AHC
Books One, Two, and Three of Auxiliary Hero Corps
Charles Eugene Anderson
AHC Copyright © 2015
Contents
CAB Page
Book One Chapter One
Book One Chapter Two
Book Two Prolog
Book Two Chapter One
Book Two Chapter Two
Book Two Chapter Three
Book Two Chapter Four
Book Two Chapter Five
Book Three Chapter One
Book Three Chapter Two
Book Three Chapter Three
Book Three Chapter Four
Book Three Chapter Five
Credits
About the Author
Book One Chapter One
“You can earn your degree in as little as two years.”
The tattoos on my back are easier to cover than the ones on my hands.
“Take only the classes you need.”
My tattoos are a fantasy. They’re a fantasy on how my life should be. There’s the cross located on my back; it’s my largest one, but I never use it. Then there are smaller ones: the pistol, the knife, the snake, and of course there’s Spike. He’s my dog, my external teeth, but my tattoos are much more than decorations on my skin.
I look at my hands, and I know there’s nothing I can do to cover them for my job interview. I wish I could, but I must leave before I’m late.
“Call us right now, and one of our operators will help you with your enrollment and financial aid package,” says the TV as I leave my apartment.
I never remember to shut off the TV before I go out. I’ve grown up in a house full of sounds. We lived with our grandmother, and I could always hear the voices of my brother and two sisters.
Anna is the smartest one out of all of us. She’s four years younger than me. She likes school and her teachers. She gets good grades, and everyone hopes she’ll eventually go to university.
I just want to get a job on my own.
* * *
“Valentine Vega. Is that your real name?” asks the manager of the local Mexican restaurant, El Gatos, not caring about my answer. He shakes my hand, but instead of releasing it, he holds on and won’t let it go. “Tell me why I should give you this job?” he asks.
He wants to play a game with me: see who’s the bigger man. He wants to see who’s stronger.
“Because I’m… It’s Val. My name is Val. I don’t go by Valentine,” I say, but the manager won’t let me continue, and he squeezes my hand harder. He’s big, and most would suffer from his grip, but not me.
He thinks he’s stronger. I’ll show him nothing, and I know he’s getting mad. I let him turn my hand, and he can see it. It’s the mark he sees, the tattoo, given to me by the Auxiliary Hero Corps, and he knows who I am, or what I am. He lets go.
“Do you think my customers want to eat around someone with this on their hand?” he asks.
I know he’s mad because I’m not showing any pain. He thinks I’m not showing him respect.
“You have too much ink. I know who you are.” He finally lets go of my hand. “I don’t need any of you hero-kind working for me.”
“I didn’t think you’d care,” I say. I wait. “I’m not a hero yet. I’m only in the Auxiliary Corps.”
“What? Just because you have an awful job with the Corps doesn’t mean I have to give you one in my restaurant. You heroes think you’re privileged, but ask most businessmen like me, and we’ll tell you we don’t like your kind. You’re bad for business.”
Now I’m mad. He may not be able to hurt me physically, but he’s gotten to me, and it shows on my face. He’s happy now.
The man does something I’m not expecting: he tries to pick a fight. “Okay, tough guy, take a swing at me. The press always eats it up when one of you hero-punks hits a civilian. They’d have to put you in jail. It’s where you all belong.”
“It isn’t illegal to be a hero,” I say to him. I should keep my mouth shut, but it’s too late. I know I should leave. I want to turn and walk away.
“Your kind always thinks you’re better than the rest of us, but none of you can make it in the real world. Isn’t that funny? You think you’re strong because of your powers, but the business man is the one who pays for you heroes. All of us taxpayers pay for you, —and I’m tired of paying for all you freeloaders. I have the jobs to give. I can hire who I want, when I want. And I can fire them too.”
He pauses, and then he says, in a voice I’ve heard on TV, “Maybe I’m your nemesis, your archenemy. I’m the evil Restaurant Owner. Or maybe I’m worse…I’m the Galactic Emperor of Chips and Salsa.”
I say nothing and start to walk away. I don’t know if I’ll ever have an arch, an enemy, someone to consume me.
“Goodbye, tough guy. I’m sorry, but this interview must be over,” he says. He’s loud enough for everyone in the kitchen to hear him. “I’m finished with you, but fear not, because I still have time to turn my attention to the evil carnivorous lunchtime customers lurking in my dining room. I’m the real hero in this city, not you.”
* * *
My other sister is named America, and she loves to dance. She moves with the ease and grace all women wish they had. At celebrations, she’s the one everyone watches. She’s also my big sister, and she’s the one that always took care of us when Grandmother wasn’t home. She’s a checkout clerk at a small market, and I haven’t seen her in a few months. She still lives with Grandmother, and I know someday she’d like to get married and have a house full of kids of her own.
My grandmother never wanted me to leave her big house. She doesn’t understand. There’s plenty of space there, and I could move back home and into my old bedroom.
“When are you coming home?” she always asks. “The house is so empty.”
I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but with America, Anna, Rudy, and my Aunt Sophie with her two babies living there, I know it’s not true.
“There is always justice at the Justice Law Firm,” says the TV. “Call us when you need Justice on your side.”
There is nothing more I can do today. I have another job, but that job always waits until dark. “I’m sorry,” I say to Spike. “I didn’t mean to keep you covered so long.”
Spike frees himself from his tattoo when I take my shirt off. Instead of running around the apartment or wanting to go for a walk, the big dog jumps up on the bed and finds the spot where he usually sleeps. He waits for me to join him. I scratch him behind his ear. That’s where he likes it the most.
My snake also crawls off my skin. She never actually leaves the bottom of my forearm, but still, she needs her freedom from the ink holding her in place.
Before I fall asleep, I say to Spike, “Okay, I need a couple of hours of shuteye before we go on patrol tonight.”
When he’s next to me, I know I can sleep.
* * *
My brother Rudy loves soccer. He could keep kicking the ball all day. It’s what gives him joy, and most days he doesn’t come back inside until it’s truly dark, or until Grandmother pleads with him to come home. “Grandmother, I scored the winning goal,” he always says to her.
“Of course you do, you always do well,” she responds, and she’s always proud of him. “But there will always be another soccer game, and you only have one family. You need to be home on time for dinner. You know I worry when you a
ren’t on time.”
Rudy will graduate high school in a few months, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do for a job after.
“The Tribal Store is the only place you’ll ever want for your tattoo and piercing needs,” says the TV.
It’s almost time for me to leave.
The snake has returned to her inky home on my arm. Spike is awake, but he needs a walk, and I know Smokey might be a little mad at me for being late. Without another job, there’s no hope of me leaving the Corps.
I walk to the diner and it makes me hungry. I’ll try to order something quick off of the menu before we have to go out on patrol.
There’s a moment before I walk into the restaurant’s front door that always takes my breath out of me, and it almost feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. It’s a little death I suffer every night, and it meets me when I go to my job.
“You’re late. It’s the Sam F. Houston middle of the night and you’re late,” says Smokey when I finally make it to our meeting. Smokey never curses; he just substitutes other words for his bad ones instead.
We always meet at the Templeton Diner, our unofficial headquarters, on Granville Street. As many times as I’ve been there, I’ve never yet met the owner, Joey, and I know I won’t meet him here tonight.
“Hire somebody else,” I say, sitting down across from the large man in the back booth. He’s the kind of guy that looks like he should be running around the woods with hillbillies and a banjo instead of sitting in a greasy diner in a rundown part of our city. An old Formica table separates us. Smokey is eating his typical meal, a heavy breakfast. The overloaded plate consists of four eggs, plenty of bacon, a pile of potatoes, and two almost burnt pieces of toast. On the other side of the plate is a large mug of black coffee. I can tell he hasn’t been there long because he hasn’t yet wolfed down his bacon.
“Val, I can’t find any other Dixie Bags who’ll work so cheap,” says Smokey.
It isn’t true. He might be mad, but he can’t hire or fire me. All of us are in the Auxiliary Corps together, we work on the government’s dime, and they like to keep us employed so they can keep an eye on us.
The Auxiliary Hero Corps and the Hero Corps bring structure to our lives, and if we weren’t on their payroll, God only knows what would happen. It doesn’t mean I don’t try to leave the Corps from time to time, but I haven’t been successful in my attempts at outside employment. Smokey laughs at me every time he hears I’m trying to become a civilian, and he says to me about my recent job interview, “What did you go do something stupid like that for?”
“When we come back, we’ll have all the highlights from our celebrity dancers,” says the TV, recapping tonight’s dance competition. The TV’s mounted over the kitchen door, and Smokey is in the perfect position to view it from where he sits.
I’m not the last of this evening’s patrol to arrive. We’re waiting for Daphnia. When she finally arrives, she plops down next to me and says, “I’m exotic, and I look good in my boots, right? You’d think I could get a cab. But those guys hate me. I swear they do.”
Daphnia always surprises us. It’s one of her abilities. She’s different than anyone else I know in the Auxiliary Corps. Maybe that’s why I like her so much. She’s unique, and I smile when she’s near.
“I could go anywhere tonight looking the way I do, but not in a cab. How they hate us sometimes. And why is no one asking me to a party? I feel like stepping out after work tonight. Smokey, how about we party till morning instead of fighting crime? I promise we’ll have fun. We could go dancing. We’ll have a few laughs.” She takes a piece of toast off his plate.
“The boys only go out with you once, and then they never get a second chance,” says Smokey with a smirk. He pauses a moment and then asks, “Why do you always eat my toast?”
Daphnia winks. “Your toast reminds me of the men I’ve dated. A woman can’t forget her past loves or the taste of burnt toast. Both leave a bad taste in your mouth.”
Smokey shifts his arm to guard his other piece of toast. “I didn’t know you were a philosopher.”
“Is that why you’ve never asked me out? Because I’m smart? I always thought it was because you get jealous when I talk about my love life.” Daphnia looks directly at Smokey. “I know you want me, but I never thought you’d be the type who’d have to eat big old bites of a jealous sandwich before you’d ask me out.”
Smokey doesn’t say anything, just raises his hand in defense, the other piece of toast in it.
Daphnia plucks the toast from his hand. “And here I thought you saved your toast for me on purpose. Don’t worry, Mr. Bear, I know you’re shy.”
She turns her attention to me, gives me a smile.
“What about you, Val? Is there anything I can do to corrupt you?
Smokey says, “Leave him alone, he’s still a child.”
“I don’t think I’m strong enough for you,” I say, pretty sure that I’m blushing.
Luckily, Smokey changes the subject. “I have a feeling we’re going to have a good night,” he says. “I hope the two of you are ready.”
We’re going out on foot patrol like we always do, helping combat crime in the city. We’re there to help the police. True, the local constables don’t actually want our help, but there’s nothing they can do about it.
We, the Auxiliary Corps, do the small jobs, the jobs a regular hero wouldn’t bother themselves with. It’s mostly petty crimes we deal with each night. But that keeps us busy. We won’t finish until morning, and we’re good at getting our hands dirty in the meantime. We protect our city the best we can from the threats of its low-level criminals.
We’re following our normal route, and Daphnia is getting less happy the farther we get. After a mile or so of walking, she’s lagging behind. I elbow Smokey and we wait for her to catch up with us.
“Do you think we’re going to get paid this week? You know, with there being a holiday on Friday?” I ask, but I don’t even wait for a response. I already know the answer, I’m just making conversation. “Did you ever think about becoming a cop?” I ask Smokey.
We’re still waiting for Daphnia. She’s getting closer, and I can hear her boots.
“I thought about it,” Smokey replies. “I think we all think about it at some point, but it never works out. Too many rules. The cops like to keep us in our place. That’s why the Feds started the Auxiliary Hero Corps in the first place. They don’t like us, but they know we need a purpose—to keep us out of trouble.” He’s also watching Daphnia, and the night is getting colder.
I’m surprised when I hear the Hippie. I’ve been paying attention to Daphnia, and didn’t notice him coming from the other direction.
“Now there’s relief for foot pain . . . all you have to do is walk it away.” Hippie sounds almost like a voice from a television commercial. He likes to walk everywhere, and almost every time we see him he’s by himself. Cold, heat, snow, or rain, the Old Hippie doesn’t care. He isn’t bothered by the weather.
“Hippie!” says Smokey, sounding almost joyful. Hippie was known as one of the best heroes of his generation. Both he and Smokey were originally recruited into the now-defunct Hero Union Corps, but they got transferred over when the Union was replaced by the new agency, the Hero Corps. Hippie went straight into the main Hero Corps of course, but Smokey was placed in the Auxiliary. He still hopes to one day get a promotion to the main Hero Corps.
The Old Hippie is an old white guy wearing a jacket he must have found at a thrift store. It’s a navy blue sailor’s jacket that makes him look like an ancient actor in an old black-and-white movie. Daphnia once said to me, ‘Only an old homeless white guy could pull off that look in a coat like that.’
“Are you still looking for him?” Smokey asks his friend. I know he’s talking about Hippie’s nemesis.
Hippie nods. “It’s impossible for him to hide forever. It’s in our stars: we’ll always cross paths with each other.” Hippie’s typical fortune cookie philosophy.
I don’t understand the guy, but I like him.
“Nothing truer has ever been said, my friend. Your words have always been wise,” says Smokey. I know he doesn’t understand Hippie either.
Daphnia finally catches up to us. She rolls her eyes when she sees Hippie.
“How goes it with your own arch?” asks the Old Hippie. “Has he come back to town?”
“Nah, it’s been too long. And there hasn’t been any news about him.” Smokey tilts his head toward me. “So they make me train the newbies. It isn’t too bad of a job.”
Smokey continues. Me and Daphnia have heard this story many times. “I went to the Oregon State Mental Institution last year because I heard rumors he’d been a patient there, but as soon as I got there I found out it wasn’t true. There was just some poor sitting duck who had been claiming to be him. The guy didn’t even look like the Fire Starter. I was almost ready to walk away when this fake says to me, ‘He told me to tell you, he’ll come and find you when the time is right. Until then, quit looking for him.’”
Hippie raises an eyebrow. “So what did you say? Did you try and find out any more clues to help track him down?”
“No.” Smokey looks over at his friend. “That’s when I quit. I decided that if my nemesis didn’t want to be found, I would respect his wishes and not look for him. I figured it’s the least I could do. The guy deserves that much from me.”
I give a disapproving cough, and it makes Daphnia laugh. Both Smokey and the Old Hippie give me a judgmental look, Hippie says, “Youth is wasted on the young.”
Smokey says, “Did you think of that on your own?”
“Nope,” says Hippie. “Got that one from when it was said to Jimmy Stewart in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. Dumb kid was reluctant to give Donna Reed a kiss.”
“I thought I’d heard that before. That movie’s an oldie but a goodie,” says Smokey.
Auxiliary Hero Corps: Collection of books one, two, and three in the Auxiliary Hero Corps series. (Superheroes Of The Hero Union Corps) Page 1