Better to Die a Hero (8 page)

Less than half that time had passed since his last dose, so again, theoretically the jump should be safe. It occurred to him that maybe they should keep a log as to when they “powered up” as Bryan had come to call it. From his own experience, he felt just as strong on the down side, but a quick test after school on the new weight set had proven those sensations wrong. If one of them lost track of time the result could get them killed. Obviously, the powder wasn’t perfect, which added to his apprehensions over patrolling the park.

“I may be as dumb as a box of rocks, but here goes.”

He leapt outward over the fence and stomach acid stung his esophagus. A tingle surged through his scalp and the ground rushed up to meet him. A tickle shot up his nostrils. His eyes closed as steel like legs absorbed the landing.

“Hachooo!” The sneeze echoed off the wall. “Holy crap! That felt good.” He wiped spit from his chin and looked up to see where he had left his stomach.

Steve wasted no time practicing his jumps upward. In two hours time he could complete a half turn on the way up, throw his legs over his head and vault off the railing, landing several feet from the edge. His grace paled in comparison to Nora's and any somersaults or flips would have to wait for the future; still he impressed himself. After a series of just one more jump, he started the run home.

*          *          *

New York Journal:

“Hello, I'm Michelle O’Donnell and welcome to another edition of New York Journal. Still the top story tonight in New York is reputed crime boss John Savini and the two gang-style massacres that took place yesterday. Harlem saw its worst ever gang related killings when a rundown tenement building was besieged by what witnesses describe as a small group of commandos dressed in black and toting automatic weapons. Carnage broke out in the building as the mask gunmen exchanged fire with African American gang members. At this time, the death toll stands at twenty-six, twenty-one gang members and five innocent tenants. Although it is suspected there were wounded among the assailants none were left behind at the scene and no identification has been made as to who they were. Police did, however, find a large crack cocaine operation in the building and are speculating that this assault was an attempt by a rival gang to eliminate competition.”

“Across Manhattan in Chinatown, at about the same time, a drive by shooting took place outside Chin Lee's Oriental Restaurant. Killed were Martin Pang, a crime boss in the Chinese Mafia and two of his associates. There are no clues as to who is responsible for this attack and it is not known if the two incidents are related. At this time police officials say there is no link between John Savini and these killings.”

“However, New York Journal’s sources say that the Italian Mafioso is law enforcement’s unofficial suspect. The problem our sources tell us is that these assaults were executed so cleanly they doubt any evidence will surface incriminating Savini or the Italian mob. In the studio with us today is Michael Densmore, a school Psychologist at Benjamin Franklin High, and he has a few things he says the public ought to know about John Savini. Thank you for coming in today Mr. Densmore. You are currently employed in the public school system, but were previously employed by the Excalibur Private School for Boys, is that right?”

“Yes, that is correct. I was employed there when John Savini entered the institution in his sophomore year in high school and graduated with an associate degree in philosophy.”

“So, the Excalibur school offered a high school degree and a two year college degree.”

“That is correct and John completed the five year course in three years. I measured his I.Q. at 160.”

“Wow, that's some I.Q. What else do you know about him?”

“I believe this man is a sociopath and a murderer.”

“First Mr. Densmore, tell our viewing audience what a sociopath is and second do you have any tests that bare testament to your beliefs?”

“A sociopath, also known as psychopath, is a person that has failed to develop a conscience. There are many more in our society than people realize, but most are not violent. They range from the petty thief who doesn't care about the losses his victim’s feel, to the CEO who thinks nothing of causing a negative impact on his employees or the environment. The worst sociopath is the one who develops violent tendencies. Without guilt or a conscience, this person's violent behavior is left unchecked. I believe John Savini is one such person. There are a number of tests that look for this type of personality disorder, however, John was much too clever for these to be any good.”

“How is that Mr. Densmore?”

“Within seconds he knew the structure and design of a test and could give socially acceptable answers and responses, thus concealing his true personality traits.”

“I see. Now, you said you believed Savini is a sociopath and a murderer. Who do you think he's killed?”

“There have been two unsolved killings on the Excalibur campus. Both murdered boys were known to have harassed John a great deal over his albinism and obesity. It is known that both these boys were bludgeoned to death by the same person and I believe that person is John.”

“So, in your opinion John Savini is a dangerous person.”

“I believe that a genius, violent sociopath is finding great power in organized crime. I believe he could be the most dangerous man in America.”

“These are very serious accusations you’re making tonight Mr. Densmore. I suspect it might be prudent to worry about repercussions.”

“It is never prudent to worry, but it is always prudent to act. I am an old man with serious health problems. There is nothing John Savini can do to me. So the prudent thing to do, the moral thing to do, is speak the truth.”

“Thank you for your insights Mr. Densmore. Well, there you have it. Is Savini the most dangerous man in America? Tune in tomorrow when we'll have a mob informant, currently in the witness protection program, tell all he knows about John Savini.”

*          *          *

Amber stepped up to the curb, leaned out, and looked to the left then to the right. No limousine in sight. She stepped back and cinched her coat; the temperature was dropping. She hoped that it wouldn’t be too much longer. She’d have preferred being picked up on the street she worked. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood for her type of business. The men that dropped her off never once cautioned her that the situation called for discretion.

Discretion was the word most commonly used when an interested party arranged a date for a celebrity or a politician. It meant they were looking for a girl that could keep a secret and they never used the word or any similar word. Although Amber had accepted a few assignments that called for discretion, the john never turned out to be a famous celebrity or politician. He always turned out to be some no-name executive with an exaggerated sense of importance. No scandal rag was going to pay for a story about some CEO spending an hour with a hooker.

Now a high-profile personality, that was different. If the john was a celebrity, it meant a large tip to keep the secret. And if this guy didn’t tip big, well they didn’t use the word discretion. A story without pictures wouldn’t be worth much. Maybe she’d manipulate a second date, a date that could be caught on film. That meant real money.

The limo pulled up. She had been so busy thinking about the money, the car caught her by surprise. Amber stepped up and the driver got out and walked to the back. This was promising. Everything about the driver, his haircut, his suit and the way he walked, said professional. This was not a rented limo; the passenger had money.

Amber smiled at the driver as he opened the door for her. A real professional all right, his gaze never left her face. She slipped past him and entered the vehicle gracefully. She was a professional too and she knew how to get into a limo. She leaned in excessively to give the passenger a good view of her cleavage, and then as she sat down adjusted her skirt to show off her legs.

She shook out her hair, looked across at her customer, and gave him a small smile. There would be no pictures and no secrets told. The men who arranged the date didn’t have to use the word discretion or any similar words. Even with the lights off, Amber recognized the crime boss; he was bigger in person. She knew what was good for her and she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

“Would you like some wine?” Savini asked.

“Yes, thank you.” She watched him pull the bottle from the ice bucket. The sight of his fingers disturbed her. They were longer than a normal person’s fingers and his nails were shaped like a weapon. She didn’t remember seeing that detail on the television.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass.

She took the wine from his deformed fingers and felt sick. Everyone knew the man was an albino, it was common knowledge, but the news never mentioned his hands. Maybe they had and she just missed it.

Amber took a sip of wine and studied the man’s round face. Savini placed his hand over his chin and moved his jaw back and forth. His jaw popped and crackled and he pulled his chin downward. His face elongated exposing a gaping mouth full of sharp teeth. She was positive no one had mentioned that.

*          *          *

“Anyway, I’m thinking we need to keep working on our costumes. Make them impervious to blood.” Steve looked to Nora hoping for constructive feedback.

“I really don't see us hitting anyone,” she said. “Maybe you can hit them in the stomach and then we'll call the police. I don't think there's going to be any blood.”

Bryan yelled from behind the bathroom door. “She hasn't read many comic books, has she?”

“Actually,” Steve said, “I could soften my fighting techniques, make them less lethal. I’ll switch to a soft kung-fu style called Angry Orangutan.”

“I’ve heard of kung-fu styles White Crane, Tiger, Snake, even Monkey, but I’ve never heard of Angry Orangutan.’

“That’s because it wasn’t developed in the East. It was developed right here in New York. It mainly consists of palm strikes to the head. It is quite effective and doesn’t cause bleeding.”

“If you say so.” Nora gave him a skeptical wink. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you demonstrate a little of this style.”

“Don’t say anything to Bryan about it,” Steve leaned in and whispered, “or we’ll be watching his version of Angry Orangutan for the next week.” Nora responded with a nod.

“Get ready here I come.” The door flew open. Bryan stepped out, landed fists on waist, and cocked his head to the side.

“I can't believe you're going to wear that.” Steve’s palm bounced off his forehead.

Nora giggled delightfully.

Bryan’s costume consisted of red flannel underwear with white boxer shorts pulled over the top. Red hearts covered the boxers and a glossy black cape of medium length draped over his shoulders.  A professional looking utility belt with several pouches was strapped around his waist.  A leather aviator cap and goggles sat on the teenager’s head.

Steve asked, “The cap and goggles, how long on the Internet to find and order?”

“Ten minutes,” Bryan said, adjusting his headgear.

Steve knew he should have expected something like this. Every time their group ran a superhero campaign, Bryan created comical
par
odies
instead of serious characters. While Steve ran Mongoose, a martial arts expert, Bryan had opted to create Chicken-man, a six-foot chicken that shot egg grenades out its ass and devastated enemies with a sonic cluck blast. Still worse was Mucusman, whose snot blast could entrap the strongest of villains and if any snot splashed on a nearby rogue, there was a twenty-five percent chance that the gross out factor would cause temporary paralysis. Then there was Orgasmo, a sex and relationship therapist by day, orgasm wielding hero by night. By mentally triggering the pleasure centers of a villain’s brain, Orgasmo could cause a string of multiple orgasms, even in men, that left them incapable of self-defense. Steve hated Orgasmo, but tolerated the character since nothing strange shot out of any of his orifices.

“I came up with a scenario last night that I know you guys will love,” Nora said. “What ten female heroes have the best breasts?”

Steve laughed. “That’s a tough one.”

“They all have the same breasts,” Bryan said.

“It kind of depends on who’s drawing them,” Steve added, “but they’re all drawn the same way, with the same voluptuous body, except for Jubilee. She has the body of a fifteen year old.”

“She does not,” Bryan said, “I have hundreds of comics, I can show you she is very well built.”

Nora addressed Bryan. “So Bryan, what’s your superhero name?”

“I'm leaning toward Ectoman or Ectomorphicman,” he replied.

Nora said, “I recognize that from Behavioral Science, ectomorph was one of Sheldon's Body type classifications. That must be the slim one.”

“Yep,” Bryan said looking over at Steve, “we should call you Endomorphman.”

Steve picked up his college dictionary. It took only a second to find endomorph and he began to read aloud. “Having a heavy rounded body type often with a marked tendency to become fat. Very funny.” Steve slammed the dictionary shut in fake anger. Nora stood up off the bed and gave his back a friendly rub.