The City That Heroes Built

by Daniel Pierce

  None of the guys were around. I sent Cal a text, to which he replied, Not today.

  Strange, but I figured he was speaking for all of them, so we drove out to the ocean to enjoy a drink while the sunset. It'd be a week before we'd get more than a brief text from one of them. I checked the news, to look for supra activity that correlated, and found none.

  Jen and I finally drove out to the cemeteries on Thursday.

  Antiguo Los Alamos Cemetery had been desecrated. A grave was looted, and several others damaged. Remnants of police tape was still stuck to trees, and grave stones that had been cracked and smashed still hadn't been removed and replaced. One might have had blood on it.

  “Think this was our guys?” Jen asked.

  “And LEGION, I reckon.”

  “The grave matches Jaime Austin, aka Kid Granite.”

  “How'd he get buried here instead of cremated at the citadel?” I asked.

  “Religious beliefs of his parents. Please promise to cremate me when I die.”

  “Am I your next of kin?”

  “No, but if it happens tonight, or sometime when we're hanging out, just dump gasoline on me and toss a match.”

  “I won't promise to do it if you die in my house, or in a bar I like, but I'll consider it if I have gasoline and a match handy,” I said.

  “You're a pal,” Jen said. “Let's head back. I've seen enough. Interested in hearing the story when they're ready to tell it.”

  June 25 - June 26, 2021

  Jen spent Friday night hanging out with friends, and crawled into bed with me late Saturday morning.

  “I expected you'd be up already,” she said.

  “I was up late reading,” I said.

  “Anything good?”

  I did the equivalent of shrugging while lying down.

  We got out of bed that afternoon. Cal finally responded to my texts. We headed over to Murphy's. Business was slow. We found the guys at their usual table. They looked like hell.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “LEGION,” Cal said. “We weren't ready.”

  “We were ready, we erred tactically,” Fiver said. “Next time will be better.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You tell it,” Cal said.

  Fiver adjusted his chair.

  “They flew in. The female telekinetic wore black, of course, and transported them all. Harbinger II went after the grave with a shovel. He's the big guy, replaced the original Harbinger that Sentinel killed during the Seven Minute War. He's a brick, super strong, tore open the grave quick while the other four watched. The Lady in Black, of course; two other women in black cloaks, leather and masks, and a little mime guy. We went about it all wrong. Cal and Simon went to work on Harbinger, did nothing to him. I got close, managed to take out the mime. He was superfast, with daggers. The problem was, while they distracted us, we took a beating from the telekinetic and the other chick. She's a mentalist of some sort, which meant I couldn't dodge her mind bolts, for lack of a better word. The Lady in Black didn't do anything that I saw.”

  “That doesn't mean she didn't do anything,” Simon said.

  “Anyway, Fiver went down and Simon and I were attacked,” said Cal. “I had to teleport us out of there. They recovered the Granite Kid's body, picked up their mime and left.”

  “Next time we hit the mentalist, then the TK chick, then the Lady in Black,” Fiver said. “Harbinger can't hit us, and the mime guy is fast, but not as dangerous as the rest. He probably can't hit us either.”

  “Maybe you should see about getting Skyborne and Slowburn in on this,” Jen said. “I know they don't want to, but you've got a lot of resources, and a numbers problem.”

  Fiver looked up and nodded. The rest of us shut up as a bodybuilder walked over. He had the sleeveless shirt advertising supplements, and that alpha dog in the gym room swagger.

  “Yo, Fiver. Got a minute?”

  Fiver got up and went to another table with the guy.

  “Jesus,” Jen said. “Jersey Shore auditions are next door.”

  Fiver bought an envelope from the guy and returned to our table while his contact strolled away.

  “That was Kettlebell,” he said. “My gym guy. Used to play a little poker before a really bad night.” He put the envelope on the table. It was a standard size, but think with paper. “There's a theory going around that supra-tech can be used by blood relatives. I suspect it'd be blood relatives that also had powers, but whatever.”

  “What's in the envelope?” Cal asked.

  “Names and addresses of everyone who visited Catchpenny in the Citadel. You've got to get a background check before you can visit. You've got to sign in when you visit someone.”

  “I thought you weren't interested in going after Catchpenny's armor,” I said.

  “I'm not,” he said. “But I also don't want to see innocent people terrorized or killed because their name is on the same list as someone who may or may not be a thief.”

  “How do people get things like that?” Jen asked. “The list.”

  “People with very minor amounts of power will abuse that power as thoroughly as someone with absolute power,” Cal said. “Probably any sheriff's department or law enforcement officer has access to that list.”

  “So, what's next?” Simon asked. “Another ambush at the next cemetery in case they grab Flammable Lolita?”

  “Man, I wish we could get some claymores,” Cal said. “Short of better weaponry, I don't think we should do it.”

  “Numbers would help,” Simon said. “I say we see if Jen can recruit Skyborne and Slowburn to the cause.”

  “I might be able to talk the Chill into helping out,” Fiver said. “He owes me one.”

  “Did he survive Suicide Prime?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Fiver said. “That's why he owes me one. Remember that number I called you from and told you to put in your phone? That's my healer. If I ever get my face smashed in, that's the number you call to save my life.”

  “Useful number,” I noted.

  “Don't abuse it,” he warned.

  “Did you put Free Force in touch with him?”

  “Her,” said Fiver. “And no. Fuck those guys. I'm not going to waste a favor on those arrogant fucks.”

  “Seriously, what are we going to do?” Simon said. “We need to stop LEGION, which means we need to find them and defeat them. If you're going to invite Chill to join us, do it. We need more powers.”

  “I don't want him to join us,” Fiver said. “But I'll hit him up if we go on the offensive.”

  “What about Freezing Kate?” Cal asked.

  “To join us? No way.”

  “No, hit her up for information.”

  “I feel like she'd be happier seeing me die, than helping me.”

  “That's rather pessimistic.”

  “Yeah,” Fiver said. “Hey, you know what? We're all feeling down after losing that fight to LEGION. You know what would cheer me up? Cleaning up this town.”

  Cal shook his head.

  Fiver grinned and ran into the kitchen. He came out smiling like a kid on Christmas carrying a broom and headed to the door.

  “Are we staying here?” Jen asked. “I feel like he's about to do something stupid and I want to watch.”

  “He's going to go pick a fight by sweeping up a corner in gang territory,” Cal said. “He just starts sweeping, gangsters tell him to fuck off, he cleans up, they decide to kick his ass and then he beats them up. I mean that's what happened last time. I don't know if he does it a lot. I only watched the one time.”

  “I'm kind of interested,” I admitted.

  “I'm definitely interested,” Jen said. We looked at each other, stood up, and headed for the door.

  “I'm mildly curious,” Simon said, rising slowly and following.

  Fiver had a bit of a lead on us. We were content to follow from a distance. We walked but a few blocks before he decided on a corner and started sweeping.

 
“What bothers me about this whole thing is that he's using a kitchen broom,” Simon said. “I can get him a good, strong broom that will hold up to use on concrete.” He sighed.

  We stopped on the opposite corner as Fiver. Simon ducked into the corner store and bought sodas and water. We cracked them open and waited. Fiver had chosen a corner with a couple of dealers. It looked like a couple of young, tough, tattooed men, with younger kids acting as look outs on either side. They saw Fiver approach, and vacillated between ignoring him and being concerned by his presence. We couldn't hear what was being said, but Fiver cheerfully kept sweeping, even as cigarettes were flicked at him. He simply pulled out a garbage bag and collected the cigarette along with the other trash, then moved a little further away and collected more garbage from the street.

  “It's on,” Simon said. “The guy in the middle there is pissed.”

  “How can you tell from here?” I asked.

  “Body language,” Jen said.

  “My power lets me detect moods and mental states,” Simon said. “Watch this.”

  It took a minute for the angry one to confront Fiver. He told him to leave, then yelled at him.

  Mustering up all the corniness he could, Fiver said, “Last time I checked, this was a free country.”

  “It ain't a free corner, so fuck off,” said his antagonist. The other thug on the corner stood next to his associate.

  “Sorry, were you addressing me as Fuck Off, like that's what you think my name is? Or were you telling me to fuck off?” Fiver asked. “Because the only direction I know how to fuck is up, and that's what I'm going to do to your face if you don't leave me the fuck alone.”

  “I'm pretty sure he practiced that speech,” Simon said.

  The thug reached for Fiver. Fiver lightly rapped his knuckles with the broom as he sidestepped the thug's grasp. The second one punched, Fiver ducked and swept his legs, sending the man to the ground. The first man decided that he was done talking and pulled a pistol from his waistband. Fiver took it out of the man's hand as he did. He slapped the guy across the face and poked his eyes Stooges-style. He finished off by bringing the butt of the handgun hard against the guy's temple. The second guy started to get off the ground and Fiver pushed the gun against his forehead.

  “Get lost,” he said. “Take your friend with you.” The pistol went into the trash bag. The thugs stumbled off. Fiver went back to sweeping.

  “How long is he going to be at this?” Jen asked.

  Simon shrugged and texted. Across the intersection, Fiver checked his phone and answered.

  “'Threw back the small fish,' he says,” Simon read. “Ah, I think he told me about this gang enforcer showing up and fighting her to a draw. I'll bet he's waiting on her to show up again.”

  They exchanged texts again.

  “Yeah,” Simon said. “That's it. She mimicked his fighting style and he'd been really defensive when they fought, so she learned that and he had a hard time hitting her, but she couldn't hit him, either. He's banking on her power resetting, so he can go in on the offensive, and slow, trick her into fighting the same way. He's naturally better at dodging attacks, so he's got an advantage.”

  “So I take it Fiver's in a good mood?” Jen said.

  “I have a hard time reading him. Too much going on.”

  “Emotionally?”

  “No, that's not what I'm reading. Look, you know the brain works by sending little synapses from place to place, right? I can sense those synapses in relation to where they are in the brain to understand what parts of the brain are being activated. I can tell when the “fight or flight” instinct is being triggered, but I can't tell you whether fight or flight will be chosen. I can tell when the part of the brain the responds to positive stimuli is active, but I can't tell whether it's because of sex or chocolate, unless I have other context.”

  “Like whether they're having sex or chocolate?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So do other telepaths work the same way?” Jen asked.

  “I'm not a telepath.”

  “Hypothetically. You're able to read how the mind works. Could you refine it to read thoughts?”

  “That's not how the brain works. Thinking isn't like speaking. It's neurons moving in a brain. I can refine it to understand when parts of the brain are working, like Cal accessing memories of the war. I've mapped those in his brain. I know when Fiver needs a drink and when he wants a drink and the difference.”

  “So what do you mean he has too much going on to read?”

  “I think he has ESP or another sense that is constantly keeping his brain active. It's like he's got 4 or 5 times the sensory input of normal people.”

  “Is that why he's good at fighting?”

  “That's my theory,” Simon said.

  “So, let me ask a question, then,” I said. “In comics when a telepath says that they don't want to read minds, but everyone is broadcasting their thoughts, basically, you're saying that's bullshit.”

  “I'm saying that according to neurologists, thoughts are bits of energy jumping from one part of the brain to the other. They do not radiate from your head like sound.”

  “Someone's coming,” Jen said. It turned out to be five of them, four men and a woman. They were all Hispanic, as were most of the neighborhood, which is why we could stand around drinking Cokes and not look out of place, I guess. The gang members started to cross the street. Fiver dropped the broom and walked into the middle of the street. The four men surrounded him in the crosswalk, the woman hung back.

  “You want to do this again?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I figured you out,” Fiver said. “I'm here for the corner.”

  “Kick his ass,” she commanded. The four thugs moved forward at once. Fiver started with a fist to the head of the man behind him, sending him down, then blocked the incoming fists of his other opponents. He kicked the legs out from under another, spinning as he did to face the next opponent. He blocked one attack and the other failed to connect. He connected twice more with punches to the throats of the last two attackers, as the man he'd knocked to the ground got up. Fiver traded punches with the last man standing, remaining unharmed as he knocked aside the incoming attacks. He finally landed a hit to the man's temple, sending the man to the ground.

  Three of the four men struggled on the ground. The first one that had been hit lay motionless. The woman stepped into the street with Fiver, and slowly closed the distance. About two yards away, she mimicked Fiver's fighting stance, which looked like a typical boxer. They closed at the same time and began to strike each other. The woman moved faster than Fiver, but he was more effective at blocking. He landed an occasional strike to her head. When he landed a third strike, she nearly collapsed, finding her balance in time to avoid going down. Fiver advanced. She abandoned his blocking and striking technique, and tried something with more finesse. It forced her out of the street, on to the sidewalk. Fiver continued to advance, managing to get in close enough to step behind her to get her in a choke hold, she broke his grip, then stepped on the bumper of the nearest car and jumped, turning in mid air to kick Fiver in the face. He'd moved to the side before she even turned. He timed a kick for the moment her ankle touched the sidewalk, sending her heels over head, twisting to the ground. He punched her twice more to knock her unconscious.

  She wasn't down long, but she wasn't fast getting up. The second before she opened her eyes, Fiver knelt on her chest. He warned her not to return, then helped her to her feet. Aside from the first guy Fiver had struck, the thugs were on their feet. They left him in the street when they left, returning back from wherever they came.

  Simon poked his head in to the store and asked someone to call an ambulance. We headed back for the bar, while Fiver went another route, and met us there a few minutes after we walked in.

  Simon gave Cal the play-by-play to get him up to speed with the events of the fight.

  “I'm not convinced that this is going to work out,” Cal warned.
“You keep weakening this gang, there's going to be a gang war. Sooner or later, they're going to come after us, and we're going to get shot up while we're here drinking beer.”

  “We've got to flush out their supras,” Fiver said. “Break the source of their power and the cops can clean up the rest.” Cal's reaction showed it had been a point of contention. He dropped it.

  “How big is the gang problem in Santa Maria?” Jen asked.

  “Depends on whether you're a poor family living in a neighborhood where they sell drugs on the corners, discourage kids from going to school, and steal from local businesses until they all go away and you're walking miles to get half gallon of milk,” Fiver said. “People live scared in their neighborhoods, with no way to defend themselves, and no way to improve their circumstances.”

  “That's why the low power supras become vigilantes and patrol there,” Simon said. “They made progress for a while, when they had the power advantage. But gangs flourished when supras became part of the gangs and they could stand up to supra-teams. It's lower profit now, and they have to stay below the radar of the Guardian Angels or the government heavyweights, but that's pretty easy with all of the dangerous villains and the wars.”

  “The gangs will be even more dangerous if you start pushing them into a corner,” Cal said. “And if you wipe them out completely, another gang will fill the vacuum after a gang war that is going to kill innocent people. And let me remind you all that not one of us is bulletproof. One lucky asshole can wipe us out.”

  We spent the rest of the day hanging around the bar. Cal put us on the payroll, so he'd have paperwork to cover us hanging out on a regular basis.

  Jen offered a toast before one round of beers.

  “To the best supra-hero fortress in the world!”

  We tapped our glasses together and enjoyed the beer.