Just do it, Troy. Humour him.”

  Troy grimaced, “This way.”

  Stacey hurried over to him, not wanting to upset him by keeping him waiting. When they were on their way he apologised, “Sorry about this. It was his idea. I just point and click.”

  “Whatever.”

  * * *

  She was out exactly on twelve.

  Russell had been waiting for fifteen minutes for lack of anything better to do. When he saw her this time, however, he felt the pang in his chest once more and he quickly looked away, his face turning a bright shade of red. Not out of anger or embarrassment. He just felt flushed. He didn’t want her to see him looking at her. Nor for her to see him looking the way he did. The latter he had no choice on, but when she stepped out the door, he avoided making eye contact with her.

  “Shall we go somewhere and sit?”

  Russell simply nodded.

  He turned around and started to walk back toward the inner city. She had to jog a little to catch up.

  “Look, Russell. I’m sorry. I should have told you, but-”

  “It was cruel, but I’m over it now. Let’s just forget about it.”

  He slammed his hands into his pockets. He wanted to think about the bomb. But the only thing that came into his head was about Kristen. How much he liked her as a friend or whatever. But he couldn’t look at her in that way any more. He couldn’t look at her at all.

  “Then you can tell me what the grilling was about this morning.”

  “I told you, it’s a long story.”

  “I have an hour. You may as well start now.”

  “Okay,” He paused for a moment, not too sure how to approach it. The simple truth would probably be the best, “You remember last Thursday. The explosion and all that?”

  “Yeah. Hard to forget.”

  “Well, something happened. The bomb, it was, I don’t know… Defective somehow. Well, I made it defective, by accident,” He was starting to lose direction. Already. It was just talking to her that was distracting.

  “You made it…?”

  He quickly corrected himself, “No. I accidentally did something that set the thing off early. It also affected it somehow. I don’t know what happened, but… Something happened. Anyway. I saw the van the bomb was in. A Mazda, white.”

  “Okay. So you saw a van. And?”

  “I was later attacked by a similar van, obviously not the same one. A group of people tried to kidnap me or kill me, I wasn’t sure.”

  “My God, did you call the police?”

  “No. I had no real evidence,” He covered. He knew the reasons were different, but still, “I was again chased later on, but managed to get away. Which brings us to Sunday.”

  “That fateful day,” she said it so seriously. Maybe she was.

  “You don’t know how much so. It started that morning. The second explosion. It happened just up the road from my apartment.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “Yes. Their target was an abandoned building. I’m still not sure of the motivation for those first two explosions. But at that second one, the same van that attacked me was there. So were the men. A friend of mine showed up. We followed them, got into an… altercation but we got away.”

  “This is getting a little complicated. But I still don’t see how this all ties in with your questions.”

  “I’m getting to that. But I warn you, you’re not going to like it. And no, I’m not saying it out of spite. This is too important to be kidding.”

  He sensed her mood change a little. He still couldn’t look at her, but she slowed up a bit before regaining the lost ground, “I don’t like the sound of this already. What is it?”

  “That afternoon, as I was leaving work. I was attacked again. Aiden was hurt.”

  “That was over you?”

  “No. Not just me. A lot more. Aiden just happened to be there and tried to help out. I feel bad about that. But it was the same men from that morning. They caught me. Kidnapped me. I was taken to this room where I was interrogated by two other men,” He stopped again. He didn’t want to say it. He knew even after his assurances, she was going to take it the wrong way. If what had happened this morning hadn’t happened, maybe she’d be able to believe him more easily, but there were no guarantees now, “One of them was your dad. Trent Peerson.”

  She stopped, “Oh, yeah, right!” She turned around and started to walk back to Greyson’s, “What a load of crap! Couldn’t you think up something more pathetic?”

  “Kristen, wait!”

  She spun back, her face as red as his. She was furious, but more upset really, “I’m not going to listen to this kind of bull about my dad! How dare you! You have no right to say that!”

  He finally worked up the courage to look at her, “Kristen! I’m telling you the truth. This has nothing to do with what happened this morning. I have proof. Well, I don’t but… Look. Something is going to happen tomorrow and your Dad is going to be responsible.”

  “Shut up!” She started back to Greyson’s, her arms flinging wildly.

  He had to go after her. He couldn’t just leave her like that. He hurried after her, catching up as she refused to run, an obvious sign of weakness, or at least that’s what she thought.

  “I’m sorry. Kristen, just talk to him. Ask him. If not, thousands of people could be hurt.”

  She stopped
once more, looking directly into his eyes. He felt his own stinging. Her’s were red, near tears, his own weren’t far off. The number of times they had shared a moment like this. Just looking into each others eyes from across the floor. From one department to the next. Then she’d always smile and give a little flick of her head, as if clearing a non-existent lock of hair from her eyes. It was a greeting and one he found most endearing. She gave no such flick this time. Instead she just stared, searching his soul, it seemed, trying to work out how honest he was. And she knew. She could see it in him that what he was saying was true. His eyes were always open windows to his soul. She could almost read who he was from simply looking into the deep blue eyes she had often admired. He was a good man. A good friend. And right now, she could tell he was an honest one.

  “How?”

  “What?”

  “How will they be hurt?”

  “A bomb. We think it’s a bomb at the Australia Day Concert. That’s why he wants you out of the way. Please, just ask him. This isn’t about his vendetta against me, or mine against you, not that I have one, but this is far more important. Just ask him.”

  And that was it. He couldn’t look any longer. He left. Simply turned and disappeared down the walkway. She didn’t follow. She simply stood and watched as he vanished into the crowd.

  “I’m still sorry,” she whispered, hoping the wind may just carry it back to him.

  * * *

  Russell wasn’t sure whether she’d do it or not. And even if she did, what would it accomplish. Maybe he’d reconsider it.

  He stopped mid-thought.

  The wind seemed to be whispering to him. A single word echoed in his ears, barely audible, but he knew its meaning. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about nothing as he walked. Thankfully there were no people or poles in his way. When he re-opened his eyes, he was focussed again on the problem at hand.

  Maybe he would change his mind if she asked. Maybe there was some good in Trent Peerson. Then again, after everything that has happened. Maybe not.